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Message: <blockquote data-quote="DM-Rocco" data-source="post: 2321477" data-attributes="member: 14451">Session 21 Module the Tomb of Horrors“Gren, are you okay?” Gren refocused himself and nodded to the others. It was a stressful time for him. In the last two days they had uncovered the remains of the entrance to the Tomb. In fact, they had found three. They had started with the one to the right, which turned out to be a plain stone corridor roughly worked, dark and full of cobwebs. The roof rose to twenty feet and the corridor stretched to thirty feet, leading to a set of double doors made of thick oak. Gren had spent a few minutes in examining the huge doors, only to find no traps or tricks. He felt confident in his abilities to find and disarm traps that so many people in the past had set to protect their belongings in the after life. He felt safe in his knowledge of what to look for, that is until he tried to open the door and a large section of the ceiling came crashing down on the party. Years of training had been for not. He had lost something, his focus he had thought. Perhaps it was cause his pupil had died the day before when she was torn to shreds by a maralith. He felt the guilt of her death. It was his responsibility to watch her, to mentor her, to train her, and he had failed.  After many frustrating hours in this tight and cramped section of the corridor, Gren had come to the conclusion that traps were plenty in this Tomb and that he could detect very little of them. They headed for the center Tunnel now, only to find a long corridor. This tunnel was different from the others, this corridor was not drab and dreary like the others, this one had bright and brilliant colors everywhere. Undimmed by the passage of time the stones and the pigments told a tale in a display of mosaic relief. With a distinct winding path laid out in red tiles about two feet wide it was an inviting welcome into the Tomb. The stone plaster had been smoothened over all of the surfaces of the walls and ceiling and then illustrated. The scenes painted showed fields with kine grazing, a corpse with several wolves in the background, slaves of all races and a strange human-animal mixture, pig-human; ape-human; and dog-human, going about various tasks. Certain frescoes showed rooms of stone, a torture chamber, a wizard’s work room. There are chairs, windows, boxes chests, birds, bats, spiders and all manner of things shown on the walls. Gren focused himself and placed a tentative foot on the red tile in front of himself. He tested it for weight and then proceeded into the corridor. He moved along the Red tile path, careful not to touch the other colors in front of him. Years of training in raiding Tombs just like this had taught him that such paths were meant to be followed, straying from them often lead to death. He moved with the graceful stride of a cat as he went from one square to another, testing each foot before placing weight on the square. He followed the trail as it widened to the right, following close to the eastern wall. So far so good, but he paused here to look at the mosaic on the wall. Two jackal headed human figures were painted so as to appear to be holding a real bronze chest. The bronze chest was partially protruding from the wall. A careful observation of the box lead Gren to discover a switch on the lower panel of the box. “I think I found the entrance into the main chambers of the Tomb,” he said to the others, who were closely gathered to watch, but safely far enough away to avoid hazards of the job. Gren then flicked a switch and his heart sank as the floor beneath gave way to a thirty foot deep pit. He could barely make out the bottom of the pit, but he could see the tell tale signs that the pit was spiked with sharp objects. At the last possible moment, he made a grab for the bronze box and managed to hold on for dear life. Time ticked away holding the small box and his fingers began to slip. He had to do something, so he braced his feet against the wall and kicked off as he jumped to his left, away from his friends, toward the depths of the Tomb. Nimble as he was, and skilled with all manner of acrobatics, he somersaulted onto the far ground with ease, only to have the floor there fall from his feat and Gren fell the thirty feet to the bottom of the pit, impaling himself on the sharp spikes. Instantly he felt the warmth and then burning of the poison coursing through his body. After what seemed like forever he could feel himself raising in the air, slowly being pulled from the mass of spikes. He could feel the warmth returning to his limbs and the poison slowly left his system. He opened his eyes to Oaklin levitating over him and forcing a potion down his throat. It would be a while before he could move without pain, but for now he had enough strength to get himself out of the pit. He grabbed two metal rods from inside his pack and placed one in each hand. He held one over his head and pressed a button, it hung in the air in defiance of gravity. He then pulled himself up and placed the second one further above the first and hit the button on that one, it too held itself in place. He released the first button and repeated the process, using the metal rods to climb to freedom.  When he was at the top of the pit he examined the under side of the trap, to see how it worked. It was incredible, the trap appeared to be seamless from above, almost totally undetectable. While he was examining the traps, he noticed the red tiles on the floor portion of the trapped area that he had landed on. They seemed odd to him, but he could not place it. Then an idea dawned on him and he climbed his way back to the beginning of the corridor. He closely examined the path, from where he had began to where the pit had been and scratched his head. He then pulled out two long metal poles from his bag. Each was ‘L’ shaped with straps that he tied to his feet. Under the ‘L’ portion of the polls, he inserted the one of the two metal rods he had used to climb his way out of the pit. Each was inserted into a small tube that locked in place. Now he raised his leg and pressed a button on the top of the pole which extend a leaver that hit the activation button on the Rod of immovability. He did this again, and again, making of the rods an air walking device. He walked the length of the corridor hovering just a few feet above the red tiles. While he walked, he placed a torch in the air from time to time, each torch staying in the air were it was left. He covered the whole of the corridor and repeated the path a few times. Then he came back to the beginning. “It is a clue, our first clue,” he said, “a message, scrambled within the confines of the red tiles. It says, ‘Acererak congratulates you on your powers of observation. So make of this what you wish. For you will be mine in the end no matter what!’” “It appears we have found the correct tomb, it continues;  ‘Go back to the tormentor or through the arch, and the second great hall you’ll discover. Shun the green if you can, but night’s good color is for valor. If shades of red stand for blood the wise will not need sacrifice aught but a loop pf magical metal - you’re well along your march. Two pits along the way will be found to lead to a fortuitous fall, so check the wall. These keys and those are most important of all, and beware of the trembling hands and what will maul. If you find the false you find the true and into the columned hall you’ll come, and there the throne that’s key and keyed. The iron men of visage grim do more than meets the viewers eye.  You’ve left and left and found my tomb and now your soul will die.” “What does that mean,” said the massively deep voice of the half-orc barbarian Brakka? “I don’t know, perhaps it is a tormented message from the creator of the Tomb, perhaps a trick to lure us to our death, I can’t say, what I do know though, is this tomb is deadly and we can trust nothing.” * * *The spirit of Acererak studied a flow of magical energy, a rift of raw power that tore through the fabric of reality. The energy was immense and strange and wonderful effects caused unexpected results to the surrounding landscape. He observed the effects and mentally documented the effects for further research. Such places as this were few and far between and a rift this big and powerful he had never seen before.  Acererak held forth his spirit hand and the raw power he felt course through his body made him tremble before its might.  This will do, he said to himself. Once he had enough souls, he would need a strong power source. Something stronger than this, but he could use it as a base. Something stopped him at that moment, something distant. So, they have found the warning. Most do not, few can decipher the runes, fewer still can understand the message. No matter, in the end they will die and I will live. </blockquote>

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