Tomb of Horrors Part 2

 

Still within Lao Ren’s ritual of vision, the party found themselves in a long, wide corridor of dazzling color. Faint daylight that passed through the clog of mud and silt at the entrance revealed that the passage was unlike anything they had seen before: walls, ceiling, and floor were coated in smooth plaster and painted with vivid scenes untouched by time. Fields of grazing cattle, wolves lurking at the edge of forests, slaves of many races and strange hybrids going about their work. Some frescoes depicted interior chambers—a library heavy with books and scrolls, a torture room, a wizard’s workshop. Birds, bats, spiders, doors, chests—an entire world painted flat and watching.

The floor was a mosaic of brilliant stone, and running through it was a narrow, winding path of red tiles. Bangqiu studied the symbols worked into those red stones and realized they formed a kind of riddle or poem—guidance for navigating the tomb safely. But the guidance was incomplete.

Hidden pit traps lined the corridor. Being ethereal, the party could drift safely above them—but that same ethereal state left them exposed to infernal creatures likewise confined to that plane. Without weapons or armor, they were forced to rely entirely on magic. Bo-Jing, unable to bring his strength or sword to bear, found himself uncomfortably sidelined.

 

At the far end of the corridor loomed a green devil face, its mouth gaping open. Nearby stood a misty archway that likely promised teleportation—and danger. Having learned from bitter experience, the party avoided both.

 

Instead, they carefully retraced their steps, studying the mosaics near the entrance while fending off infernal attackers drawn to their presence.

After the party destroyed a vulture-like creature, a more cautious demon emerged from the mist: a horned, dog-faced creature that called for parlay.

 

“You want Acererak,” it said. “I will call him.”

Moments later, a skeletal figure appeared at the far end of the hall, beyond the reach of Salt’s steam breath. Taking a desperate gamble, Bangqiu cast polymorph, declaring that the figure should become “a panda. Without legs.”

The skeletal form collapsed. The spell appeared to work.

But when Bangqiu approached, he found himself staring not at a helpless animal, but at a panda with Salt’s face. In that instant of confusion, the demon struck him from behind with a blast of force, hurling Bangqiu bodily into the green devil’s mouth.

Bo-Jing, with nothing else to do, struck the demon with his bare hands. It was like punching solid marble. The horrific Salt-Panda hybrid on the floor proved to be an illusion and disappeared.

Salt and Lao Ren destroyed the demon with magic. There was no discussion of following Bangqiu into the devil face, nor of testing the misty archway. Instead, the remaining three stepped into the stone wall itself, drifting blindly through dense ether until the world reshaped around them.

They emerged in a vast throne room.

Scores of massive columns filled the chamber

Near one devil face lay a ring of charred remains—ashes, bones, and ruined gear—surrounding a glowing orange gem that pulsed with dreadful power.

At the heart of the room stood a black ebony dais bearing a silver-inlaid obsidian throne. Resting upon it were a crown and a scepter, both heavy with magic.

Salt called on one of her most rudimentary spells, normally used for sweeping floors or carrying water, an unseen servant to retrieve the crown, the scepter, and the glowing gem.

While they explored, another vulture-like demon attacked, which Lao Ren trapped inside a sphere of force.

Testing the crown, Lao Ren found that it granted him perfect sight in the throne room—but once they stepped through the ether into another chamber, a triangular-shaped room dominated by a multi-colored flight of steps, he was left blind.

Recalling the riddles inscribed along the red path, Lao Ren asked Salt to remove the crown with the scepter.

Gold end or silver?

Trusting the poem—or luck—they chose gold.

The crown came free.