The Curse of the Crimson Reprieve: Youshi's Bones and the Tomb of Horrors

 Two narrow boats nosed through the still waters, pushing against the sluggish current of a cursed river. Salt sat at the prow of one, the mist wetting her white hair. In the other, Bo-Jing gave quiet instructions to his crew. Fen, inscrutable as always, studied the banks for danger. Bangqiu watched the water, knowing already what they would find there. They were drawing near.

The river widened into a black, silent pond—a moat, artificial and stagnant, encircling the tomb of Acererak. The air was heavy with rot and old magic. The expedition had come for Youshi, the girl thrown into these waters by Captain Hu so many years ago. Now her ghost rode with them, silent but present, watching the place where her life had ended.

Laoren Nanji, the wizened sage who had joined their expedition, made no secret of his true aim: to destroy Acererak forever. But he was patient. He offered knowledge and aid, and even a potion that would allow the drinker to return to this place through magic. Salt drank without hesitation. Bangqiu refused, unwilling to bind himself to this place.

With Laoren’s guidance, they dredged the pond and uncovered bones—not just Youshi’s, but the remains of ten others, all victims. Salt insisted they all be honored. Fen silently agreed. Bangqiu spoke only to ensure that Youshi was among them. Laoren confirmed it.

That was when the water stirred.

From the muck emerged skeletal horrors—enormous bone frogs with snapping jaws and serrated ribs. They moved with unnatural grace and hunger. The boats rocked. Salt, Fen, and Bangqiu fired spells while Bo-Jing led his men in shooting arrows.

Then, one of Captain Hu’s men revealed himself. A stranger no longer, Sha-di-Guan stood and uttered a single word. A shatter spell, precisely cast, destroyed the skull of one of the undead creatures in a crackling burst. Laoren nodded with satisfaction—this was his agent, a fellow conspirator against Acererak. In the aftermath, Sha-di-Guan offered to share his magic with Salt, Bangqiu, and Fen. They accepted.

With Youshi’s bones secured and the undead defeated, they turned back. They passed again through the river’s magic gates, noting a side tributary guarded by an arch carved with the beak and eyes of an eagle—a new mystery for another day.

When they reached the Crimson Reprieve, they set sail west. Sha-di-Guan proved his worth again, reading weather and stars, charting a safe path. He found a conical volcanic island covered in lush greenery—a good place, they thought, to bury Youshi.

But the island was infested. The panthers there bore tentacles—twisting, prehensile limbs emerging from lean, predatory bodies. The crew fought their way free and sailed on.

They found another, quieter island. There, they buried Youshi and the others with care. Salt led the rites. Bangqiu stood silent. Bo-Jing kept his eyes on the sea.

But the curse was not lifted.

Niao returned. The ghost they had thought laid to rest on Guibao reappeared—changed. She had four arms now, each holding a tray laden with invisible burdens. Her face was mournful, accusing. Her presence chilled the air and brought nightmares to the crew. Bo-Jing suggested what they all feared: that Niao’s body had been corrupted by the ruling family of Guibao, who were in league with Acererak and Mouru Zhai, his necromancer-apprentice.

They had tried to do the right thing. But perhaps they had buried her in the wrong soil.

Now they sail on, still haunted, still uncertain, with Niao watching.

And behind them, the tomb of Acererak waits.