Snippet #2144906

The tomb held a dreary fascination over Sven from the very second the ancient doors had cracked open like the maw of some forgotten Eldrich beast. Laying in a helpless wait for the first to stir it from a slumber in unknown realms of consciousness. The rush of chilled air had ushered from it's initial opening like the breath of a daemon and wrapped itself around each member of the party. Especially Sven who noticed things weren't as they should have been from the start. Cold air, yes but crisp as a fresh apple, not the dank, damp muck-like air a sealed cypt usually carried. He'd idly wondered if anyone else had noticed, a historian and a necromancer did travel with them after all, but such thought was quickly drained from him with each step into the old construct they took.

A myriad of interesting things assailed him with each step he took further and further into the abyssal place in the most literal sense. Their footsteps, each of them from each member of the party echoed oddly, to dense a sound for your average building, even a crypt. As if that wasn't enough to set an air of apprehension into him the tomb contained obvious signs of being built twice. The first time was a simple project, hewn from the very earth's skin with what seemed to be common tools, and then once again in a more advanced manner it was established, though signs of work came from the opposite direction as if it were built form the inside out. As it were both builds seemed to be a little wrong historically. For this region the type of architecture, the placement of different hollows and bodies and even where the long-drained torches rested in their crumbling holsters were out of place. The age of this beast was immeasurable to him. The first construct could easily be in the realm of eight or nine hundred years old, likely more due to how aged yet well preserved it was. The second build though, that escaped him completely. It looked as though it had to be only two-hundred years at most, the cynical smile of a lying child in historical terms. It simply didn't add up, magic was at work here, but the most tell tale sign however was the hieroglyphs.

Pictographs danced about, clinging to each and every wall like a scarred and foreign second skin. Never before had he seen the likes of such glyphs on this side of the world, let alone any such detail in the alleged time period of the initial crypt. At first the carvings progressed in a chronological manner, a simple progression and though he couldn't read them each wall and the ceiling told a story in a linear progression. The tid-bits he could translate seemed to be harmless enough at the start but began to take grave twists. It wasn't long after their decent however things became a jumbled mess. Glyphs atop glyphs, regional styles and time-styles overlapping. Stories going forwards and back and entirely new directions all at once, entirely new stories in some places. Markings looking older than the tomb's suggested age and some looking as new as a decade ago. Wasn't this supposed to be sealed? It had felt sealed when they first entered but now it felt...Violated. It felt like someone or something was watching, maybe the very stone itself. More than once he stopped to stare at a wall or bit of ceiling as the group pressed on. Fascinating, but increasingly deadly he thought. Whatever was at work here was no friend it seemed, a fact made clear by the many, often hidden entrances he found, and not a single exit.

When the group had reached the room with some sort of block Sven had decidedly not taken interest in it. Cryptic doors with a story strewn about them and some 'press-here-to-die-horrifically-or-progress' button were sort of commonplace. Someone would eventually figure that nonsense out. It was the left wall that had captured his attention, and he'd been starring at it for a good five minutes now, in utter silence.

"There once was a man from the seas of Azear.." His low, gravely voice bounced around the chamber perfectly, it's unnatural grace resounding more on each reverberation due to his cloak. "Dressed like a seer, with eyes like a mirror.." If you listened closely you'd notice a hiccup in the echo, as if it split off in another direction. Stepping closer to the wall he unsheathed his proud scimitar and tapped the hilt of it against the center of the wall. The sound moved both through the chamber the group stood in and down what sounded like a hall on the other side of what was supposed to be a solid wall. Common practice in crypts and mines alike, once you dig your way into your final chamber you dig a way back out, this he knew. But he also knew you usually dug all the way back out, not stopped in some sort of random chamber. Still, the whole place was peculiar and it could come in handy if they needed a quick out up ahead.

Their blocked passage finally opening brought his attention back to the group just in time to hear the necromancer offer their much loved rogue up to the darkness of an unknown passage, a sentiment that made him chuckle.

"Aye," He said, his ton of voice dropping as low as it could while his glowing blue orb-like eyes narrowed into slits and fixated on his the target of jest. "Don't you rogue-likes enjoy traipsing off alone ahead of the group to grab yourselves a bunch of loot because we even see it, then come reporting back about all the danger you masterfully sidestepped?"