Tomb-Raiding Tactics

The stone door slid open with a shudder, and the stale air that met us was thick with dust and preservation chemicals—like a place not abandoned, but deliberately sealed. The room was carved into pale stone and reinforced with dark wooden beams, its shape unmistakably deliberate. This was no crypt. It was a workspace, a necromancer’s study, tucked beneath the apothecary like a buried secret.

We had entered the chamber through the exit—an odd but familiar shortcut, if you knew your way around. Just to my right, resting on a wooden ledge, was a small iron key. I picked it up without ceremony. Normally, you'd find it only after navigating the entire dungeon. Today, we started with it in hand.

The lab was strange and still. Pale green lights lined the walls, their glow magically frozen in place. The air reeked of ink, embalming fluid, and candle soot. Along the walls, shelves sagged under the weight of heavy tomes, labeled vials, surgical tools, and anatomical diagrams. A whale’s skull hung ominously above the center of the room, casting a long shadow across the mounted heads on the far wall—bear, wolf, boar, all kinds of beasts.

"What is this place?" Karlach murmured, her voice low with awe.

Shadowheart lingered near a table, her fingers brushing lightly over exotic poison vials as she read the labels with quiet interest.

Lae’zel said nothing, keeping near the back. She was watching the shadows, not the relics.

On a side table near the center, I found a bottle sealed in wax, the label half scratched off. Inside, thick green liquid sloshed under the glass.

"Antidote," I said aloud. "A strong antivenom blend. I bet this will come in handy."

Karlach leaned in, eyes wide. "Looks like someone bottled a life-saver."

Shadowheart smirked faintly. "Literally."

We searched the remaining chests—most filled with preserved organs or mundane tools. But in one, nestled beneath stiff cloth, lay a pair of dark leather bracers. They pulsed faintly with magic, curling like veins across the surface. Enchanted for bare skin, they only offered their protection to someone unarmored.

Shadowheart huffed. "You’d need to wear nothing else for these to be worth the trouble."

I held them up, then turned toward Karlach.

"You know," I said, "these might actually suit you. You're not wearing armor anyway, and they won’t cover any of the good bits."

Karlach grinned, took them without hesitation, and slipped them on. They clung to her wrists like they belonged there.

"Ooh," she said, flexing. "These are slick. I feel quicker already. Less... hittable."

[Item Equipped: Bracers of Defense]

The room extended farther than it initially let on, revealing a gate of thick, rusted iron tucked into the rear wall. In front of the gate, nearly invisible if you didn’t know what to look for, lay an old pressure plate.

Lae’zel’s eyes snapped to it. "Trap."

I nodded and grabbed a nearby crate, sliding it carefully atop the plate. It settled with a thud, locking the mechanism beneath in limbo. Then I stepped forward and used the iron key on the gate.

It opened without resistance.

The others had wandered into side alcoves, but the gate’s moan drew them back toward me. In front of us stood a pedestal, with an old book resting on top.

Shadowheart tilted her head. "If it's cursed, I don't want it."

Lae’zel crossed her arms and stared forward, unimpressed. "It is only a book."

Karlach trailed in last, slower now. "I have a bad feeling about this."

The book was stitched from leather—not tanned or treated, but raw, still glistening, stretched taut. Embedded in the center was a skull, its mouth agape, frozen mid-scream. Faint whispers curled from the edges of the book, so soft they felt more like memory than sound.

I stepped forward.

"Absolutely horrifying," I said.

Karlach took a step back. "Nope. Don’t like that. Burn it."

Shadowheart didn’t move. "Called it. You can keep it."

I glanced to Shadowheart "pass me something heavy—big tome, doesn’t matter what’s in it."

She gave a quick nod and grabbed a thick alchemical lexicon and handed it over. I took a breath, stepped close to the pedestal, and in true, action-adventure style, made the switch—my hand lifting the cursed tome just as the lexicon thudded into its place.

The air pulsed—just once, like the room had inhaled. No immediate effect. But power clung to it like oil.

[Item Acquired: The Necromancy of Thay]

"...I think we got what we came for," I said.

No one argued. We left the gate open behind us, climbed back through the cellar, and into the daylight above, only a few minutes from camp.

As we started walking I noticed the book felt unnaturally heavy. Its presence pressed at the edges of my thoughts, murmuring softly from inside my bag—whispers curling through my skull, patient and persistent, waiting to be heard.

Maybe I should get someone else to carry it..