The Careful Looting of an Ancient Pirate's Tomb

As Renalt finishes the Kur-si’ika, Felazo smiles and steps forwards. The massive iron doors set into an engraved frame is revealed as the stone spits open behind the trickling waterfall. The engravings in the stone are odd, almost mystic, though if there were any actual enchantment it isn’t obvious. They are, however, fairly consistent with ancient Dwarfish mausoleum-sealing marks Felazo runs his hands over the engravings and looks back at his crew, a slight smile on his face. “Time to see what’s inside.” Then a surge of sickness, a sickness he’s felt ever since the ghost’s death, surges up in him. Felazo turns to perhaps avoid too obvious notice, and vomits. Unfortunately, as he looks back, it seems drawing attention to himself prior to the vomiting meant they all were watching him as he let loose. At least he does command the attention of his new crew.

Denlo wearily steps up to the door. “Is it cursed?” he asks, gesturing towards the runes.

Felazo shakes his head. “No more than any other graverobbing job. Those are just standard in the Dwarfish Tombs of the Righteous.” He takes a deep breath to hold in another expulsion.

Renalt nods and with a smile, adds, “‘tis a seal meant for the soul of the dead, so that they might not be stolen away by their apocalyptic gods and instead rest in blissful peace.”

Sister Hilan traces her fingers along the pattern. “And is it real? Does it work, or is it just superstition?”

“I know not,” Ren admits, then he adds, “Though where lies the line betwixt that which be superstitious and that which be true? The practice continues even still in the more devout holds of the Noble Nation, and I doubt they would still inscribe the long forgotten words if they knew of any times the seal worked not.”

Sari shrugs and shakes her head. “You have more faith in people overcoming superstition than you should,” she says coldly. She looks at Denlo. They begin a silent communication of head tilts, looks, and vibes.

Finally, after what might have been seconds or minutes, Den nods. He turns to the door, and pulls. It moves slightly, before it stops. Denlo turns to Renalt and wordlessly gestures towards the crack. Renalt, who as far as Felazo has been able to tell, has never done a thing wordlessly in his life, sighs. “Very well, dearest Den,” he says, “I shall sneak a peak to spot the sort of mechanism we must overcome.”

Denlo gives the man a grunt as he continues to pull the doors towards them. Renalt slides between Denlo and the door. Using the Elfi’ika’s own tools from his belt, Ren begins to poke and prod at something inside the door. As Ren unlocks the tomb’s door, Felazo can’t help but muse on how good of an idea he had when he decided to bring these four along on his trip this time. Unlocking doors was normally such a frustrating affair, yet his new crew seemed quite apt at it already. That, combined with their ability to get attacked in his place, made it a great all around decision. With a groan, the door starts to move. Opening up to reveal a tomb. Several urns adorn the walls, with barrels and rotten food lining the halls. Based on his extensive grave robbing experience, Felazo knows that the barrels would contain beer, wine, or liquor, though the quality depends on which of the three the deceased enjoyed during life and how old the tomb is. But the real treasure of the place is under the glass case. With the fairly well preserved body of the ancient pirate. Or, both with and the actual body, though his crew might not appreciate that part as much as their captain does. Fortunately, the glass coffin reveals enough jewels to encourage taking the coffin whole. As well as a strange weapon that looks similar to a modern blunderbuss, only smaller, more compact, and without near as many clockwork parts as the engineers and inventors of the New City States use. Incorporated throughout it’s very austere design is a sort of barnacle that clings to the barrel, forming runes of some kind with their likely no longer living bodies. A fascinating magical pistol of some kind. “If you do not mind, I believe we should take the whole coffin,” Felazo tells his compatriots. Denlo nods, then gestures around towards the barrels. Felazo shrugs in reply, before explaining, “It’s vinegar, skunk, or well aged liquor. I don’t want to risk that, but if you’re interested in trying to figure it out, feel free.”

Sister Hilan wanders in from outside, her notebook still out. Looking at the urns around the tomb, she asks, “Was he buried with his crew or something?” she asks the two people who seem to know about ancient dwarfish burials.

Felazo speaks first. “That’s not nearly enough urns for a full crew,” he explains. “Most proper pirate galleons would want to have at least a hundred men, women, and children running the ship. Remember, pirates need to keep the ship operating and cannons ready, while having enough people available to kill anyone on the other ship and loot it.”

Renalt, who is already knelt down sniffing the wooden barrels to try to determine which smells soured, adds, “If I were forced to venture a guess, I might say these to be solely the members of the crew who did die on that final voyage of our infamous captain. They might not otherwise have gotten an eternal feast as well purported as this one.” He gestures at the collection of rotten food and barrels.

Sister Hilan looks curiously at Felazo, for his part. “Are sailing ships such complicated affairs?” she muses, though she puts her journal away as she looks at the urns, unlike the others, she’s being careful not to disturb anything. “You manage your own without too much issue.”

Felazo sighs. “Yes, but that is not the point. Normal ships require at least three shifts worth of people to manage sailing through the night. More importantly, a good pirate ship needs enough men-at-arms to intimidate their prey into paying tribute without much of a fight.”

“Or at least enough to win any fights,” Sari counters.

Felazo shakes his head at his noble crewmate, who clearly doesn’t understand. “Remember when we took out those pirates. How much effort we went through? And how little of value we got from taking a ship? Now, that haul we got was a fairly significant haul, from likely days out raiding ships. Having to fight for every single ship’s goods would not be sustainable, even for the most savagely skilled of crews. Not long term.” Sari seems to seriously consider it. Sister Hilan and Denlo lift the glass coffin with ease. Renalt stacks some of the barrels onto the coffin.

“It would be sustainable,” she says, “Though frustrating, I suppose.”

The Sea Elf shrugs. “Fair, but how long before you and Den would decide yourselves more suited to captaining the pirate ship than me?”

Sari chuckles. “I already think that, other than the fact I don’t know how to sail.”

Den shakes his head at the pair of elfs. Then, to Ren, he adds, “Ready?”

With four of the twenty barrels on the coffin, Ren sighs. “Do go on ahead, though I myself am to check the remaining barrels. Well aged dwarfish liquor is quite good, and has great value.”

Denlo nods and starts to carry the coffin out of the tomb. Sister Hilan follows, and Sari with them to keep watch. Felazo looks towards them, then back to Ren. “I’ll wait. Help you bring whatever you determine to be good back in fewer trips.

Renalt rolling one of the barrels to the side with several others he already sniffed, shakes his head. “None could quite tell whether or not a barrel hath gone bad, per se. Not without tapping the barrels and tasting. I can but check for that sour smell that most skunked ale and vinegared wine will emit in excess. Even then, I be only capable of catching the smell if it be odorous enough to sense through the wooden barrel.” He moves on to the next barrel.

As Renalt finishes sorting the barrels, Felazo begins to tap his way around the walls and floors. He can’t find anything, but it should be here. Otherwise the boat outside would never have gotten wrecked trying to get here. The map. With a sigh, he begins his casting. He would find this hidden compartment. Renalt sniffs the last of the barrels shortly before Felazo finishes his detection spell. “Ready,” Renalt says, before noticing Felazo, tracing glowing purple sigils in the air with his finger that linger as his hand moves to the next. Finally, the captain finishes the incantation and follows the direction of the nearest hidden compartment to the roof above where the glass coffin sat. Sure enough, there is the slightest indentation, as though it has no clear way to open it. He takes a few seconds to check, testing whether pressing it in some way works, but they need to leave. So he traces a different set of sigils on his palm, ones of deconstruction, and presses that palm against the indentation. Stone, gears and metal plates of the compartment neatly take themselves apart and fall to the ground, revealing inside three things. A single, fist sized diamond, a leaden scroll case, and a stiletto blade. Taking these three objects, he abandons his hold over the spell and the container repairs itself, albeit in the open and on the ground now. “Now we can go,” Felazo says.

“That be what you truly sought, was it not?” Renalt remarks.

Felazo shakes his head. “No,” he says, “The corpse was what I was truly after. This is just the most valuable thing in this place.” He pats the scroll case to indicate which of the objects he was talking about.

“Moreso than the diamond. I must wonder what it may hold, be it a spell, or a book, or something more sinister indeed, that it holds such value.” Renalt has set aside five barrels.

Felazo lifts a pair of them. Renalt another pair, then turning the last on its side, they make their way out of the tomb. As they do so, they see Sha-Denlo waiting wordlessly. With a nod from Felazo, the shadowy form of an Elfi’ika, carrying a ship’s figurehead over one shoulder, silently walks up to them and picks up the rolling barrel. Then the trio follow the path back out. Climbing back up the steep slope is hard while carrying the barrels, but once they make it to the tunnel they first entered through, the journey becomes much easier. And eventually, they make it to shore, where the others are waiting with the boat. “Everything go well?” Sister Hilan asks. The row boat has the glass coffin on it already.

Felazo tosses her the diamond. “Found this after you left, and Ren grabbed five more barrels.” Sha-Denlo places the barrel it was carrying on the ground with the others then heads into the water, carrying the figurehead as he swims over to the ship.

“Sister Hilan, you look pale and wounded. Why don’t you and I take the boat over with the coffin, then I’ll have the shadow return the ship to shore for the others to row their way over with the alcohol.”

“Sari,” Sister Hilan adds as she steps aboard the rowboat, “Even though you might not like them, don’t let them die.”

Alessari rolls her eyes as she clambers up onto a nearby rock to keep line of sight all around. Felazo joins the sister and the coffin in the boat and they start to row. As they travel, the pious human asks the wizardly elf, “Why did you have the shadowed Denlo take the figurehead of that ship?”

“It had a mystic aura about it,” Felazo answers plainly, “And in case you have not noticed, I tend to strip everything magical from any place I investigate archaeologically speaking.” Then, mostly to himself as he begins to animate the ropes of the ship to help in lifting the coffin, he adds, “And so long as I remember to keep the sites old enough, I get praised for doing it, too.”