Wikwocket sounded more angry than suffering, so Al didn't worry about her. Gruntle followed him as he continued down the now-drained hallway. At the end, he found the door that Bote and Wikwocket had said they could see. Only a few small patches of pigment remained to suggest the artwork on the door had once been colorful, but at least there was still a carving. It depicted a life-sized elven woman in a toga, with simple rectangular amulet around her neck, a shield of the old elven style on one arm, and the other hand holding aloft a scroll. Gruntle sniffed curiously at it, but if he noticed anything interesting he didn't say so. Behind them, Wikwocket's exclamations of pain finally wound down. Al looked back to see Bote handing her one of their remaining bottles of healing potion.
“The earthshine should be sufficiently potent to dissolve any miasma that might have entered the wounds. You should drink this now to heal them so as not to risk further infection once the earthshine's potency has faded.”
“Well, at least it tastes pretty good,” Wikwocket admitted after she'd opened the bottle and downed the health-giving dairy product. “And, hey, my face doesn't hurt any more! But now I smell like a horrible drunk who's been cavorting in a swamp.”
“While I would not recommend it, you could probably safely rinse yourself off in the water downstairs now. Then you would smell like a sober person who has been cavorting in a swamp, instead.”
She stuck out her tongue at Bote as they re-packed their supplies and donned their pack again. The two of them joined Al and Gruntle at the door.
“Well, that's a brave protector character if I ever saw one,” Wikwocket said as she looked over the carving. “Is this the hero we're looking for?”
“I hope so,” Al replied, “this place seems dangerous. After the dead snake-thing and the blood-sucking plants, hopefully we're done having to fight things. The door has no handle, so we just need to figure out how to open it and find out.”
Wikwocket gave him a disappointed look. “Really?”
She brought BiteySue out and gently poked at the portion of the carving depicting a scroll. It slid smoothly in with a quiet click, and the door swung slightly inward.
“Come on, Al, it's an obvious theme here.”
“This is literally only the second place we've seen this in here.”
“And both places have opened doors! That makes it a theme!”
Gruntle sniffed at the gap in the partly-opened door.
“What do you smell?” Al asked him quietly.
“Dirt.” Gruntle unhelpfully answered. “Digging. New.”
“Oh! Good!” Wikwocket cheered. “The restless dead have dug themselves out from their resting places and are coming to take their revenge on us for disturbing their rest…and then I can stab them!”
“I don't think you're supposed to enjoy being in mortal peril so much.”
“But that makes the most exciting stories!”
Al listened carefully, but heard none of the moaning or shuffling that he'd expected. “Think it's safe to open?”
Wikwocket examined the door carefully, but found nothing concerning. She pushed and the door swung slowly inward, and Al was encouraged by the obvious stone sarcophagus on a dais in the middle of the room. The lid was carved with the likeness of the same elven woman that had been on the door, this time lying on her back, eyes closed and arms crossed on her chest. The floor, walls, and ceiling appeared to be all well-fitted stone, but Gruntle had been right, there was a smell of damp earth and mud that was strong enough for even Al to notice. A brief, faint sound like slithering seemed to be coming from somewhere on the other side of the sarcophagus.
“Cur in hoc temerato loco somnos perturbes?” an authoritative feminine voice called out, and the spectral figure of the elvish woman depicted on the sarcophagus sat up through the lid, stood, and rose up until she seemed to be standing atop the stone.
Al put his hand out to stop the wildly grinning Wikwocket who had taken a step forward, her new dagger held out in her left hand.
“Uh, hello,” Al nervously told the ghostly woman, “are you the hero buried here? We've come from the village of Turnipseed with flowers.”
“Thou speakest the new language,” the ghost said. “Thou bringest the floral tribute for Darius? Long hath it been since the spirit of this land's protector hath been so honored. Why cometh thou now, after so much time, my slumber to disturb in this desecrated place?”
“Yes, well, sorry. The villagers just asked us to bring flowers to the hero's resting place. Should I give them to you?”
“Who thou seekest is Darius, my mate. I am Aemilia. The spirit of Darius protecteth the land, and the spirit of Aemilia protecteth Darius. Why shouldst thou be granted passage to Darius? Art thou worthy of such?”
“I hope so, the villagers seemed to think so. Look, we just want to deliver the flowers like we agreed to, we're not graverobbers or anything.”
The spectral woman regarded them sternly for a long moment. Then, there was another slithery sound.
“An thou destroyeth that which desecrates this resting place, shall the way to Darius be opened unto you,” she pronounced. It was only the ghost's eyes looking down at the floor near the head of her resting place that warned Al of the creature's strike.
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The creature was the size of a horse, shaped like the unholy spawn of an earwig and praying mantis, with long, serrated grasping mandibles that dripped with some foul fluid. It was impossible that such a large thing had simply been crouching down out of sight behind the sarcophagus, but there was no time to think about that. Al managed to conjure a protective spell just in time to keep the creature from catching him, and he took a hasty step backwards. The monstrous insect attempted to give chase, but ran directly into the swinging flail of a charging gnoll. Gruntle's eyes were black as he barked eager laughter. The chitinous shell of the creature's head cracked under the blow but didn't break.
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Bote began a call for divine attention towards their attacker's interference with the ineffable plans as Wikwocket sprinted out from behind Gruntle, BiteySue in her right hand and her new dagger in her left. The creature reared back away from the longer blade, but Wikwocket jabbed in with the dagger as it lunged back in, stabbing a hole into the side of the creature's head. Ichor splattered from the wound as she drew back.
Al heard more slithering sounds coming from around the sarcophagus as Al began to conjure up some magical violence. Three much smaller of the creatures showed themselves, one crawling along the base, the other two clambering onto the lid, much to the evident disgust of the watching specter. They were tiny compared to the massive bug that was currently threatening Gruntle, but the warped offspring of earwig and praying mantis the size of a housecat was still horrifying. As Al called forth the darting bolts of magical force, he redirected them to the three smaller newcomers and hoped the others could handle the big one. The three larvae twitched and writhed but kept coming. The one on the floor scuttled out and sank its mandibles into Al's left ankle before he could move away, the sharp, searing pain seeming not to be diminished by Al's boots at all. The thing only reluctantly fell away even after Al smashed it with a swing of his mace, yelling with pain and anger.
The other two leapt at Gruntle at the same time that the larger one lunged. Gruntle's shield swept the leaping larvae aside but the dripping mandibles of the bigger one took advantage of the opening and clamped around Gruntle's torso, slicing painfully deep and bringing a note of desperate rage to Gruntle's barking battle-laughter. Overwhelming the pain with the urge for brutality, the gnoll hunched forward and bit down into the head of creature that held him in its mandibles. Gruntle's teeth sank through the carapace as if it was the rind of a melon and ichor spurted, but the thing bit down harder even as it writhed in distress. Were Gruntle's teeth always that big? some part of Al wondered as tried to think of some way to free Gruntle.
Too late!
The creature's sharp mandibles spasmed and drove deeper into Gruntle's sides, slashing through dissolving skin and muscle and into vital organs, sending blood pouring down Gruntle's body to pool on the floor. Wikwocket had been forced to turn her attention to holding off the other two larval things. She was able to skewer one of them but was just able to hold the other off when Gruntle's piercing, howling yelp of agony rang out. His back arched and his legs gave out, his weight dragging the persistent monstrosity down to the floor with him. His pupils constricted, turning his eyes from black back to their usual amber before his closing eyelids covered them. His teeth chattered and his arms twitched fitfully in a last effort to keep fighting, and then he was still.
It was surprising to Al how easily the magical violence responded this time, and the bolts of vitality-disrupting energies stabbed through the creature's face. It dropped Gruntle's body the rest of the way to the floor and rolled over onto its back, its legs curling inward and twitching feebly as it died next to the motionless, mangled body of its victim.