Gizora staggered away from the relief, feeling like a mountain had been dropped on her head. The relief hadn’t looked like anything extraordinary, but it was a bit strange because of the tomb it was in. Up to this point, the walls had been unadorned, the halls empty, nowhere for a body to be kept. And in the depths of the blandest tomb in existence, was a scene carved into the wall with lifelike detail and a powerful magical signature. None of her tools, spells, or rituals revealed what the magic inside of the sculpture did, only that it was there, and on the level of a senior mage. So, Gizora resorted to the oldest scientific techniques available: poke it and see what happens.
Physically poking it did nothing, but when she reached out to it via her magic, she was sucked into the memory that was contained in the relief. The memory clearly depicted the Demon Horde, which meant it was at least 600 years old, if not older. Gizora shivered to imagine how powerful the Magus who left the magical package of memories would be. For it to last as long as it had, either it was a masterwork of spellcraft, efficient enough to operate off of ambient mana, or it had degraded proportionally, and initially contained an unbelievably massive source of magic. Gizora personally leaned towards the former, as memory magic was notoriously tricky, and the sheer size the spell would have had to be for the other option would have made it impossible for the tomb to remain hidden for so long.
Taking another look at the relief, she was surprised to see that it was even more detailed now, and she recognized some of the beings depicted across it. The dashing woman with the bold cloak was Mariana, the jolly round man was Zaratan, and the central figure, who was leading the rest, was Sarnakog. Gizora frowned, because she still couldn’t recognize most of the beings, and the ones she did recognize were not familiar to her. Even if they were legendary figures, even legends can be lost to the sands of time, forgotten like everyone else. Moving passed that morbid thought, she continued to examine the relief, which was difficult, because it was not just lifelike, but also lifesize, and depicted part of a wild battlefield. As she was examining some of the lower, more central figures, she saw one that held aloft a map, which was an odd thing to have in the middle of a battle.
Gizora looked more closely at the figure, but the knowledge from the magical memory bank did not supply any names or history, so she instead turned her attention to the map itself. At first it made no sense, but then the markings on it became increasingly clear, and with a start she realized that the location of the tomb was marked on it, with 4 other marks of the same kind scattered throughout the region. The mark was a skull, with a rune on its forehead, which was a symbol usually used to denote the location of a lich, a powerful undead master of magic, who can only be killed if one finds and destroys their phylactery first.
Were these sites all phylacteries? Or maybe each was a tomb that contained another memory bank, and they were all from the same being? And it was likely that that being was a lich, between the markings on the map, the magical expertise of the memory spell, and the fact that all of this was in a tomb screamed lich. And if the memory Gizora saw was from the Demon Horde, then that narrows down the possibilities significantly. There aren’t many famous liches, and most of them are extra dead, for the final time. However, there is one lich that is associated very heavily with the events leading up to the Eve of Heroes and the fall of the Demon Horde: Jagmundi.
Gizora wasn’t an expert on history, but she picked up a lot in her attempts to find and explore ancient sites and ruins, and Jagmundi was a name even the illiterate knew. Suspected to be a hero summoned by the last Demon King, Jagmundi was widely considered to be a pseudonym, and he was instrumental in the Demon King’s victory, and defeat. After that, he disappeared, along with the other suspected heroes, and was used as a boogie man by the people of Doabos. Could the tombs on the map be left behind by Jagmundi? For what purpose?
Still recovering from the memory, and reeling from the potential of what she discovered, Gizora almost missed the grinding sound of stone on stone. Only almost though. She turned, and saw a section of the wall sliding out, blocking the way back out of the tomb. The stone moved slowly, but it was far enough away that she would never be able to make it in time. Still, she sprinted as fast as she could, throwing herself towards the door, and falling short by a few scant seconds
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She pushed against the stone, struck it, probed it with her magic, and cursed at it. The stone had spelled to meld with the walls after it sealed the entrance, and was covered in a powerful anti-magic rune script, effectively turning it into another wall, and the lid of a death trap.
Gizora was scared. Most people who explored the ruins shared a few primary fears, and being buried alive was one of them. She’d seen the remains of other people who had been buried alive, and read diaries left by others. It was not a pleasant way to die. If suffocation didn’t kill her, eventually starvation or dehydration would. Not to mention, even if she did have enough food and water to survive for a while, the descent into madness was near inevitable. There wouldn’t be much of her left to rescue.
She paced, frantically trying to think of a way out when, irritated by the cold breeze, when it hit her. A breeze. Air flow. There must be a way out! Gizora turned away from the sealed entrance, to head deeper into the tomb, and was surprised to see a doorway where the map carrier had been in the relief. She hadn’t even heard anything, nor had she seen a seam, but the impossible is magic’s bread and butter, so she wasn’t too offput. Just a little very wary of what she may find there, or what may find her,
Gathering herself, and every light she could get her hands on, mundane and magical alike, she walked through the narrow doorway, into what must have been the real tomb. Ornate carvings, treasures, magical artifacts she could feel even without specialized equipment, things far more in line with what she expected of a tomb constructed by an ancient lich. There were no bodies, not that necromancers tend to leave any, but there were various little memorials, almost shrones, in alcoves throughout the room. Each had a painting, a plaque, some items, and a burning candle. The wax wasn’t melting, and the flame generated neither smoke nor heat, only a gentle yellow light that danced across the portraits.
One alcove, at the far end of the room, was mostly empty. It had no portrait, items, or candle, only a plaque, and a small shelf of books. Gizora had been bouncing from alcove to alcove, examining items, and reading the plaques, but felt drawn to the plain one. She wandered closer, feeling the strange draw grow in strength. The plaque was resting on top of the low shelf, instead of fastened below where a portrait would be. She picked it up, and was surprised about what was written on it.
> If you are reading this, then you have been found suitable for the knowledge accumulated by my master, the great lich Jagmundi. You have sufficient attunement to the branches of magic he favors, and the mental fortitude required to draw out the full potential of the magic you will wield. The only things for you here are this plaque, the books, and the map that will appear upon your exiting the tomb. Take anything else, and the offered knowledge will remain lost to you. Pour your mana into this plaque, and you will bind the mentor spirit slumbering within, which will help you master the magic you have acquired, and find more caches left by the master. If you reach high enough, perhaps we will cross paths.
>
> -Okrich Kane
Gizora looked at the shelf, which, while small, was still in no way something she would be able to easily take with her. She could always put the books in the pack she brought her equipment in, but then she would have to decide what she was willing to part with. Luckily, most of it was cheap, one use, or disposable, so she could clear enough space for all of the books. Unfortunately, the books were much heavier than what they replaced, and dug into her back through the bag. The plaque was small enough to slip into a side pocket, and everything else she needed would be in her camp outside.
As she made her way out, into the bland part of the tomb, the wall closed silently behind her, and the map in the relief turned into paper, folded itself up, and fell on the floor. Gizora picked it up, slipped it into a pocket, and exited through the now unblocked entrance.
Her camp wasn’t too far away, only a couple kilometers, but every step felt like 3, and when she finally made it back she collapsed in her tent, soaked in sweat. Any movement hurt, but she was starving. There wasn’t a whole lot to eat in a hidden tomb constructed by the undead, and she had been gone for at least a day. She scarfed down some jerky and hardtack, chased it with some water, and crawled into her tent for the night.