The platform was gigantic, miles across in every direction. From the door, the distance hid the true size of the building, rising from the cavern floor. The small doorway leading further down into the blackness of the tomb was invisible from the distance, blending into the shadows of the cavern and the natural darkness of the stone. The closer that Kurtz came to the platform, the more of an unnatural ominous feeling he began to get, almost as if this place should not be entered.

The staircase inside was straight and simple, no twists and turns like before. Down the party walked, and several times Kurtz wondered if he should just throw himself down the stairs and have terrible act be over with, the anticipation and fear done. Something inside of him still hung to life however, some simple lingering sensation deep inside that he may yet live through this, though it was so small it could not be called hope.

The room at the base of the stairs was a complete contrast to the previous aesthetic of the tomb. Lavish tapestries of dyed silk, opulent even through the rot and wear of countless years lined the wall, causing a sensation of comfort. Towards the far end of the room, gilded trunks of wood and metal lay open, displaying its contents of precious metals and jewels. Works of fine wood, pottery and metalwork lay strewn about the endless amounts of coins and jewelry creating the idyllic scene of a treasure trove from a child’s story. At the far end of the room was a square hole in the floor, a shoot that seemed to go into utter blackness.

In the very center of the room sat a large golden throne, upon which sat a skeletal figure, a large golden crown sitting upon his head, and a golden staff in his hand. Clothed in robes dyed a bright blood red, it’s head sat at an awkward angle as an ancient curved blade sat lodged in its chest.

Kurtz couldn’t believe the scene in front of him, understanding why the group had been so callous and cruel. The room he stood in held the treasure of kings, enough material wealth to buy anything that could be desired.
“That’s Him! The Arch-Necromancer, The First Lich! The God of Undeath who created an entire school of Magic. Namenth-Al, The Imperishable.” The thin man proclaimed, awe in his voice. “His own followers betrayed him at the height of his glory, each taking part of their power for themselves, becoming incomparably strong. They left his remains down here, even after defeating him, afraid that he would one day return to seek revenge.” The sound of pride ringing out, as if he had a part in any of the story.

“Surely they wouldn’t leave all of this wealth just lying around, Merek.” The large man said. “The stories said that the disciples split his magic and artifacts, but they most likely didn’t care about the material wealth. After all, with the power they took, they could just get more. Short sighted on their part eh?” he said with a sneer. “Though, maybe we should have the dolt go in first, just to make sure.”