RAVEN'S GAMBIT | Episode 71: The Laughter in the Wall
The air grew damp as the next door groaned open on rusted hinges.
Thalia wrinkled her nose. “Smells like rot and regret.”
Light from Elric’s staff spilled into the gloom. The chamber beyond was choked in shadow, but the scent told the tale before their eyes could: mold, decay, stagnant water—and something older, crueler.
A shallow basin was set into the western wall. Murky water spilled over its cracked edge, forming puddles that seeped into the moss-covered floor. The bones of the fallen lay scattered—human, elven, maybe even dwarven—clad in rusted mail and disintegrating leathers.
Sir Cedric’s jaw tightened. “They died slowly.”
“No fresh kills,” Elowyn noted. “Nothing hunting here. Just... waiting.”
Lira crept forward, boots splashing softly in the ankle-deep water. “I’ll bet my best bra those bones belonged to the last poor bastards who came this way.”
“You have a best bra?” Thog asked, brow raised.
“Not the time,” Elric muttered.
Kaela stepped ahead, wiping grime from the northern wall with the edge of her cloak. “There’s writing.”
Runes glowed faintly beneath her touch—just enough for Common-literate eyes to read.
Theron stepped beside her and read aloud, voice low and grim:
“YOU WHO DARED TO VIOLATE MY TOMB MAYREMAINAND DIE SLOWLY OF STARVATION, OR ESCAPE TOCERTAIN DEATH.WHATEVER YOUR CHOICE, ACERERAK THEETERNALWATCHES AND SCOFFS AT YOUR PUNY EFFORTSAND ENJOYS YOUR DEATH THROES.”
A silence fell.
Even Thog didn’t make a joke.
Tessa’s voice broke it. “He enjoys our death throes?”
Bran crossed his arms, squinting at the script. “Dude’s got a flair for the dramatic. I hate him already.”
“‘Escape to certain death,’” Elric repeated. “He’s warning us we can leave... but whatever’s outside this room might be worse.”
“Or it’s a bluff,” Elowyn said.
“Or it’s the truth,” Cedric replied.
Kaelen tilted his head. “Or it’s both. The Tomb gives choices. Horrible ones.”
Thalia knelt, brushing aside a pile of blackened bones. “Look at this,” she said softly. “Broken fingers, curled toward the wall. Like they were trying to claw their way out.”
“Died slowly,” Sir Cedric echoed. “One by one.”
Elowyn ran her hand along the wall basin. “Still water. No current. This isn’t runoff. It's fed deliberately.”
Elric nodded, eyes scanning the glyphs. “A passive trap. Psychological warfare. There’s no puzzle here—just despair.”
Tessa clutched the hilt of her dagger. “Then let’s not stay long.”
Kaela’s eyes flashed violet for a moment as she cast a simple divination. “There’s no magical trigger in this room. But something’s watching. I can feel it.”
Sir Cedric turned toward the exit on the far side of the room—a sealed stone door marked with three circular indentations.
“No locks. No handles,” he muttered.
Theron squatted near the base. “Three holes. It wants something.”
“Offerings?” Kaelen asked.
“Or keys,” said Thalia. “Anyone else notice what’s not in this room? Weapons. Equipment. Everything here’s junk.”
Lira nodded slowly. “The real loot’s elsewhere.”
“Yeah,” Bran said grimly. “Through that door.”
Thog smacked his fists together. “Then let’s bash it in.”
“No,” Elowyn snapped. “You bash that, and Acererak’s probably got a hundred skeletons just waiting behind it with exploding skulls.”
“Been there,” Kaelen added dryly. “Not fun.”
Sir Cedric turned. “We rest here. Just long enough to think. Eat, patch wounds, clear our heads. But we don’t get comfortable.”
“And we don’t drink the water,” Elric warned.
Thalia stared at the basin as it dripped steadily.
Tink. Tink. Tink.
The rhythm was maddening.
Raven stirred in her prison beyond the veil, lips curled in bitter amusement. “Choices, children,” she whispered, unheard. “The Tomb devours the indecisive.”
Far above the group, in a narrow slit near the ceiling, a soundless chuckle reverberated through ancient stone.
The Tomb was watching.
And it was amused.