RAVEN'S GAMBIT | Part 37: Fourteen Begin Anew
They began as sixty-nine.They returned from White Plume Mountain as ten.
Now, reborn, reforged, and reforgiven—they stood again as fourteen.
Sir Cedric Lightbringer trudged through the marsh, every footfall in his heavy plate armor sinking deep into mud, reeds, and stagnant pools. The clank of steel echoed with each effortful stride. Armor like his was not made for terrain like this. He knew it. They all knew it. But still, he wore it—for honor, for penance, for purpose.
He was not supposed to be alive.
Twice, fate had chosen him for resurrection.
And yet, an itch gnawed at the back of his mind: how many more times before it stops choosing?
“Stay focused,” he whispered to himself. You owe them your strength. Not your doubt.
Ahead of them, a low, flat-topped hill, about 200 yards wide and 300 long, loomed in the haze of the swamp like a sleeping beast. Ugly weeds and snarled briars crawled up its 60-foot-high slopes. At its peak, black stones jutted like shattered fangs toward the sky.
“This is it,” said Thalia Emberbranch, bow slung and alert.
Thog Skullsplitter stepped forward without hesitation, probing the brambles with a javelin. On the second jab, the tip hit nothing—open space. "Found something," he rumbled. Others began clearing overgrowth and found two more similar gaps in the earth.
"Three entrances?" Cedric asked aloud, blinking. “Which should we take first?”
“The middle,” he decided after a pause. “Straightforward is often worst… but at least it’s honest.”
Inside, their torchlight and light spells illuminated an impossible hallway. Walls and floor gleamed with brilliant pigments, unfaded by time. A mosaic of vivid reds, blues, greens, and purples stretched the length of the corridor, telling strange stories.
A two-foot-wide winding path of red tiles wove across the mosaic floor like a blood trail. Beneath the colors, the walls whispered images of pastoral beauty and shadowed cruelty—slaves, wolves, beasts of human-animal hybrid origin. There was a library, a torture chamber, and a wizard’s workshop illustrated with uncanny precision.
“Unnerving,” murmured Kael the Ember-Eyed, eyes glowing faintly as they scanned the depictions.
Lira Valesong, curious and confident, stepped closer to study the painting of the torture chamber. Her fingers gently traced the iron door painted there, its clawed prisoner gripping painted bars that jutted ever so slightly.
“LIRA, DON’T—!” shouted Tessa ‘Quickfingers’ Vell, horror rising in her voice.
It was too late.
With a click and whoosh, a section of floor beneath Lira gave way.
The scream was short. The thud… final.
Everyone rushed to the edge, peering down. There, at the bottom of a spiked pit, Lira’s once-beautiful form was broken and still.
"No," Elowyn Mosswhisper whispered, clenching her fists in grief.
“What a waste,” Theron Blackroot muttered coldly.
“Mind your words, warlock,” Sir Cedric growled, stepping forward, fury tightening his jaw.
“I mean no disrespect,” Theron said, eyes hard. “It’s just… she had talents we needed. And now, she's gone. Again.”
“Enough,” Elowyn cut in. “This tomb has claimed one of us already. We won’t let it claim more—not to infighting.”
Tessa, meanwhile, crouched low. “Another trap door here… right next to it.” She slid a wedge into place. “Jammed it shut.”
Everyone stepped back cautiously as she moved to a painted jackal-headed figure along the corridor wall. Its arms held a bronze chest, the only three-dimensional object in the mural.
“Trap,” she said immediately.
She examined the seams, the hinge. The chest was built to spring—a deadly distraction. Her fingers worked quickly. A few tense seconds passed.
Click.
The trap was disabled.
She opened the chest slowly. “Empty…” Then, with a frown, she pried beneath the interior. “False bottom. Found a lever. It’s a secondary trigger for that pit trap.”
Theron cursed. “That painting was bait.”
“This whole place is,” Tessa said grimly. “Every step, every wall—every breath—could be your last.”
She turned to face the group. “You all need to stay close to me. If we don’t want more deaths like Lira’s… you do what I say.”
No one argued.
Fourteen had entered.Thirteen now remained.
And the Tomb of Horrors was only just beginning to smile.