Warlock! Something is Rotten in Grim Biskerstaf...

As he scrambles up the stairs, Banio is already cutting his losses. Trusova's death is tragic, Lambert's somewhat less so, but they knew what they were getting into. More or less. It's a shame about the amulet, but Banio still has several elven rings and other trinkets that might fetch a pretty silver back in Grim Biskerstaff. Who knows, with that kind of coin, he might even be able to buy his way out of his little Hissainian problem...

Banio's flight slows to a mere climb, then a pensive ascent. At last he stops on the stair.

"Shit. Shit!"

The little man turns and descends once more. He offers a wilting curse to each step. That is, until he reaches the bottom step upon which the strong box rests.

Well, what do we have here?

Phelbt crouches and snatches the thing. "I have the box!" he calls helpfully to the others. "Let's go!"

The loathsome guardian lowers itself to nearly ground level as the last of the infiltrators slips from the sacrificial chamber. And as two of the desperate delvers work to close the heavy stone door and re-seal the tomb, there's a demonic, wide-mouthed skull launching forward. It comes through the doorway, screeching as its long, black neck coils and loops behind it, and as it tries to sink its fangs deep into Lambert Wolke...

Knowing the thing might lunge, Lambert has his wicked blade ready to cut into the thing!

"Piss off!" he barks, as he slices.

Wolke's knife slices a flap of wet, rotten flesh from the head attacking him, but it's not enough to keep the thing from striking him in the neck -- where vile jaws clench and long, yellowed fangs cause the man's lifeblood to spurt and bubble. The dark, oily-looking appendage attaching the skull -- and now Lambert -- to the main mass of the thing flexes and tightens... Trusova can tell it is going to try and pull the helpless man back into the room by his neck.

Trusova braces one foot against the wall and pulls on the door with all of her might, slamming it into the creature's neck and hoping to decapitate it.

"Fucking DIE!"

The stone door rumbles and scrapes along the floor as Trusova tries to close it with force... but it grinds to a halt long before it closes, and Lambert is being dragged by his neck back into the chamber!

"Ack! Just… fucking… run!" Lambert gurgles, cursing the woman’s steadfastness in the face of danger.

And like that, Lambert Wolke, thief extraordinaire, is violently yanked back into the pit-chamber.

"Aren't we going?!" Banio almost sounds more annoyed than panicked, as if their failure to flee were entirely a matter of choice. And on some level it is; if they simply let the thing have Wolke, then they could...

"Shit! SHIT!"

Dropping the box, Banio scuttles the remaining distance between the bottom of the stairs and the door. With a prayer to the very foulest gods he can imagine, for good fortune and for sheer spite, he heaves his lantern overhand into the chamber of bones, aimed at what passes for the uncanny thing's midsection.

The lantern sails, end over end, flinging and dribbling drops of fiery oil as it lights up the circular chamber -- right past Lambert, right into the the many-faced body of the aberrant amalgamation of bone, dead-flesh, and bristling black spider-hairs. It smashes and in an instant the monster is engulfed in fire, brightly licking flames that pour the worst smelling smoke imaginable into the air!

Flinging Wolke away, sending him tumbling into the bones, the enormous, writhing spider-thing desperately tries to put out the flames that lick and sizzle and sear it's dark, now bubbling skin... and from the doorway, Banio sees that there wasn't as much lamp oil left in the lantern as he was hoping. The blue green flames sputter and shrink as the monster twists and shifts, slamming itself into the ground in an effort to extinguish the flames...

Behind Wolke, closer to the center of the room, many voices screech as the monster continues to burn. Roiling, shuddering, twitching, the thing tries to put out the flames -- which flicker and lick until they are extinguished. Black flesh still glows red-hot and smokes, but the fire is out!

Lambert sails through the air, crashing into the bones which serve to soften the impact somewhat.

Still, the man feels like a bag of hammered shit. He’s been through more tonight than any honest thief should.

And all on account of some cat lady… he groans internally.

He stands, ignoring the coins and jewels strewn about.

"Right! You pissing pissant!" he bellows at the thing in uncharacteristic rage. He’d heard that word once or twice somewhere before!

"Here to there… there to here…" he mutters, as he points the wand at the ugly thing!

For whatever reason, when Wolke recovers from being thrown across the room, he does not regain his feet and sprint for the exit. No, the man stands -- and he levels the elven wand he used earlier at the creature. And when he opens his mouth to speak, to cast the spell that brims within the artifact he holds, his voice is once again not his own!

Here to there... there to here...

The witch is helping Lambert. She's speaking through him, aiding his understanding of the ancient magic he wields!

Trusova and Banio see it, they feel it. The swirl of almost imperceptible energy, the rush of displaced air, the sound of two beings suddenly and violently changing places. Where Lambert stood, the beast looms and chitters, disoriented. Where was that beast -- the gutter-born thief, Lambert Wolke! There's an astonished look on the man's face as he realizes the magic has worked... but then... something is wrong. Wolke's hand, around the wand... is glowing like his bones are embers. There's a heat, and suddenly the man realizes his bones are embers, and that they are searing his flesh from the inside out!

The embers burn hot, and Lambert’s fingers pop like sausages from their casing. The magic fire is white hot and dreadfully contagious. Its spreads to his sodden pants, his cloak, his flesh.

The wand erupts, as it catches fires. The flames, traveling up his back, burns his hair and the smell fills the space.

On the thief’s face is the grieving look of inevitability. Eyes wide, he looks to the other two as they watch on.

"Why… the door…" he sputters out before his throat melts, cursing his decision to turn back and try lock the beast inside.

And then he is engulfed completely. He goes down in a heap, buckling under his own weight. He burns, until nothing is left, except a small pile of burnt black bones, standing out among all the white.

Banio and Trusova witness the whole, terrible event -- and are shaken from what seems like catalepsy by the enormous monster moving again. Towards Lambert's smoking remains it glides, propelled by those hideous long legs, and a half dozen skulls all detach from the body and snake towards what's left of the foolhardy thief.