Oral panting getting his breath back from the near death fight they had just won looks at the others "We should look around and see if we can find anything useful to out cause. I will also look for secret doors."
Rising from the floor, Mahluk wipes sweat and blood from his brow and takes hold of one of the black iron swords. It will have to do for now. His eyes survey the room, and immediately lock on to the golden doors at the end. "Through there," he says, his voice hoarse from all of the invoking. "Demon, what lies beyond yonder portal?"
Krüül wipes his brow and follows the sorcerer's gaze to the golden door. He runs towards it and then listens against the surface to see if he can't hear what lies beyond...
"Maybe we could salvage some armor for the warriors before we move on. I see no leather for me but something is better than nothing for them." Still searching the are for anything useful.
You'll have to reverse the location of the skeletal types in the image. The ones with armor were up in the alcoves, the ones in tatters and rags were the ones you were fighting.
There are other (unmoving) skeletons in the alcoves on the walls above that have armor, shields, and spears, though whether these are useful arms and armor or something just ceremonial and decorative remains to be seen. And perhaps it is best to let the dead rest in a place such as this?
The gilded door (or perhaps a gleaming bronze?) reveals nothing of its secrets until it be opened.
[ +- ] Listening at the door:
You hear a bubbling sound, like some pot of liquid boiling, and sometimes the clink of glass on glass, but as far as you can tell there are no large movements or loud noises from beyond the door.
Searching the floor of the green chamber with its soft chandelier above reveals nothing new or obvious. The recently defeated skeletals bear scraps of cloth over their dessicated bodies, and four black iron swords not yet claimed by the victors lie upon the field of battle.
The demon hisses at Mahluk in an unknown tongue. Then it points to the door and starts to move towards it as though preparing to open it.
Hambul will grab a sword, then will give a couple of swings to test is balance and weight.
Hambul will approach the door silently, hearing the noises he is confused, whatever is on the other side was not attracted by the noise of battle, perhaps a trap or some other mechanism inside.
Hambul will inspect the door for any sign of trap
"I detect no traps in this door, but the craftsmanship is quite impressive, something of great significance may lie behind" Hambul says with apprehension instead of enthusiasm
As you push open the heavy wooden door, it creaks loudly on its iron hinges, the sound echoing eerily down the corridor behind you. The air that greets you is thick, charged with an unnatural energy that raises the fine hairs on the back of your neck. The temperature shifts subtly as you step inside, the cool dampness of the dungeon replaced by a strange warmth that seems to pulse in the room.
Before you stretches an ancient laboratory, its purpose unmistakably arcane. The walls are lined with seven tall mirrors, each polished to a perfect sheen despite the age of the room. They are framed in intricately carved bronze, their surfaces shimmering faintly as though catching a light that isn’t there. Strange symbols are etched into their edges—runic inscriptions that seem to dance and shift if you stare at them for too long, defying your comprehension.
In the center of the chamber rises a short stone pillar, its surface covered in deep grooves and glowing glyphs that pulse rhythmically like a heartbeat. Hovering above the pillar is a weapon unlike any you’ve ever seen (except perhaps one of you): a magnificent eldritch blade. Its golden hilt is engraved with intricate filigree, and its blade gleams with a brilliance that seems to repel the encroaching shadows of the room. A single, narrow shaft of light descends from an unseen source high above, illuminating the sword in radiant detail. The light refracts across the blade, scattering golden rays onto the mirrors, which flicker with brief flashes of light as if alive.
The rest of the laboratory is cluttered with remnants of its dark purpose. Scattered across the floor are shards of glass, broken vials, and fragments of shattered tools. Along the walls, rusted shelves lean precariously, their surfaces littered with alchemical jars filled with unknown substances—some glowing faintly, others inert and dark. Scrolls and scraps of parchment are piled in disarray on a nearby table, the faded ink hinting at lost knowledge too dangerous or forbidden to preserve properly.
There is a hum in the air, faint but constant, a vibration that seems to resonate in your chest. The sound intensifies as you move closer to the eldritch blade, the brilliance of its light making it impossible to look directly at for too long. Around you, the mirrors seem to shift imperceptibly, their reflections catching movements that aren’t yours—or perhaps they are, distorted and otherworldly. The room feels alive, its very atmosphere imbued with ancient, arcane energy that thrums with potential danger.
Whatever this place once was, it is clear it holds both power and peril. The gleaming sword beckons, an artifact of immense significance, but the mirrors and their enigmatic glow hint at secrets and trials yet to come.
Mahluk steps forward as though not controlling his own legs. He stumbles towards the gleaming blade. "Solaris," he mutters. The blade was to be his again, and he it. If he isn't stopped by man nor trap, he reaches out with a wavering hand to grasp its hilt. "They tried to break you of your bond to me, that bitch Queen."
Krüül crouches into a combat ready stance as Mahluk reaches for the blade, fully expecting any number of horrors to emerge from the shadows at any moment...
As Mahluk stretches out his hand toward the radiant blade, the room’s flickering light seems to pause, as if the air itself were holding its breath. The golden hilt, glowing with such a tantalizing brilliance, appears solid, real—undeniably there. But the moment his fingers close around it, they encounter... nothing. No weight, no resistance, no texture. His hand passes effortlessly through the hilt as though it were an illusion crafted from light and air.
The disruption ripples through the room like a stone dropped in a still pond. The beams of light refracting from the blade shimmer chaotically, scattering into fragmented patterns. The radiant flares reflecting in the seven mirrors lining the walls blink out for the briefest of moments, leaving the room dimmer and unnervingly silent. The once-dazzling glow of the eldritch blade wavers, dimming for a heartbeat before resuming its radiance—but now it seems less vibrant, as though something vital had been disturbed.
As Mahluk withdraws his hand, the mirrors respond. Their surfaces ripple as though they were pools of liquid, reflections bending and warping in unnatural ways. For an instant, the mirrored surfaces reveal not the room, but fleeting glimpses of shadowy figures and objects within them—indistinct, almost spectral. A low, resonant hum fills the air, growing steadily louder, and the light beams projecting from the blade begin to stabilize again, though they now feel sharper, more directed, as if they were aware of his presence.
The room seems to react to the failed attempt, the arcane energy intensifying. The glyphs on the stone pillar below the blade pulse rapidly, a rhythm that feels like a warning. Whatever the nature of this artifact, it is clear that the image is something unusual—it is either a riddle waiting to be solved, or a trap awaiting its unwitting prey.
Oral moves to the first mirror from the left and taps on it gently. A faint melodic chime resonates from the mirror, filling the room with an almost soothing sound that lingers in the air. After a moment, the sound quiets.
