The flooded tomb of the aurochs Vikramarka: a dungeon with a river in it

02 Sep, 2025

A nightly terror afflicts Lippok, three days’ travel downriver by boat from Uruk. The village is small, little more than a waystop along the way to the larger settlements in flatter regions of the floodplain. But it is nevertheless nestled solidly beside the red fork of the river; it thought itself safe from unnatural dangers. They were not prepared for the shadow that comes each night to drain men of life with a single touch, drying up blood into a fine red powder within their bodies.

They do not know the shadow emerges from a muddy hole in the riverbank half a mile upriver, just recently unearthed by natural undulations. The shadow blames the entire world for this insult.

This hole in the riverbank opens into an ancient tomb, long-forgotten and recently-flooded. The name of the man for whom it was built was Vikramarka, called the aurochs. Only Sabbas could possibly remember this truth.

The flooded tomb of the aurochs Vikramarka

Encounters in 1–6 and 12–18

1. Malah (male; HD 2: obligated¹ to serve the patriarch of his family and to defend Lippok from danger; wears a bronze helm, leather cuirass, and leather greaves, and wields a bronze-tipped spear) slowly wades through the tomb. He is another wanna-be hero who comes to defeat the evil lurking inside. If left to his own devices, Malah will be killed by the shades in 7, his blood consumed by those maddened ghosts. Replace this entry with 2d4 ghuls, freshly born.
2. Three otters (see 1) chase a fourth, devolving into a chaotic scrimmage upon capture. The turtle (see 11) lurks nearby. It will lunge if it senses a chance to capture prey, and doesn’t care if it lunges at an otter or a human. Food is food.
3. A river salamander (HD 2; armor as leather; damage 1d6) nearly five feet in length meanders through the tomb, exploring. It is mud-brown and produces a thick, viscous oil between the folds of its skin. If threatened, it rolls around in the water and rapidly flicks its heavy, shovel-like tail, scattering the oil in a wide radius along the surface of the water. It then clicks its pebbly teeth—a spark flies out. Then the water itself is on fire, and chances are that you are too. Burning characters take 1d6 damage per round. If driven away or killed, replace with 2d4 otters.
4. A maddened shade, escaped from the death pit, silently attacks. Subtract this from the number of shades in the tomb—there has only ever been eighty-seven. It cannot cross the flowing water in 2, 3, and 6.
5. Predatory river fish, mud-brown and spined, nip at your ankles for 1d6-2 damage per round until driven off. There are too many of them to truly defeat, but skewering a few usually sends a message to the rest. They’ll keep coming back until they all die, slowly asphyxiated by the stagnant water in which they’re trapped.
6. The wraith attacks from the darkness. Reroll if it’s nighttime and the wraith has left the tomb.

Encounters in 7–10 always attract the attention of the maddened shades on that side of the flowing water—all of them.

Scale: ten-foot squares.

When otherwise unmentioned, chambers have walls and ceilings of baked brick covered in chipped and water-damaged frescoes depicting the glory of the aurochs Vikramarka. Ceilings are barrel vaulted, fourteen feet tall at their highest point. Doors are made of rotten wood nailed with copper. Water channels are a foot wide and three inches deep, rounded at the corners, with bottoms covered in a thin layer of gold-flecked sand. Channels that pass through walls retain those dimensions—attempting to use them as peepholes proves quite difficult. All chambers are sloped at a minimum of three degrees to the east, allowing for consistent water flow in the channels.

Water channels (dry now, unless submerged) are marked in tan, though the color is altered if they’re submerged. Ankle-height water is marked in light blue, waist-height water is marked in dark blue, and chest-height water is marked in purple. Assume an almost complete lack of translucency and uneven, sudden changes in depth due to the heavy buildup of gold-flecked sediment.

1: Riverbank hole and unfinished tunnel

The steep slope of the riverbank reveals an ovular hole leading into darkness. Loose sediment and collapsed sheets of mud indicate a recent opening. A steady stream of ankle-high water flows into the mouth; further collapse both opens the hole wider and provides more obstacles for the water to enter: a kind of stasis.

Twenty-two lithe, short-furred river otters (HD 1; armor as leather; damage 1d6-1) frolic in the shallows here during the daytime hours. Their attention is currently captured by a heavy bee’s nest bending the branch of a scraggly tree clinging to the sloped riverbank. The bees’ industry has been so fruitful that golden honey, the tears of the sun, drips freely from the overflowing hive. The otters scheme a way to knock the whole thing down; in the meantime they fight over the right to wait, openmouthed, underneath the hive. From dusk to dawn the otters can be found in 3, 4, and 6 instead, hiding from mosquitos, nighttime predators, and the wraith.

Actually noting this as a location of importance may be tricky, for the wraith’s passage to and from the tomb entrance at dawn and dusk is obscured by the thick, heavy clouds of mosquitoes that swarm along the surface of the river. The otters are quite familiar with all of this, of course, but good luck getting them to tell you.

South: Collapsed mud and dirt opens into an unfinished tunnel of baked brick.

2: Unfinished tomb with otter midden

Silt has accumulated in the corners of this chamber, and in the shallows play dozens of tiny black crabs. They pick over the otter droppings left near the eastern doorway—a defiant gift for the turtle in 11.

The wasting sickness came quickly upon Vikramarka, in the end. The twin tombs for his twin sons were never finished during his lifetime. They were never finished after it, either. Within days of their father’s death, the boys were castrated and sent to the graces in Uruk. So ended the lineage of the aurochs Vikramarka.

Their names were Timos and Tilmun. Only Sabbas could possibly remember this truth.

West: The edge of the water laps at the base of a wooden door rotting off of its hinges. The scent of petroleum, the black blood of the dead, is overpowering.
East: A bronze door, carved with scenes of Vikramarka’s piety towards Lugal, is firmly stuck open.
South: Frescoes hiding a secret door to the south have been broken apart by the shallow stream; an otter-sized hole can easily be expanded, or bowling ball-esque finger-holes hidden in the eyes of the depicted figures can be used to open the door properly.

3: Crossroads rubbish heap

The stream flows through this once-secret intersection, pooling over and around the piles of crab shells left by the otters. A particularly fat otter lounges in the southwest corner of the chamber. It rolls over, yawning, as it snacks on a particularly-bony river fish, making faces every time it has to spit out a bone.

West: A bronze door bars entrance, carved with the image of a stern, maternal woman wearing armbands shaped like schooling fish. The chamber beyond is untouched and undefiled to this day.
East: A bronze door bars entrance, carved with the image of a young woman in the act of smiling at a dove alighted on one arm. She holds a swaddled infant with the other. Much more skill and effort has been put into rendering this woman’s likeness: laugh-lines, a birthmark. Small fish swim through the openings on either side of the base of the door, fleeing to the other side if approached.
South: The plain rear face of a door hidden amidst wall frescoes has been broken apart by the shallow stream; an otter-sized hole can easily be expanded. Small finger-holes used to move the door double as peepholes

4: Symbolic tomb

The frescoes on the walls of this grand chamber depict a lush paradise. The ceiling, reaching twenty feet in height, is covered in frescoes depicting a dual celestial scene: night and day, each beautiful in its own right. Despite the detailed chaos of the walls and ceiling, eight columns act to focus the eye on the far wall; they are carved in the image of thick trees wrapped in vines, upon which perch songbirds of all types: warblers, swallows, larks, wrens, thrushes. Only the top half of the mural dominating the far wall is still legible—the same young woman as depicted on the door gazes fondly at the strong man wrapping her in his arms: Vikramarka, depicted in his youth. Together, they cradle a swaddled infant.

The only dove is perched on the third column from the door on the southern row. It can be depressed to open a secret compartment hidden in that pillar. Within are a pair of jade wedding bands, worn close to heart for all of Vikramarka’s life. It was only on the day he died that they were finally laid here to rest.

Her name was Tziril, and his name was to be Ushar. Only Sabbas could possibly remember this truth.

5: Untouched tomb

Frescoes on the far wall show Vikramarka, solidly middle-aged, holding hands with the stern woman depicted on the door. They stand at arm’s length—there is little warmth in their eyes, but they present a strong, unified whole.

A plain stone sarcophagus sits in the center of the section of floor delineated by the now-dry channels. Within, a skeleton dressed in the remains of a dress interwoven with silver thread wears thick gold armbands shaped like schooling fish—a rather common material, but well-beloved and finely worked. A silver wedding band studded with small sapphires still rests on the finger. An electrum coin still rests where the tongue once was.

This tomb has survived the river’s encroachment intact. Should it be defiled—should the door be broken down, the room flooded, the lid thrown open and the grave goods stolen without a second thought—then Lippok will, within the season, suffer the rage of a second wraith.

Her name was Isadora. Only Sabbas could possibly remember this truth.

6: Unfinished tomb and river’s egress

The flowing water finds its way into in this unfinished tomb, the twin of 2. To the south, at the far end of the unfinished tunnel of baked brick, water has started to bore a hole deep into the earth. It laps and digs, slowly searching for something. The fact that the water is still flowing indicates that it’s found something: the domain of the doorkeeper, divine king of those deep places. Despite the lack of light, a small frond of tamarisk grows in the nutrient-rich sediment at the beginning of the eroded tunnel.

West: A plain brick wall. The false door at 9 is only carved on one side.
East: A bronze door, carved with scenes of Vikramarka’s piety towards Lugal, is stuck shut. Sediment has piled up behind it.

7: Death pit chamber

The ceiling of this great chamber reaches a height of twenty feet, where 4d20 bats roost at all times other than dawn and dusk, when they flock to feast on the mosquito clouds. The chosen of Ereshkigal, they and the shades have an easy accord. The floor below their roosting spots is covered in sticky guano. The walls (where not also streaked with guano) are covered in frescoes, faded but intact, depicting the glorious conquest of Vikramarka: the monsters he slew, the great men he laid low, the riches he took as spoils.

The room’s petroleum stink comes from the great pit in the center-east of the chamber: 8. The fresco on the wall directly to the east of the pit depicts the aurochs Vikramarka in his prime and larger than life. He wears a bronze helm crowned with bull horns and holds an amphora out in front of him and from it pours a thick, black-brown liquid: petroleum, the black blood of the dead. It dribbles down the wall, all the way to the floor, where it meets the pit. A second figure stands beside Vikramarka, only slightly smaller than him. This figure, likewise dressed in bronze armor, wears his beard in two twin braids and pours his own amphora of petroleum into the pit.

His name was Sabbas. It’s only possible he still remembers this truth.

Sixteen shades lurk in this chamber, clawing at the walls. They attack the living on sight. They cannot cross the flowing water in 2.

West: A channel-lined stairway leads to the plain rear face of a panel-door hidden amidst wall frescoes. Small finger-holes used to move the door double as peepholes.

8: Death pit

A dry channel runs around this square pit of baked brick, surrounding it entirely. Six feet below the lip is the surface of the rancid petroleum. It is impossible to tell how deep the pit is—the oil is crude, black, and impenetrable.

Settled at the bottom of the separated layers of oil—like sedimentary stone liquified—are eighty-six mummified corpses. Their arms and legs are chained together by links of bronze, all in a line. The corpses are piled on top of one another, preserved in their final action: crabs in a bucket fighting to reach the top.

Jumping in the pit leaves one safe from the shades; as soon as they were able, they fled the pit, and they will never willingly return. You’ll just have to survive drowning in the petroleum.

9: Trapped corridor

This short corridor is trapped; the door at the eastern end is merely a (lifelike) carved facsimile. Trying to open the false door triggers the ten-foot square pit trap in front of the door. A character that triggers the trap falls twenty feet onto the rotting remains of sharpened wooden stakes, taking 2d6 damage. The venom smeared on the stakes has long since dried into irrelevancy.

10: False tomb

This tomb is a false one, staged to look like looters have long-ago absconded with the grave goods. Three sarcophagi lay torn open; their lids, thrown to the floor, depict the aurochs Vikramarka, a stern, maternal woman, and a young, beautiful woman. The scattering of bones within them once belonged to pigs. The only treasures left for grave robbers are three polished cowrie shells and a single electrum coin—stamped, of course, with the image of Lugal and the image of an elephant on each face.

The dry channel surrounding the sarcophagi extends a short way north of the chamber wall in a subterranean tunnel until it terminates in a wall of packed dirt—once the source of the river water flowing through the carved channels throughout the tomb.

Seven shades lurk in this chamber, clawing at the walls. One lies in the central sarcophagus, miming a peaceful death. They attack the living on sight. They cannot cross the flowing water in 2.

West: A stairwell rises up, once reaching the surface. It collapsed long ago. Even knowing where it is, it would take a team of workers several days to excavate. A single shade claws insubstantially at the collapse.
South: Frescoes depicting the glory of Vikramarka hide a secret door made of a thin panel of masonry. Bowling ball-esque finger-holes hidden in the eyes of the depicted figures can be used to move it aside, providing access to the rest of the tomb.

11: Trapped corridor (remix)

The frescoes of this corridor—where undamaged by the flooding—depict many people dying in various gruesome-but-specific ways. Some murder their companions for waterskins; others murder their companions just to eat their flesh. The greatest number of deaths are suicides. Furthermore, all of the figures are trapped by boxy frames. They are simple artistic flourishes at first glance, but many figures—especially those further down the corridor, out of view from those standing in the doorway—interact with the frames: clawing at them, leaning against them with their heads in their hands. They are, invariably, trapped.

This is not simply a disturbing decorative choice. The door at the far end of the corridor is merely a (lifelike) carved facsimile. Should the bronze door leading to this corridor close, it will not open again from this side. Short of breaking down the bronze door, several inches thick, or tunneling through the walls with mining tools, there is no way to escape the corridor unless the door is opened from the other side. The frescoes take on a different tone to those trapped themselves—mockery.

The otters avoid this corridor not for its trap, but for its denizen. A massive, soft-shelled turtle (HD 3; armor as chain; damage 1d6 or 1d12 from ambush) makes its home in the muck at the far end of the corridor. It can navigate extremely well underwater, hold its breath for up to an hour, and swims very quickly, very quietly. It also doesn’t like anyone disturbing its rest.

The turtle feels safe in this corridor and always returns here after a meal. Should you dig free the door, it could very easily be trapped.

12: Untrapped corridor

The frescoes of this corridor match those of 12 in style and placement, but rather than slowly dying the figures kneel reverently toward 13. In the context of the bronze door leading to this corridor, it seems they all worship Lugal in unison. However, the bronze door at the far end of the corridor displays the aurochs Vikramarka holding his hands to the heavens, head thrown back in either rapture or triumph. His bearing is ambiguous—is he a fellow worshipper, or is he the subject of worship himself?

13: False tomb (remix)

This tomb is another decoy, though more ornate in its deception. Only one sarcophagus sits on the central platform, its discarded carved in the image of the aurochs Vikramarka. The scattered bones within once belonged to various animals, though several are looped by copper bangles shaped like winding grapevines—valuable enough, though one could imagine laughably base in comparison to what was surely already taken. Hidden under a pile of other bones, easily-explained as to why it was left behind, is a finger-bone—perhaps once a chicken’s—wearing a wedding band made of silver and set with numerous tiny sapphires. Only in the light of day does one realize it is actually made of tin and that the sapphires are nothing but shards of colored glass.

Both stone pillars are carved to resemble great aurochs holding up the ceiling with their broad shoulders and weighty horns, the beasts’ fur painted with lapis lazuli pigments and their horns gilt to this day. Only the north pillar is actually structural and made of stone, however. The south pillar is a cleverly-disguised, hollow installation made of fired clay—the paint covering both pillars hides one’s illegitimacy, though by disturbing the waterline one can notice the difference in materials. The south pillar is constructed for rotation, and doing so activates the mechanism that opens and closes the secret door on the east wall.

East: A mural depicting the aurochs Vikramarka holding an obsidian-tipped spear and cradling a bronze helmet crowned with heavy bull’s horns decorates a secret door. It is currently cracked open, its presence obvious, but providing access only to the slightest of explorers (though otters and fish happily slip through). Through the crack, a flooded stairwell.

14: Biographic murals

Stairs descend to a landing that then splits before an oversized mural depicting both the end and the beginning of Vikramarka’s life. Despite the flooding, it is well-enough preserved. On the left half of the wall, the aging warrior dies in bed, surrounded by loving companions: women weep; men bow their heads in sorrow; children grasp his body, not understanding. His shade—powerful and virile, completely unlike the sack of flesh and bones on the bed—strides between the mourners, returning to the river, in which he completely immerses himself. There is no border or pillar to bisect the scene that begins to the right of this, where Vikramarka’s shade emerges from the river and finds an inert baby in its mother’s arms. Vikramarka cradles the baby’s head, kisses it on the lips, then disappears. The baby opens its eyes. The next scene, the last on this wall, shows the baby playing with a wooden toy carved in the shape of an aurochs.

The scenes continue throughout this looping corridor, depicting important moments in Vikramarka’s life in counterclockwise fashion. The water is chest-high in this corridor, so only the top half of each image remains extant. The complete images of each panel in the cycle are described below.

A: First victory

A youthful Vikramarka wears a bronze helm crowned with bull horns and directs a chariot pulled by a pair of sturdy kungas into battle. He faces down a horde of savage and perverted foes, fighting alongside a band of noble warriors, though one in particular is highlighted: a likewise-youthful warrior who styles his beard in two twin braids. Together, they force the enemy warlord to kneel, and Vikramarka claims the man’s obsidian-tipped spear as his own.

B: First marriage

The previous mural bleeds into this one, as the enemy warlord, chained at his arms and legs, follows behind a youthful Vikramarka as he collects tribute from the other man’s village. There, Vikramarka lays eyes on a young woman who looks down on him with solemn beauty from the window of the big house that was once the enemy warlord’s. A dove rests on her shoulder. Vikramarka woos her, assisted by the musical skills of his twin-braided companion, and the pair marry, exchanging simple bands of jade.

C: Tomb construction and secret door

Vikramarka has aged into proper manhood in this mural. He looks over the construction of this very tomb, offering a vision of what it once looked like before the river took its toll. He is proud and wise as he offers advice to his engineers, though a mournful beat comes in the middle: Vikramarka stands in the verdant chamber, solemnly rests a hand on the dove pillar, and gazes at the mural depicting him, his young bride, and the swaddled infant. The false tomb with the rotating pillar comes next, and then a completely novel sight: the grand entrance to the tomb, with freestanding columns drawing the eye to the open stairwell beneath the earth, positioned perfectly to draw an association between the tomb and the holy river in the background. Central to this mural is a depiction of the true tomb in the center of the complex, a grand chamber whose purpose is to display the stairwell leading to an elevated sarcophagus framed by aurochs-columns. It takes a careful eye to realize that the mural is depicting 17, rather than 16, which is visible directly opposite. The chambers look purposefully similar, something only enhanced by the flood.

The secret door to 17 is hidden behind the mural depicting it. Pressing with purpose on the true sarcophagus—a carefully-concealed button—causes the secret door to loudly grind open. The wraith doesn’t need to actually open the door to slip through the cracks.

D: Triumph over the wraith

The aurochs Vikramarka, aging but still virile, stands before a long-forgotten tomb with his twin-braided companion. The black blood of the dead bleeds easily around the pair, running in rivulets over the rocky terrain. They descend into the depths of the tomb, defeating the many ghuls, before coming to a grand chamber with a looted sarcophagus. Grave robbers had released a human shadow, which Vikramarka and his companion battle, but the pair are forced to retreat. They are only afforded the opportunity by the twin-braided warrior’s dousing of the shadow with a jet of holy water sprayed from a waterskin; the shadow flees into the recesses of its lair. (The river is visually depicted to be water from the holy river—an elephant spouts the water, which the twin-braided warrior collects in the same skin he uses to spray the shadow.) Vikramarka and his companion return to the tomb with two dozen doughty laborers, who dig a trench and redirect the holy river into the tomb, flooding it and atomizing the shadow. They claim the treasures that float to the surface, gifts of the river, as their own. The bubbling blood of the dead is likewise collected in great cartfuls and offered to Lugal in Uruk, going even beyond the necessary tithe.

E: Triumph over the rebellion

Vikramarka has aged again, now an old man—a powerful, broad-shouldered old man, but undoubtedly an old man. Once more he wears his bull-horn helmet and wields his obsidian-tipped spear and rides his kunda-drawn chariot into battle. This time he meets a virile, haughty young man with his own chariot. Chariot jousting becomes spear-fighting on foot, which eventually becomes a grapple that goes to the ground. The enemy leader—depicted with the same inhumanity as the losers of Vikramarka’s first battle—goes for his knife in a maneuver Vikramarka clearly cannot stop. The other man is then pierced from behind with a spear; the twin-braided warrior, now old himself, has skewered him. The two men clasp hands as his companion pulls Vikramarka to his feet.

Even after the defeat of their leader, the enemy forces fight back, hurling taunts and jeers at Vikramarka. When the battle concludes, eighty-six of them remain. The eighty-six are bound in chains and forced to walk for days without food or drink or respite. They are haggard, little more than skeletons when they arrive at their destination: the tomb of Vikramarka. The eighty-six are ushered into the tomb and thrown into a deep pit with sheer walls. Despite their exhaustion, they still hurl insults and make rude gestures. Their tone changes when the oil begins to be poured.

East: A corridor lined with monolithic columns.

15: The guardian

This corridor is covered in intricate frescoes and is lined with monolithic columns, each carved in the shape of an aurochs. Each holds up the ceiling with its powerful muscles and wide, heavy horns.

The water is entirely stagnant here, far from the flowing riverbank mouth. Without the flowing water and the playing otters, it is strangely quiet. Small fish swim around, leaving V-lines in the water, but they don’t make much noise. That makes it all the more unnerving when you begin to hear the violent splashing of something big forcing itself quickly through the water deeper in. You hear the guardian on patrol.

The guardian patrols 14 in counterclockwise fashion, slowly making a complete loop over the course of a dungeon turn. It then returns here, standing at attention for a dungeon turn; it seemingly guards 16, but it watches 17. It then begins the loop again. There is a twenty percent chance each turn that it does not progress along its patrol that turn, instead spending the turn either frantically hitting its fists against its head or repeatedly ramming its head against the nearest wall.

East: A sarcophagus raised above the water. The lid is closed, undefiled.

The guardian

HD 8 / AC as plate / Damage 2d6
Mind like a party that’s gone on too long and with too many people present. The host can’t keep things together for much longer.
Voice N/A: at most, a faint, breathy inhale
Moves like the most veteran warrior on the battlefield or a toddler who’s just learned to walk unassisted (but still needs help sometimes), intermittently

A clay statue of a warrior with the head of an aurochs and a beard styled in two braids stands as tall as one and a half men. The warrior’s skin is painted a masculine black, the aurochs head is painted with lapis lazuli pigments, and the broad, heavy horns are gilt. The guardian wields a terrible spear, taller than itself and forged entirely of bronze—shaft and all. The aurochs’s mouth is open in a wordless cry—the aperture leads to the guardian’s hollow interior, a terribly effective trap for a very slippery sort of target. It was not meant to be a trap, originally; it was meant to be a gift of lasting sentience for a single worthy figure. But, despite the many years of discipline, training, and routine, the primary mind within the guardian has reached its limit. The guardian is just as likely to utilize the reach of its oversized spear to deadly effectiveness as it is to cast the spear aside and charge you, ripping your jaw open (off, accidentally) in an attempt to scream down your throat. It cannot scream no matter how hard it tries.

The guardian contains sixty-three shades. All sixty-three are released if the guardian is destroyed. Sixty-two shades have HD 1; one has HD 4.

16: False tomb (remix) (remix)

The grand hall beyond the guardian looks precisely like the tomb of a man as great as the aurochs Vikramarka. A pair of columns carved with miniature depictions of prosaic life in the river kingdom hold up a vaulted ceiling twenty feet high; their mundanity contrasts the heroic scenes depicted in the wall frescoes: remixed episodes now-familiar to an explorer taking time to peruse the tomb’s walls.

The sarcophagus on the raised platform is sealed shut; it takes a combat turn to break open extremely loudly and a dungeon turn to break open fairly quietly. Within, below the painted visage of the aurochs Vikramarka, is a skeleton adorned in another type of Vikramarka’s visage: it wears a gold death mask, intricately fashioned. Beneath the mask, in the cavity that once was the corpse’s mouth, is a single electrum coin. The leather beneath the bronze plates of the skeleton’s armor has long rotted away, but the metal remains and so too do the pearls. Two dozen shiny, near-spherical pearls lay on the skeleton’s cuirass—they were once woven into the twin braids of the beard worn by the corpse within the sarcophagus.

The platform upon which the sarcophagus lies is also covered in grave goods, though most are easy to miss under the water. Scattered in the sediment are 111 fat electrum coins, 111 tiny gold bells, and 111 polished cowrie shells; it takes a combat turn to gather a handful and a dungeon turn to gather it all. Signalling the fact of drowned grave goods are the heavy remains of a magnificent lyre. The wooden portions and strings are long-destroyed, but the gold-and-lapis lazuli body and arms still stand tall—the masts of a sinking ship still grasping for air. The remains of the lyre take two strong porters to carry.

By this point, the guardian ought to be returning. Standing in the middle of the hall of aurochs pillars, it can reach both walls with its spear. There is no route of escape outside its reach.

17: True tomb

Four thick columns carved in the shape of aurochs frame either side of a grand staircase that leads up to a wide platform that displays the true sarcophagus of the aurochs Vikramarka. The platform is sizable enough that the river water once flowed in a channel cut into the platform itself, then following gravity on either side of the stairs.

The sarcophagus is large enough that it could fit the guardian; a larger-than-life depiction of Vikramarka wearing a bronze, bull-headed helmet and wielding an obsidian-tipped spear is emblazoned upon the face. His face is resolute but peaceful, with closed eyes. The skeleton within the sarcophagus wears the horned helm of the aurochs Vikramarka, clutches the rotting shaft of the obsidian spear of the heretic Dor, and is adorned in much finery: the remains of leather lamellar armor fastened with rivets of oxidized copper carved with snarling faces, a broad faience collar made from rows of aquamarine beads, two hinged cuff bracelets of gold inlaid with carnelian and lapis lazuli, a silver wedding band studded with many small sapphires, and an electrum coin that one laid upon the tongue.

The horned helm of the aurochs Vikramarka is fashioned of bronze, though the horns themselves are real horns taken from a bull. Beyond affording the wearer an additional attack option in the form of a headbutt (to the tune of 1d6 damage), the horned helm can enhance the wearer’s voice, magnifying and echoing it many times over: A grunt becomes a fearsome bellow, while a fearsome bellow becomes a monstrous roar. Even veteran warriors become unsettled. Livestock obey your commands without question.
The obsidian spear of the heretic Dor, should its obsidian spearhead be affixed to a new shaft, confers a +2 bonus to damage. Indeed, the obsidian spear is a weapon sharp enough to cut even the incorporeal. Shades and spirits alike fear its edge.

The wraith lurks in the shadowy corners of the tomb, little more than a shadow itself.

The wraith

HD 3 / AC as unarmored / Damage 1, dealt directly to fortitude²
Thinks like Lex Luthor considering Superman: one-sided, overpowering obsession
Voice N/A: entirely silent, even when moving
Flies as fast as a human can run

Incorporeal and unharmed by unblessed weapons.
Banished back to its tomb by sunlight or the flowing river water.

A single stone out of place is all it takes. A tendril of darkness works itself in and coils around the corpse like a lover. Beneath the tumulus, it begins to imagine living. The strongest emotions are tastiest—the mistake of a twisted stone or a dirt pile-collapse becomes a betrayal. From beneath the tumulus emerges this un-spirit, seeking those who wronged it, but only in darkness, for the light of the sun—weak as it is—illuminates the exaggerated lies.

The wraith resembles a cubist depiction of the aurochs Vikramarka in a sort of half-remembered dream way—a man you saw only once, a lifetime ago, but a man who nevertheless made an indelible impression on your life: a man you’ve been obsessed with for all these years, but one who’s twisted and changed so much in your memory that, side by side with the real thing, becomes unrecognizable. He’s all that you’re not, rather than anything that he is. His expression is one of euphoric rage: mid-orgasm, you told him you want him dead.

The wraith is not a real shade: someone once living. It is an un-shade; it has never lived. It cannot be reburied properly, for it was not buried in the first place. Only flooding its tomb with sunlight or flowing river water will destroy it permanently. Otherwise it reforms in the darkness, brooding on its attackers in the meanwhile.

For G L A U G U S T 2 0 2 5, "a dungeon with a river in it." Never mind the fact that it's September now.

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