Ma'kum mumbled a prayer to Allah and the daughter of the moon, before inching his way inside. Rhaak entered without hesitation, though he did have a raised brow, unsure of what dangers the sun would bring to such a wasteland as this. Inside, pictographs of pagan gods and far eastern stories were depicted on the walls. Rhaak would spy a series of sconce's along the walls in blocky intervals between the prophetical artwork. Amira ordered Rhaak to close the tomb, and the muscled slave did so just as the ray of the sun began to peak above the dunes west of them. 

There was a terrible screech, and a mad laughter as Rhaak closed the tomb, the sealed rock shutting off the sound of what could only mean death. A sudden, impenetrable darkness filled the tomb, and the pit fighter could hear the bandit whimpering. With a flourish of her hands, a lit torch appeared as if out of nowhere within Amira's grasp, and she curtly gestured Rhaak to take it. He did so, trying to remain resolute, though the shadow of what he saw outside brought a shock to his senses. By Allah, this was indeed a cursed land. Still, he seemed better than the newcomer who had only heard of what lay beyond.

"Are you ill?" Rhaak asked the shivering bandit, somewhat amused, for the man now had a puddle at his feet. 

"A live dog is better than a dead lion." Ma'kum said resolutely, trying to show he was ready to continue, despite the obvious fear in his eyes. 

Rhaak nodded, and was was allowed to eat in haste. He took what fish he had placed in his small sack in his mouth. The warm feeling of food brought a renewed strength in his limbs, though he was hurried by his master as they were led deeper into the tomb. The stone hall abruptly ended, and the mausoleum they entered was in stark contrast to the sparse hall, for there were 8 sarcophagi in the wide room. Twin stone statues of foreign, striped cats guarded the archway as they stood at the doorway. 

Across the sarcophagi were Khopesh swords made of bronze, as if the dead would still have need of them in the afterlife. A faint trail of light was at the far left of the ceiling, a long airway that led through meters of hill toward the surface, barely catching the light of the sun. The light aimed at the center of the room, for within the illumination was a dias where a papyrus scroll was nestled, untouched by human hands. 
[@Penny]