Ilyana's stomach clenched and began to burn, like it always did before a battle.

"Un... undead?" the half-human demands from Nemeia, her voice guttural from the pain that made her sweat. Irritably, she wipes her forehead with her free arm. "Tomb? What's going on, did you know this was here? Is this why the caravan stopped early?"

She plunges the tip of her cutlass into the dirt, then squats, her left hand going for the flask she kept on her hip. Fumbling with the cap, she took a couple swallows, then tightened the cap and putting back in its usual place. 

"Well?" she demands again, her voice harsh and unforgiving like the grave. Many a king had been buried with his wealth, but what did they expect to find here, of all places?