"Not bad, not bad. Use your angles..."

Lanliss follows up the Magic Missile battering with one of his own.

23:07, Today: Lanliss rolled 3 using 1d6+1.  magic missile.

Lanliss' bolt of crackling force further tatters the already heavily damaged creature, leaving it one solid hit away from dissolution.

<Vsaati, Albricht, and Roak: are you guys going to do anything combative this round?>

"Bah! Silverglade's was better! It's all in your form Lanliss... lemme show you how lad!"

The wiry old dwarf quickly drew Plathstream's magical sword from Silverglade's belt and made a wild slash at the ghostie!

Attack hit AC0, for 8 damage!
Albricht Burghammer rolled 19,8

"HHRRRUMPH!" He yelled in triumph, waving the weapon around with a genuinely odd two-handed grip. "That's how its DONE! Find those angles, roll those shoulders, grip - it's all about the grip!"

Albricht's inspired, if somewhat startling, attack has the effect of shredding the shrieking figure into bits that dissolve into nothingness, ending the fight.

Voran moves up and claps Albricht on the back. "Well done, good dwarf! I think we all are a little worse for wear after that, but we emerged with our skins intact, at least. Come, let's head in."

He proceeds into the room to see if anything else jumps out at the party.

Grudgingly accepting that a dwarf has done something useful and even heroic, Silverglade moves into the room, looking for treasure.

Albricht handed the blade back to Silverglade and joined in the searching. "Sorry about that lad, I know there are entire tomes written in dwarvish about keeping one's hands off another man's weapon, but... well... my hammer's magic wore off a good century or so ago and I figured it might be a sort of good tribute to Plathstream, after all to strike down the ghost of the husband of the wight of the wife that struck him down, with his own sword!"

He paused a moment going over that one more time in his mind to make sure he'd gotten it all ordered correctly. "...wife of the ghost of the husband of the wight..." he muttered to himself.

Silverglade and Elder Voran enter the room to find that it conspicuously lacks ornamentation of any sort.  The only thing that appears to be in the room at all is a large stone box in the middle of the room.  The lid is about three finger-widths thick, and sits firmly atop the lower part of the box.  The box is just large enough to conceal something about the size and shape of a coffin inside.

Voran waves Albricht over. "You're a dwarf. See if you can find anything odd about this stone box. And we should search it for traps as well."

"That went about as well as could be expected."  Sherborne cautiously moves into the room and keeps a sharp eye on the only apparent item of interest where the apparition or whatever it was came from.

"Of course I am! But what gave it away?" the old dwarf asked the newcomer with a note of sarcasm.

He looked over the stone box carefully before scratching at a tuft of whiskers. "Well, this is odd... Look right there, see that? There's sort of a lighter spot right there? Yes, highly irregular. A dwarven stonesmith would have dyed such a flaw in a sarcophagus with some acid... Clearly this was built by amateurs!"

<Aside from nit-picking, Albricht notices nothing in the way of other unusual features or traps.>

"I suppose we'd better take a peeksie inside..." He glanced over at Roak to get the go-ahead after the trapsman had finished his task.

"Spread out around it then and we'll go off that-a-way with it..."

Voran nodded. "Silverglade, could you open it?"

Somewhat aghast at Albricht for snatching away the sword of the recently-fallen Plathstream, Lanliss can only then look on in an odd mixture of relief and dismay as the dwarf promptly smashes the wailing monster to pieces.

"A lucky shot, Shorty. Took the spirit and inspiration of a fallen elf to guide your aim..."

Apparently Lanliss is reluctant to concede anything. At the next sarcophagus he stands back until the all-clear is given, then offers to help remove the lid.

"We should be fine - Albricht Demon-Smiter will save us from any monsters..."

Silverglade grabs one end of the sarcophagus and heaves it over.

Albricht looked up at Lanliss, and for moment the wandering eye tracked parallel with the other as the dwarf seemed to search the flawless face of the elf. It seemed as if, briefly, there was a touch of clarity, even a grandfatherly concern behind the sun-touched dwarf's eyes... but it faded with a gruff, "Hrrrumph!"

"You're confusing me with one of my younger brothers, though I didn't know you knew any of them. Bronbricht was the Demon-smiter, though truth be known it was a smallish imp, and he barely more than a young rock-chewer himself. He was playing with our Da's mining hammer, smashing some things he'd swiped from the Loremaster's office. When he crushed that wand of summoning there was a puff of smoke and a loud pop! Bronny, he was scared but smacked that imp on the melon before it knew what was up! Our room smelled like rotten Cliffnester eggs for a week!"

"But whenever you're needin' advice on technique lad, such as there a moment ago, you know just to ask. Magic, weapons or hairy-cheeked ladies, my commentary is free... even for elves."

He joined Silverglade in pushing the lid off the stone box, just as it was about to tumble on its own after most of the work had already been accomplished.

"There! We did it!"

The stone lid crashes to the floor, party members being careful to jerk their feet away from it as it falls.  Peering inside, a wooden coffin is revealed, almost completely filling the space, and with the full-length figure of a regal human male in plate armor painted on its top.

Elder sighs. "Like a child's puzzle--layers within layers. Gentlemen, could you open this coffin as well?"

"Anyone care to plug their ears? I was meaning before Albricht speaks again, but I suppose it could counter any more banshee wailing too..."

Lanliss lends his muscle to opening the wooden coffin.

The wooden coffin lid is more easily removed than the stone lid.  When moved aside, it reveals a dead, well-preserved, but apparently inanimate human male wearing plate armor, a jeweled crown on his head, and a bared longsword on his chest.

Deciding that they'd come through enough to get to this stage, Lanliss took hold of the bared longsword and lifted it high.

"Forgive us brother," says Silverglade to the corpse as he begins investigating the armour.

Lanliss finds that the sword in still in extremely good condition, and that its balance is near-perfect.  So easily does the sword swing, that he suspects that it likely is of elven make, although close examination of the sword shows no maker's mark that he recognizes.

Much like the sword, Silverglade finds that the plate armor is in far better condition and he might have suspected, given that it has been enclosed with a body for so long.  The light, geometric engraving on the otherwise moderately-polished is still crisp and clear, and the whole suit is made with well-above-average skill.