The witch hunter studied the exceptional bottle of Bretonian Brandy. A bottle he had put aside to celebrate when he finally caught Immoliah Fae. But this was far from time of celebration. Suffering from a curse, his hand had been fused to the Nehekaran Scales of the Soul when he attempted to confiscate some gemstones. His only remaning option. Sever his right hand. He felt the alchohol burn down his throat as he quickly drank half the bottle, knowing it would be nothing compared to the pain to follow. Leopold, his old friend who had turned to necromancy, stood ready with tools, and screams soon eccoed through the ancient tomb as the hand was removed. The witch hunter’s brain was numbed from the brandy and from the pain, and he vaguely sensed the Necromancer’s unholy incantations as Leopold worked to fused the Ancient Obsidian Hand to his arm. Death magic coursed through his arm and hand. He had no feeling in the hand, yet, some sense of strange control was granted. Yes! He could move his obsidian fingers!
This session the party killed off the remaning wight generals, and recovered a sack full of valuables. The halfling, who made it away with a few things as well, determined to buy the service of the Ogres, he left the Tomb. The rest of the party ventured deeper into the tomb. Discovering a secret door leading to the 3rd level.
Here they found scales of gold trapped by an ancient curse.
They discovered some kind of meditation room.
And they found a room with an alter to the ancient gods full of valuables and mummified undeads performing some ancient rites of offerings.