Artwork by the awesome

Or what happens to all those Adventurers who don't happen into a series of adventures with a gently sloping difficulty.

All poor Ra'chle wanted was all the riches of the Lost King. Too bad the Tomb had been re-purposed as a home for a Tribe of tricksey rat folk. When their high priest, Bitemeballs, saw Ra'chle's shiny cloak of displacement, made from a genuine displacer beast, he knew just what to do. Calling upon the Mother of Monsters he called down a special variant of raise dead, imbues it within his shiny staff, lays it on an alter and runs away as soon he sees the light appear from down the corridor.

Entering with a group of fellow sods Ra'chle felt pulled to the alter, eager to snare the obviously magical staff before her halfing companion could get his sticky fingers all over it. Snatching it up, she experienced a moment of terror as the eyes of the staff flared. Flinching back she gritted her teeth against the burning pain... that never came. Instead she opened her eyes to find the light streaming from the staff into her new cloak. She had a mere half second to puzzle over the sight before the tentacles began to twitch.