Tony is over there, taking a knee on the hard floor as he sets up the last of four tripod-looking devices, spindly and delicate and inscribed with little runic marks. These glow gold once the fourth is set in place, each at equal distance to one another, with the void-black rift at its centre. He works quietly, hands quick, by the struggling light of a lantern set down beside him.

If anything can put a damper on his regular energy, volume, and verbosity, it's ancient magics that suppress sound, mood, and light, but only those.

Still. He springs up once done, reaching for the satchel he has hanging from a shoulder to tug free the thaumoscope, a handheld device of similar brassy tone and runic markings, with little clockwork indicators and dials. It begins to click and activate, but after a glance, curiousity is given to snagging on the rest of the chamber that he didn't really get to absorb before the panic blur set in.

But rather than foreboding ash piles, mummified corpses, blood bowls, it's the dwarven chest that snags his attention. Out of place in an ancient Tevinter Indiana Jones movie set. Tony drifts that way, pronounces, "This seems like the least haunted thing here, right?" as loudly as he can raise his voice without ripping his throat raw.