“Pardon me.” Sparhawk says wiping away what he can and allowing his stomach to settle. “No offense but my god has made me quite sensitive to undead.”
”Im Captain Sparhawk, a knight of the Pandion order and follower of Marduk.” He bows.
“It is strange that we meet here as I have met your sisters in the fey castle, having crossed both time and space to be here. These two are my friends, Kos and Tenebril.”
The pale woman stirs atop the alabaster slab, her armor creaking softly as she rises with deliberate grace. Her eyes—silvered and ancient—fix on Sparhawk with a gaze that seems to pierce through time itself. The incense curls around her like mist, and the amber light refracts across her plate like fading sunlight on still water.
She tilts her head, lips parting in a faint smile.
“Sensitive to the dead… how poetic. Marduk must be a jealous god, to burden his knight with such discomfort in the presence of history.”
She stands, slowly, as if her limbs remember motion only reluctantly. Her voice is soft, cultured, and tinged with weariness.
“Captain Sparhawk. Pandion knight. I remember your order. Once, long ago, they stood against the tide of shadow. You wear the mantle well.”
Her gaze shifts to Koselig and Tenebril, lingering on each with a flicker of recognition, or calculation.
“And you’ve met my sisters… in the fey castle, you say? Then you’ve walked paths few mortals survive. Time and space are fragile things here. You must be very… persistent.”
She steps down from the dais, the gold inlay catching the light with each movement.
“As for me, I have slept. Not by choice. Bound here by demons who feared what I might become. They sealed me in this sanctum, surrounded me with relics and riches, hoping I would forget the world.”
Her hand brushes the crystal bowl of gems, and one flickers with a light not its own.
“But I remember. I remember everything.”
She turns back to Sparhawk, her smile fading into something unreadable.
“You say you feel the undead nearby. Perhaps your god is not wrong. But tell me, Captain—do you always bow to prisoners?”
“I bow to those I deem worthy of my respect, which to be honest are not many.” He smiles. “Persistent is a word that has been used to describe me, a fallen knight of the Pandion order, banished from his land. My broken nose a permanent reminder of the breach of my oath so long ago. Though none have asked why the child goddess Aphriel still empowers me. No one understands my will, They fail to see the oath that steels me against death..” he seems sad lost in thoughts and loss. for dm and ooc curious.
The Curse of the Oathbreaker’s Bond
Origin of the Curse Long ago, Sparhawk, knight of great renown swore an oath to defend his closest friend against all dangers, even when that friend was accused of treachery. When the knight stood by him instead of his liege lord, the Pandion order cast him out. Worse still, the friend was indeed guilty, and his betrayal led to the deaths of many innocents. The knight’s loyalty, once his virtue, was twisted into his downfall. In his despair and dishonor, he begged the gods for forgiveness—but it was not the gods who answered. A darker power heard his cry and bound his fate.
Nature of the Curse From that day forth, the knight Sparhawk bore a hidden mark: every bond he forged would become a death sentence. Those he called friend, ally, or kin would inevitably meet a violent end. Sometimes swiftly, sometimes after years, but always before their time. The curse feeds on loyalty, the very virtue that once defined him, turning it into a weapon against him. On this adventure alone, Sparhawk has lost more than 7 friends, not including the army at a fort that mostly died Kos has been with him for most of this.
“Tell us how we may free you, of your jailers, and perhaps more of what you have learned here in your solitude.”
to Tenebril, “you may want to ask your patron for some guidance as we gain information here.”
"Just let me know when and I'll start the process to contact him. I've only just recently come into the means of doing this so not used to it yet." (I've not used it in character yet lol)
Tenebril turns to the Pale Lady and with a curious look on his face asks, "Is there anything you would wish to know of the outside world or beyond? I could include a question or two of yours for my patron as well, if you would like? I just have one of my own first, if that would be alright with you." And at that he bows a lil and then continues, "What may we call you? I would like to include it in my communications with my patron. I'm assuming this is why he yanked me through time and space during our last communications."
Tenebril isn't unfamiliar with the not so good side of things, especially considering some of the options he has for his summoning spells so he's not one to immediately jump to deciding undead are enemies, but he is staying on guard just in case. She did say she was a prisoner here and we don't know if that was justified or not (yet though I'm assuming justified if she was going to undo the world or something major like that lol)
She watches Sparhawk closely, her expression unreadable. The incense curls around her like a living thing, and the lantern’s shifting light casts her face in alternating hues—twilight blue, blood amber, moonlit silver. “A broken nose… a broken oath… and yet still empowered by a goddess of innocence. Curious.” She steps forward, slow and deliberate, her armored boots silent on the serpentine floor. “I’ve known many gods, knight. Some demand perfection. Others revel in failure. But Aphriel… she must see something in you that you do not.” Her gaze lingers on Sparhawk’s bowed head, then flicks to Tenebril. “Yes, ask your patron. Ask what they know of me. Of this place. Of what lies beneath the sanctum.”
She gestures to the chamber around her—the lapis dome, the serpentine floor, the six doors. “This nexus is not merely a prison. It is a wound in the weave. A place where Iggwilv’s ambition tore through reality. The demons who sealed me here feared what I might become—not for what I had done, but for what I remembered.”
She moves to the crystal bowl of gems and lifts one—a deep violet stone that pulses faintly. “I remember the Staircase. I remember the pact. I remember the names that were never meant to be spoken.” Her voice lowers, almost tender. “To free me, you must choose a door. Each leads to a truth. One will sever my chains. One will sever yours.” She turns back to Sparhawk, her silver eyes gleaming. “But beware, knight of Marduk. Respect is a blade. And you’ve just offered me yours.”
(I'm limited on what I am can ask question wise with Contact Patron spell, only 5 questions and they need to be yes no type questions or other one word answers, unless dm wants to let the patron explain an answer that could be misleading with a one word answer.)
(Ooc questions about the doors, such as “will opening this door (right) lead to closing the rupture? Or harm us more than the other….is this woman Iggwilv, also known as Zybilna and Tasha. other door questions?
Tbe pale woman’s expression shifts—just slightly. The question hangs in the air like incense, simple on its surface, but laced with meaning. She steps closer, the amber light catching the gold inlay of her armor, her voice low and deliberate. “Names are bindings, Captain. They carry weight. They echo.”
She turns her gaze to Tenebril, the “little one,” and for a moment her eyes soften—not with kindness, but with something older. Recognition, perhaps. Or curiosity. “Once, I was called Drelnza. Daughter of Iggwilv. Slayer of the Pale Host. Keeper of the Sixth Seal.” She lifts a hand, palm open, as if weighing the air.
“But here, in this sanctum, I am something else. A memory. A prisoner. A possibility." Her fingers curl closed. “Call me Drelnza, if you must. But know that names are only the beginning.”
She turns back to Sparhawk, her voice now edged with something colder. “And you, knight of Marduk—what name will history give you?”
Drelnza's gaze lingers on Sparhawk a moment longer, then drifts toward Tenebril. Her expression shifts—not to fear, but to recognition. The incense curls tighter, the lantern’s light flickers violet, and the air grows subtly heavier. “Ah… I see you now.”
She steps closer, her voice lowering, silk over steel. “You carry the scent of the Lower Realms. Not brimstone, no—something older. Something that remembers the first bargains.”
She circles Tenebril slowly, not threatening, but appraising. “Your patron watches. Curious. Hungry. Perhaps even amused.” She stops, facing Tenebril directly. “Tell me, little warlock—has your master whispered of me? Of this place? Of the pact that was broken here?” Her eyes gleam. “I was not the first to be bound. Nor the last. Iggwilv made bargains that echoed across planes. Some were sealed with blood. Others… love.”
She turns, addressing all three now. “If your patron is wise, they will warn you. If they are foolish, they will covet what remains here.” She gestures to the chamber—the doors, the dais, the hoard. “This nexus is a wound. A scar. And scars remember pain.”
Then, to Tenebril again, softer: “Ask your master what price they paid to remain free. And whether they would pay it again.”
Each of the six doors/screens shows a faint, shimmering tableau when gazed upon:
1. Tasha/Zybilna in her Feywild guise, laughing in a court of delights.
2. Iggwilv in her witch-queen aspect, binding demons in chains of script.
3. Her love—a shadowed figure, perhaps Graz’zt, hand outstretched.
4. Iuz the Old as a child, cruel-eyed, playing with broken toys of bone.
5. A mirror of Drelnza herself, pale and armored, but chained.
6. A door of pure void, nothing but silence and hunger.
The air grows heavy. Tenebril’s vision blurs, and the incense smoke twists into a face—your patron’s, or something close to it. The voice is not heard but felt, like fire in your veins.
“The woman is Drelnza. Not Iggwilv, not Zybilna, not Tasha. She is the daughter, the weapon, the heir. She lies as easily as she breathes.”
“The doors are echoes, not choices. They are memories of her mother’s masks—witch, queen, lover, mother. None will free her. None will free you. The coffin is her heart. Break it, or she will rise eternal.”
"Do not trust her. Do not trust me. All pacts are prisons.”
(ooc: just read up on the posts but am now struggling to come up with a question to ask.)
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"A rightful place awaits you in the Realms Above, in the Land of the Great Light. Come in peace, and live beneath the sun again, where trees and flowers grow."
— The message of Eilistraee to all decent drow.
"Run thy sword across my chains, Silver Lady, that I may join your dance.”
As Tenebril’s eyes glaze and his breath slows, the Contact Patron ritual begins. The incense thickens, the lantern pulses violet, and the chamber seems to hold its breath. A voice slithers into the silence. Not Tenebril’s patron. Not Drelnza. Something else. “Ahhh… the little warlock reaches out. How quaint. Let’s all pretend the leash isn’t visible.”
The voice is soft, deep, and contemptuous, like velvet soaked in venom. It echoes in Sparhawk’s mind first, then bleeds into the room, audible to all.
“You call it a patron. I call it a jailer with better branding.” The dais hums. The alabaster slab pulses faintly. Heretic is awake. “I know your kind, Tenebril. Bargain-born. Power-starved. You sip from the chalice of Hell and call it wine.” A low chuckle rolls through the chamber, like distant thunder. “Ask your master what they gave up to stay free. Ask what they’d trade to bind me.” Then, sharper, directed at Sparhawk: “And you, knight. Still bowing? Still bleeding for a god who lets you rot in guilt? I could burn the oath from your bones. I could make you whole.” The voice fades, but the air remains charged. The sword is listening. Waiting.
Sparhawk smiles. “Every instance in my life, every loss, every victory, has prepared me for this moment.”
he draws sword and shield. “ My mentors all prepared me well. There is no temptation, no pain or loss that will stop my will. I am sir Sparhawk, restored to my order after my banishment, deemed worthy to keep name and title.”
“Now, Face me, don’t hide in the shadows behind your words.”
”Prepare yourselves my friends. Lady Drelnza, daughter of Iggwilv, choose your side so that I may be the instrument of your fate.”
<they opened maps vtt to everyone so i set us up there. Automatic initiativedeployed, but you can roll your own if you like. Heres what it spit out: Tenebril 20, Drelnza 13, Sparhawk and Koselig 2.>
Tenebril is up, others can reroll to beat 13 if you want to. There is no benefit to tenebril possible on a reroll (even environmental effects normally trigger on 20, and i give players priority on a tie)
“Pardon me.” Sparhawk says wiping away what he can and allowing his stomach to settle. “No offense but my god has made me quite sensitive to undead.”
”Im Captain Sparhawk, a knight of the Pandion order and follower of Marduk.” He bows.
“It is strange that we meet here as I have met your sisters in the fey castle, having crossed both time and space to be here. These two are my friends, Kos and Tenebril.”
The pale woman stirs atop the alabaster slab, her armor creaking softly as she rises with deliberate grace. Her eyes—silvered and ancient—fix on Sparhawk with a gaze that seems to pierce through time itself. The incense curls around her like mist, and the amber light refracts across her plate like fading sunlight on still water.
She tilts her head, lips parting in a faint smile.
“Sensitive to the dead… how poetic. Marduk must be a jealous god, to burden his knight with such discomfort in the presence of history.”
She stands, slowly, as if her limbs remember motion only reluctantly. Her voice is soft, cultured, and tinged with weariness.
“Captain Sparhawk. Pandion knight. I remember your order. Once, long ago, they stood against the tide of shadow. You wear the mantle well.”
Her gaze shifts to Koselig and Tenebril, lingering on each with a flicker of recognition, or calculation.
“And you’ve met my sisters… in the fey castle, you say? Then you’ve walked paths few mortals survive. Time and space are fragile things here. You must be very… persistent.”
She steps down from the dais, the gold inlay catching the light with each movement.
“As for me, I have slept. Not by choice. Bound here by demons who feared what I might become. They sealed me in this sanctum, surrounded me with relics and riches, hoping I would forget the world.”
Her hand brushes the crystal bowl of gems, and one flickers with a light not its own.
“But I remember. I remember everything.”
She turns back to Sparhawk, her smile fading into something unreadable.
“You say you feel the undead nearby. Perhaps your god is not wrong. But tell me, Captain—do you always bow to prisoners?”
“I bow to those I deem worthy of my respect, which to be honest are not many.” He smiles. “Persistent is a word that has been used to describe me, a fallen knight of the Pandion order, banished from his land. My broken nose a permanent reminder of the breach of my oath so long ago. Though none have asked why the child goddess Aphriel still empowers me. No one understands my will, They fail to see the oath that steels me against death..” he seems sad lost in thoughts and loss.
for dm and ooc curious.
The Curse of the Oathbreaker’s Bond
Origin of the Curse
Long ago, Sparhawk, knight of great renown swore an oath to defend his closest friend against all dangers, even when that friend was accused of treachery. When the knight stood by him instead of his liege lord, the Pandion order cast him out. Worse still, the friend was indeed guilty, and his betrayal led to the deaths of many innocents. The knight’s loyalty, once his virtue, was twisted into his downfall. In his despair and dishonor, he begged the gods for forgiveness—but it was not the gods who answered. A darker power heard his cry and bound his fate.
Nature of the Curse
From that day forth, the knight Sparhawk bore a hidden mark: every bond he forged would become a death sentence. Those he called friend, ally, or kin would inevitably meet a violent end. Sometimes swiftly, sometimes after years, but always before their time. The curse feeds on loyalty, the very virtue that once defined him, turning it into a weapon against him. On this adventure alone, Sparhawk has lost more than 7 friends, not including the army at a fort that mostly died Kos has been with him for most of this.
“Tell us how we may free you, of your jailers, and perhaps more of what you have learned here in your solitude.”
to Tenebril, “you may want to ask your patron for some guidance as we gain information here.”
"Just let me know when and I'll start the process to contact him. I've only just recently come into the means of doing this so not used to it yet." (I've not used it in character yet lol)
Tenebril turns to the Pale Lady and with a curious look on his face asks, "Is there anything you would wish to know of the outside world or beyond? I could include a question or two of yours for my patron as well, if you would like? I just have one of my own first, if that would be alright with you." And at that he bows a lil and then continues, "What may we call you? I would like to include it in my communications with my patron. I'm assuming this is why he yanked me through time and space during our last communications."
Tenebril isn't unfamiliar with the not so good side of things, especially considering some of the options he has for his summoning spells so he's not one to immediately jump to deciding undead are enemies, but he is staying on guard just in case. She did say she was a prisoner here and we don't know if that was justified or not (yet though I'm assuming justified if she was going to undo the world or something major like that lol)
(Ooc she may not be a good guy, or maybe there are worse bad guys).
(yeah that's what I'm wondering)
She watches Sparhawk closely, her expression unreadable. The incense curls around her like a living thing, and the lantern’s shifting light casts her face in alternating hues—twilight blue, blood amber, moonlit silver. “A broken nose… a broken oath… and yet still empowered by a goddess of innocence. Curious.” She steps forward, slow and deliberate, her armored boots silent on the serpentine floor. “I’ve known many gods, knight. Some demand perfection. Others revel in failure. But Aphriel… she must see something in you that you do not.” Her gaze lingers on Sparhawk’s bowed head, then flicks to Tenebril. “Yes, ask your patron. Ask what they know of me. Of this place. Of what lies beneath the sanctum.”
She gestures to the chamber around her—the lapis dome, the serpentine floor, the six doors. “This nexus is not merely a prison. It is a wound in the weave. A place where Iggwilv’s ambition tore through reality. The demons who sealed me here feared what I might become—not for what I had done, but for what I remembered.”
She moves to the crystal bowl of gems and lifts one—a deep violet stone that pulses faintly. “I remember the Staircase. I remember the pact. I remember the names that were never meant to be spoken.” Her voice lowers, almost tender. “To free me, you must choose a door. Each leads to a truth. One will sever my chains. One will sever yours.” She turns back to Sparhawk, her silver eyes gleaming. “But beware, knight of Marduk. Respect is a blade. And you’ve just offered me yours.”
Sparhawk will wait to see what the others would like to do.
Sparhawk smiles,
”The little one asks what name we may call you.?”
(I'm limited on what I am can ask question wise with Contact Patron spell, only 5 questions and they need to be yes no type questions or other one word answers, unless dm wants to let the patron explain an answer that could be misleading with a one word answer.)
(Ooc questions about the doors, such as “will opening this door (right) lead to closing the rupture? Or harm us more than the other….is this woman Iggwilv, also known as Zybilna and Tasha.
other door questions?
Tbe pale woman’s expression shifts—just slightly. The question hangs in the air like incense, simple on its surface, but laced with meaning. She steps closer, the amber light catching the gold inlay of her armor, her voice low and deliberate. “Names are bindings, Captain. They carry weight. They echo.”
She turns her gaze to Tenebril, the “little one,” and for a moment her eyes soften—not with kindness, but with something older. Recognition, perhaps. Or curiosity. “Once, I was called Drelnza. Daughter of Iggwilv. Slayer of the Pale Host. Keeper of the Sixth Seal.” She lifts a hand, palm open, as if weighing the air.
“But here, in this sanctum, I am something else. A memory. A prisoner. A possibility." Her fingers curl closed. “Call me Drelnza, if you must. But know that names are only the beginning.”
She turns back to Sparhawk, her voice now edged with something colder. “And you, knight of Marduk—what name will history give you?”
Drelnza's gaze lingers on Sparhawk a moment longer, then drifts toward Tenebril. Her expression shifts—not to fear, but to recognition. The incense curls tighter, the lantern’s light flickers violet, and the air grows subtly heavier. “Ah… I see you now.”
She steps closer, her voice lowering, silk over steel. “You carry the scent of the Lower Realms. Not brimstone, no—something older. Something that remembers the first bargains.”
She circles Tenebril slowly, not threatening, but appraising. “Your patron watches. Curious. Hungry. Perhaps even amused.” She stops, facing Tenebril directly. “Tell me, little warlock—has your master whispered of me? Of this place? Of the pact that was broken here?” Her eyes gleam. “I was not the first to be bound. Nor the last. Iggwilv made bargains that echoed across planes. Some were sealed with blood. Others… love.”
She turns, addressing all three now. “If your patron is wise, they will warn you. If they are foolish, they will covet what remains here.” She gestures to the chamber—the doors, the dais, the hoard. “This nexus is a wound. A scar. And scars remember pain.”
Then, to Tenebril again, softer: “Ask your master what price they paid to remain free. And whether they would pay it again.”
...
Each of the six doors/screens shows a faint, shimmering tableau when gazed upon:
1. Tasha/Zybilna in her Feywild guise, laughing in a court of delights.
2. Iggwilv in her witch-queen aspect, binding demons in chains of script.
3. Her love—a shadowed figure, perhaps Graz’zt, hand outstretched.
4. Iuz the Old as a child, cruel-eyed, playing with broken toys of bone.
5. A mirror of Drelnza herself, pale and armored, but chained.
6. A door of pure void, nothing but silence and hunger.
The air grows heavy. Tenebril’s vision blurs, and the incense smoke twists into a face—your patron’s, or something close to it. The voice is not heard but felt, like fire in your veins.
“The woman is Drelnza. Not Iggwilv, not Zybilna, not Tasha. She is the daughter, the weapon, the heir. She lies as easily as she breathes.”
“The doors are echoes, not choices. They are memories of her mother’s masks—witch, queen, lover, mother. None will free her. None will free you. The coffin is her heart. Break it, or she will rise eternal.”
"Do not trust her. Do not trust me. All pacts are prisons.”
(Ooc: let’s come up with some questions, and give Kos a chance to catch up)
(ooc: just read up on the posts but am now struggling to come up with a question to ask.)
As Tenebril’s eyes glaze and his breath slows, the Contact Patron ritual begins. The incense thickens, the lantern pulses violet, and the chamber seems to hold its breath. A voice slithers into the silence. Not Tenebril’s patron. Not Drelnza. Something else. “Ahhh… the little warlock reaches out. How quaint. Let’s all pretend the leash isn’t visible.”
The voice is soft, deep, and contemptuous, like velvet soaked in venom. It echoes in Sparhawk’s mind first, then bleeds into the room, audible to all.
“You call it a patron. I call it a jailer with better branding.” The dais hums. The alabaster slab pulses faintly. Heretic is awake. “I know your kind, Tenebril. Bargain-born. Power-starved. You sip from the chalice of Hell and call it wine.” A low chuckle rolls through the chamber, like distant thunder. “Ask your master what they gave up to stay free. Ask what they’d trade to bind me.” Then, sharper, directed at Sparhawk: “And you, knight. Still bowing? Still bleeding for a god who lets you rot in guilt? I could burn the oath from your bones. I could make you whole.” The voice fades, but the air remains charged. The sword is listening. Waiting.
<it's the sword. It's called Heretic>
Sparhawk smiles. “Every instance in my life, every loss, every victory, has prepared me for this moment.”
he draws sword and shield. “ My mentors all prepared me well. There is no temptation, no pain or loss that will stop my will. I am sir Sparhawk, restored to my order after my banishment, deemed worthy to keep name and title.”
“Now, Face me, don’t hide in the shadows behind your words.”
”Prepare yourselves my friends.
Lady Drelnza, daughter of Iggwilv, choose your side so that I may be the instrument of your fate.”
<they opened maps vtt to everyone so i set us up there. Automatic initiativedeployed, but you can roll your own if you like. Heres what it spit out: Tenebril 20, Drelnza 13, Sparhawk and Koselig 2.>
Tenebril is up, others can reroll to beat 13 if you want to. There is no benefit to tenebril possible on a reroll (even environmental effects normally trigger on 20, and i give players priority on a tie)
(ah ok, am I able to attack the sword directly with my eldritch blasts. I'm also assuming the sword disrupted the Contact Patron spell?)