Seeing the arc of magical electricity disappear, but the enemy in serious trouble, Koran launches into the attack in the hope of finishing him off! The monk springs forward as fast as lightning and brings the edge of his hand down on the undead's neck...
The monster seems to take on an almost mocking grin, as its invisible armor rdeflects Koran's knee - but the grin is suddenly erased by the elbow that hits it!
The Solid Shadow staggers for a moment... it tries to point its arms at the elf, as if to unleash the nefarious necrotic energy again... but its substance is already dissipating like dark smoke.
As the Deathlock Wight dissolves into smoke and shadow, its final groan still hanging in the fetid air, Elias steps cautiously into the chamber, boots splashing softly through the flooded stone.
He watches as the last wisps of blackness unravel and vanish, and for a long moment, he doesn’t speak.
His gaze lingers where the creature once writhed in torment, where fear and desperation had taken root so deeply that even death hadn’t silenced them.
Then, softly:
“What a tragic thing…”
His voice isn’t triumphant. It carries no glee, no pride. Just the weight of something understood too late.
“To be forgotten in death… to scream for mercy from a master who abandoned you… and to die a second time without ever being heard.”
He looks to Tarysaa, watching as she begins to stir again, and then to Koran, still tense in the aftermath of the strike.
“Well struck,” he says to him. “The mercy he didn’t get from his patron… you gave him with your fist.”
Elias turns once more to the empty space where the Wight fell, lets out a long breath, and murmurs a final line — more for the dead than the living.
Now that the battle is over and the room can be explored without the worry of a dark presence shooting out necrotic energy rays, it is immediately noticeable that to the north there would be a spiral staircase that goes down...
But of course, the spiral staircase already is under the surface of the water already... going down would soon mean finding yourself completely immersed.
Elias approaches the edge of the flooded spiral stair, peering down as the last curls of darkness from the fallen wight vanish into nothingness. The water laps gently against the stone, reflecting faint light in broken ripples — a quiet surface that hides the depth below.
He crouches near the top step, eyes scanning the submerged descent.
“So… here it is,” he says quietly. “The way deeper.”
His voice echoes slightly in the stone chamber, as if the keep itself is listening.
He glances over his shoulder to the others as they gather.
“This path continues downward — but we’ll be breathing water long before we reach the bottom. Whatever’s below… it’s not waiting for us in dry halls.”
He looks to Mival. “You said you can swim this. Anyone else? Otherwise, we’ll need to talk strategy. Spells. Potions. A plan. We’ve made it this far — I’d rather not drown in the next room.”
He rises, brushing damp from his knees, and speaks in a more composed tone.
“I’d also wager this stair may lead to that ancient teleportation circle Tarysaa mentioned. Which means we’re close. But also close to whatever dark thing has claimed this ruin.”
He pauses a moment, considering.
“Or we turn back. Regroup. Come better prepared for a deeper descent.”
He lets the choice hang there — not commanding, but waiting to see who will brave the depths, and how.
Tarysaa takes time to try to brush off the worst of the mud and muck from her clothing as she stands. "As before, I have no magicks available to travel in deep water. Nor potions." She purses her lips in thought, "Perhaps if we had the time and materials we could have a smithy or artificer provide a mechanical means of draining the 'sub basement'..."
Shaking her head slowly as she tenderly touches the spot the necrotic beam hit her torso, "I, for one, need a bit of time to recover and heal. Perhaps we all could use some time to consider our options?"
Elias stands quietly at the edge of the spiral stair, the water below dark and unmoving, like the pause before a final note in a song unfinished.
When Tarysaa speaks, her voice touched with weariness and pain, Elias listens without interrupting. He looks to the bruise beneath her hand, the exhaustion behind her eyes, and he knows she’s right.
He draws a long breath, then speaks.
“I’ve little left to offer in the way of magic. My voice is hoarse, and my hands feel heavy. Whatever lies beneath that water… it deserves more than our last scraps of strength.”
He turns toward Mival, his expression gentler now.
“But I also know the surface isn’t easy for all of us. Mival…”
He steps closer to the young doppelganger, keeping his tone soft.
“You’ve already come farther than most would expect. Fought beside us. Stood your ground. I know you wanted to go back to your mother with something more than a story — something that felt worthy of her faith in you.”
He pauses, letting that land before continuing.
“But showing her that you came back — not just alive, but changed — that might be worth more than anything we could pull from the deep.”
Elias offers a hand briefly to Mival’s shoulder — not to guide him, but just to ground him.
“We’re not abandoning the search. Just taking time to heal. And when we return — together — we’ll do so ready to finish what we started.”
He looks back to the others.
“Let’s go home. For now.”
((Elias rolled an 8 for persuasion...if even necessary))
Elias stands in silence for a moment after Ardana speaks, his eyes fixed on the darkened corridor beyond.
His fingers idly tap against the damp leather of his spellbook, but there’s no rhythm to it — just the telltale sign of a mind weighed by too many calculations.
He exhales through his nose, slow and conflicted.
“We’ve come this far,” he says quietly, “and there’s part of me that wants to see what lies ahead — to map it, to understand it. But…”
He looks down at his open hand, curling his fingers once before dropping it to his side.
“Most of my magic is spent. What little I have left is threadbare. And some of us —” he glances toward Tarysaa and Ardana — “took wounds that time will heal better than potions.”
He looks back to Ardana now, then to the others, letting the question settle in the shared space between them.
“We don’t know what the next room holds. It could be nothing. Or it could be worse than anything we’ve faced yet. So… do we press forward now and hope luck is with us?”
His gaze moves from one companion to the next.
“Or do we leave it until we can return prepared — at full strength, and on our terms?”
Mival listens attentively to both Elias and Ardana... but it is clear that his youthful enthusiasm makes him lean more towards the valiant paladin than the wise bard.
"We could also rest here, if anyone needs to recover their strength..." the Doppelganger tries to mediate "The undead that haunted this room is dissolved. Or we could even rest at the shrine we just passed. And then continue exploring".
[[ OOC: In game terms, he is proposing a Short Rest to allow the wounded to spend HDs to regain HPs ]]
Elias had been quiet for some time now — not in the way of exhaustion, nor in the manner of someone merely taking stock after battle. No, his stillness held weight. His gaze was fixed not on the flooded staircase or the battle-worn faces of his companions, but somewhere far off — inward, perhaps, or backward, toward something they had already passed.
Then, quite suddenly, his brow creased — not with worry, but realization.
He took a slow breath and spoke, voice low and even, but tinged with something harder to place: awe, perhaps... or humility.
“That shrine… to Eldath. I’ve been turning it over in my mind. At first I thought it an oddity, tucked down here in this drowned ruin — a relic left behind by someone seeking comfort in a lost place. But now… I’m not so sure.”
He looks to each of them, resting his eyes briefly on Tarysaa, then Ardana, then Koran and Mival.
“When I knelt there — I didn’t mean to pray. I never have. But something came over me. Peace. Clarity. And now I wonder… was it merely comfort? Or was it guidance?”
He shifts slightly, the damp edges of his cloak swaying as he moved.
“Eldath is the goddess of peace, yes — but also of still waters. Water untouched by violence, or shaped only by time. And what are we surrounded by now, if not water that has halted our path? What if that shrine is more than a kindness left behind? What if it is a key?”
A beat of silence passes before he adds, more quietly,
“I don’t know. But I’ve studied ancient ruins long enough to know that sometimes meaning is left in plain sight. That feeling I had... it wasn’t idle. It meant something.”
He spreads his hands gently.
“Perhaps we should return to it — together this time — before we choose whether to go forward or return to the surface. If there’s even a chance it holds a blessing or insight, we would be fools not to try.”
Mival's eyes light up with wonder and hope, as if expecting the bard to have something specific in mind: "I'm with you! What exactly do you want to do at the shrine? Do you want us to try to rest there?"
The three strangers had met in Rassalantar hamlet, 14 Ches 1501 DR, at the Sleeping Dragon Inn, after being awakened by a gentle breeze carrying the faint scent of spring flowers.
Rassalantar is a quiet village, not much more than a caravan stop on the Long Road, just north of Waterdeep in the Sword Coast North region, consisting of half a dozen walled farms, centered on a spring-fed horse watering pond.
Usually a reasonably quiet place, it seems, the hamlet had recently been animated by an inexplicable event. The son of Kara Sashar, the village wheelwright, nicknamed 'Tarsakh Flower', a young man, now, recently come of age, called Mival Loznhosk, inexplicably abandoned his mother, his home, his usual life... and the last people who saw him reported that he headed straight for the ruins.
The ruins are all that remains today of Rassalantar's Keep, which once served as a fortress for the warrior Rassalantar (a hero of the past of whom little certain information remains). Within the dungeon was a permanent teleportation circle that was used by the Blackstaff to communicate with Rassalantar. Over time, most of the keep's stones were dissembled and used for construction in nearby settlements. All that was left was the underground cellar and dungeons, both of which had flooded.
Some of the three strangers had in mind to go and 'save' Mival and return him safe and sound to his mother, if possible. Others had other, personal goals. But, at the inn, Ghesh, a dragonborn whose purple scales gave him an air of particular nobility or wisdom, had approached them, revealing dreams that tormented him. Dreams of abominations that waited beneath the ruins of the keep. Omens. Dark threats. "I know that abominations from far away, creatures capable of threatening the very natural order of creation, caused the ruin of the keep, long ago," Ghesh explained. "And the fact that the hamlet was spared and continued to thrive suggests that for some reason their threat has ceased. But I have had disturbing premonitions, and that is why I am willing to hire you to verify that there really are no more... threats from another world lurking down there in the depths of the ruins. I would not want, even if the main threat seems to have ceased, to have... seeds left. Seeds that perhaps, one day, could germinate and evolve into new threats. And I have had a vision. Mival, the young man who disappeared... I fear he may have a connection to this. I have seen him, along with... other people... wandering in the bowels of the ruins. And I can bring you before him in an instant."
And the three foreigners, perhaps out of fear for this potential threat, perhaps the promise of a reward, perhaps the prospect of tracking down the missing young man so easily, had allowed themselves to be convinced.
While in the dungeon...
Shortly before, Geados having finished ferrying all the party members, announces: "The outward leg of the journey is concluded. I will go and wait for any new customers... but when you return, if you wish to use my services again for the return leg, call my name and I will come... and take you back, asking just for the same fee as the outward journey". And, with a final wave of farewell, the fiendish helmsman had begun to row slowly along the calm waters of the flooded corridor, soon disappearing from sight.
That's why now, suddenly, the three materialize in front of the party!
That is, in a room that measures 15' x 20' and is completely unfurnished. A solemn marble-paved main corridor crosses the room, through the 10' wide openings in the southernmost part of the west wall and in the center of the north wall - the room is paved in the same way as the corridor. The room is flooded, but the water level is relatively low, about 2'. To the north there would be a spiral staircase that goes down...
But of course, the spiral staircase already is under the surface of the water already... going down would soon mean finding yourself completely immersed.
The smell of mold is omnipresent and natural light is completely absent - an elf provides the only illumination, holding a pebble that emits what can only be magical light.
It's easy to recognize Mival, from the description his mother had made of him: an eighteen-year-old young man, with gentle features that inspire confidence, thick, wavy brown hair, of average height and moderate build, a well-groomed brown moustache ready to reveal a bright smile, green eyes often shining with curiosity...
Mival is left speechless, amazed by the unexpected appearance. And, as according to Ghesh's vision, there are three other people with him...
[[ OOC: Free rein to you in the role-playing of the introductions! Only advice: it would probably help if each of the players, in their next post, in addition to narrating their reaction to the meeting, included the appearance of their character. Consider that for newcomers, this is the equivalent of what the first post was for the old party... it's better for everyone to get an idea of what the interlocutors look like. ]]
Elias takes a single measured step forward, staff in hand but angled downward — not a threat, simply a symbol of readiness. The strangers’ sudden appearance draws no outward alarm from him, though his pale blue eyes narrow slightly with suspicion behind their calm sheen.
His voice is steady, precise, and polite — the practiced tone of a man who has spent his life speaking in council halls and across ancient, dust-laden libraries:
“I am Lord Elias Cerwyn of House Cerwyn, presently in the service of knowledge and caution.” His eyes drift briefly over each figure — human, kenku, hobgoblin — noting gear, stance, bearing, any subtle tells.
“You’ve arrived with no warning, in a place unwelcoming to the uninvited.” He cocks his head slightly. “Who are you, and what business brings you to the drowned keep of Rassalantar?”
Though his voice remains composed, there is a faint weight behind the words — not threat, but the unmistakable air of a man prepared to speak reason, or summon ruin, depending on the answer.
A figure slips silently backward from the 'sudden trio' and places something on the end of her staff and seems to whisper to the self same staff. The crystal on the tip of the staff suddenly glows with a warm yellow-orange as if it were a lit torch. Light
Tilting the staff toward the trio, the figure is well lit for them to see. A female figure easily identifiable as an elf. Her movements alone would be a clue as to her elven heritage. A touch gaunt; perhaps due to recent lean times or recovering from some recent injury or illness. Pale skin. Silver-white hair braided but disheveled at the moment. Blue eyes that seldom miss seeing. No armor so perhaps a magic user of some sort... though, one that looks more drowned cat than impressive manipulator of magical energies at the moment.
She speaks softly but it carries easily to the trio's ears. "I am Tarysaa Sōlus, recent graduate of the University of Silverymoon and currently a journeyman wizard under the tutelage of the Longsaddle Harpells. What brings you to this soggy place? Or perhaps more importantly, who brought you to this particular spot?"
Her eyes peer into the faces of each of the trio; waiting for answers.
Zevriel's sudden appearance is met with the quiet composure of a seasoned knight. Wiry and sinewy beneath his neat, crescent-moon insignia-marked studded leather armor, Zevriel's presence is calm, controlled, yet unmistakably alert. His short dark hair, olive skin, and slightly pointed ears suggest subtle elven heritage, complemented by almond-shaped hazel eyes that swiftly and keenly assess his surroundings.
He stands lightly, almost unconsciously shifting his weight with practiced ease, instinctively balanced even in the shallow waters flooding the chamber. The twinblade slung across his back, etched lovingly with elven script, is drawn swiftly but calmly, blade pointing downward—ready without threatening outright. His stance relaxes visibly when his gaze lands upon Mival, recognizing the young man immediately from the wheelwright's anxious description. Noticing Mival’s surprise but clear lack of distress, Zevriel’s shoulders ease slightly, though his cautious demeanor remains.
Understanding their sudden appearance could cause alarm, Zevriel quickly tries to dispel any suspicion or tension with straightforward sincerity, speaking with simple words and a direct, earnest tone, free of pretension or cleverness: "Sorry for the sudden arrival," he says plainly, voice calm yet reassuring. "I'm Zevriel, Knight of the Moonblade. Came here looking for Mival. His mother Kara was worried—thought he might be in trouble." He offers a respectful nod to Elias, recognizing the man's calm authority and composure as signs of leadership, without yet knowing his deeper character. "I met a sage—Ghesh," he continues carefully, mindful of clarity, "who had visions of this place. Said there might be danger here, something dark from long ago. He sent us right to you. Seems Mival’s safe enough. Good to see that."
Zevriel glances at Mival again, genuine warmth and relief evident, his voice softening slightly in concern, yet without judgment: "Your mother misses you, Mival. If you're safe, I'm glad. But Ghesh thinks there's more down here—abominations, he said. We're here to make sure they won't threaten anyone else. We'll help if you’ll have us."
To be perfectly clear, he did not bring his riding horse. He left it in the village.
Elias listens intently, his head tilting just slightly as Zevriel speaks. The bard’s posture remains reserved yet alert, one hand resting lightly atop the head of his staff. When the newcomer finishes, Elias responds with a slow nod—measured, thoughtful.
“Zevriel, Knight of the Moonblade,” Elias says, tasting the title with mild curiosity. “Your arrival was unexpected, but your purpose is… understandable. Kara is a woman of great feeling.” His eyes flick momentarily toward Mival, then back.
“If your words are sincere, you are welcome among us. But you’ll forgive me if I find surprise entrances into flooded ruins a cause for—measured scrutiny.” He smiles faintly, not without warmth. “As for the sage Ghesh… I do not know him, but I am no stranger to cryptic warnings.”
He turns slightly now, gaze shifting with subtle precision towards the kenku and the hobgoblin.
"And you two? I would hear your names and intentions as well, before we go forward. This place is layered in danger and deceit—we must be cautious with whom we place our trust.”
His voice remains calm and diplomatic, yet unmistakably firm—the tone of a man who has been lied to before, and remembers every instance.
Round 2
Seeing the arc of magical electricity disappear, but the enemy in serious trouble, Koran launches into the attack in the hope of finishing him off! The monk springs forward as fast as lightning and brings the edge of his hand down on the undead's neck...
Koran's edge hand Attack: 11 Damage: 5 (bludgeoning)
Round 2
...But the undead still has the strength to fight and avoids at the last moment.
Making good use of all his rigorous martial training, the elf monk presses the tenacious monster with a knee and an elbow!
[[ OOC: Expending a ki point for Flurry of Blows ]]
Koran's Knee Attack: 24 Damage: 8 (bludgeoning)
Koran's Ellbow Attack: 7 Damage: 7 (bludgeoning)
Round 2
The monster seems to take on an almost mocking grin, as its invisible armor rdeflects Koran's knee - but the grin is suddenly erased by the elbow that hits it!
The Solid Shadow staggers for a moment... it tries to point its arms at the elf, as if to unleash the nefarious necrotic energy again... but its substance is already dissipating like dark smoke.
The monster collapses and dissolves.
Gratz! Combat won!
As the Deathlock Wight dissolves into smoke and shadow, its final groan still hanging in the fetid air, Elias steps cautiously into the chamber, boots splashing softly through the flooded stone.
He watches as the last wisps of blackness unravel and vanish, and for a long moment, he doesn’t speak.
His gaze lingers where the creature once writhed in torment, where fear and desperation had taken root so deeply that even death hadn’t silenced them.
Then, softly:
“What a tragic thing…”
His voice isn’t triumphant. It carries no glee, no pride. Just the weight of something understood too late.
“To be forgotten in death… to scream for mercy from a master who abandoned you… and to die a second time without ever being heard.”
He looks to Tarysaa, watching as she begins to stir again, and then to Koran, still tense in the aftermath of the strike.
“Well struck,” he says to him. “The mercy he didn’t get from his patron… you gave him with your fist.”
Elias turns once more to the empty space where the Wight fell, lets out a long breath, and murmurs a final line — more for the dead than the living.
“Rest now. No more whispers.”
Now that the battle is over and the room can be explored without the worry of a dark presence shooting out necrotic energy rays, it is immediately noticeable that to the north there would be a spiral staircase that goes down...
But of course, the spiral staircase already is under the surface of the water already... going down would soon mean finding yourself completely immersed.
Elias approaches the edge of the flooded spiral stair, peering down as the last curls of darkness from the fallen wight vanish into nothingness. The water laps gently against the stone, reflecting faint light in broken ripples — a quiet surface that hides the depth below.
He crouches near the top step, eyes scanning the submerged descent.
“So… here it is,” he says quietly. “The way deeper.”
His voice echoes slightly in the stone chamber, as if the keep itself is listening.
He glances over his shoulder to the others as they gather.
“This path continues downward — but we’ll be breathing water long before we reach the bottom. Whatever’s below… it’s not waiting for us in dry halls.”
He looks to Mival. “You said you can swim this. Anyone else? Otherwise, we’ll need to talk strategy. Spells. Potions. A plan. We’ve made it this far — I’d rather not drown in the next room.”
He rises, brushing damp from his knees, and speaks in a more composed tone.
“I’d also wager this stair may lead to that ancient teleportation circle Tarysaa mentioned. Which means we’re close. But also close to whatever dark thing has claimed this ruin.”
He pauses a moment, considering.
“Or we turn back. Regroup. Come better prepared for a deeper descent.”
He lets the choice hang there — not commanding, but waiting to see who will brave the depths, and how.
Tarysaa takes time to try to brush off the worst of the mud and muck from her clothing as she stands. "As before, I have no magicks available to travel in deep water. Nor potions." She purses her lips in thought, "Perhaps if we had the time and materials we could have a smithy or artificer provide a mechanical means of draining the 'sub basement'..."
Shaking her head slowly as she tenderly touches the spot the necrotic beam hit her torso, "I, for one, need a bit of time to recover and heal. Perhaps we all could use some time to consider our options?"
Elias stands quietly at the edge of the spiral stair, the water below dark and unmoving, like the pause before a final note in a song unfinished.
When Tarysaa speaks, her voice touched with weariness and pain, Elias listens without interrupting. He looks to the bruise beneath her hand, the exhaustion behind her eyes, and he knows she’s right.
He draws a long breath, then speaks.
“I’ve little left to offer in the way of magic. My voice is hoarse, and my hands feel heavy. Whatever lies beneath that water… it deserves more than our last scraps of strength.”
He turns toward Mival, his expression gentler now.
“But I also know the surface isn’t easy for all of us. Mival…”
He steps closer to the young doppelganger, keeping his tone soft.
“You’ve already come farther than most would expect. Fought beside us. Stood your ground. I know you wanted to go back to your mother with something more than a story — something that felt worthy of her faith in you.”
He pauses, letting that land before continuing.
“But showing her that you came back — not just alive, but changed — that might be worth more than anything we could pull from the deep.”
Elias offers a hand briefly to Mival’s shoulder — not to guide him, but just to ground him.
“We’re not abandoning the search. Just taking time to heal. And when we return — together — we’ll do so ready to finish what we started.”
He looks back to the others.
“Let’s go home. For now.”
((Elias rolled an 8 for persuasion...if even necessary))
Do we want to explore the other rooms off the hall before heading back to town?
Elias stands in silence for a moment after Ardana speaks, his eyes fixed on the darkened corridor beyond.
His fingers idly tap against the damp leather of his spellbook, but there’s no rhythm to it — just the telltale sign of a mind weighed by too many calculations.
He exhales through his nose, slow and conflicted.
“We’ve come this far,” he says quietly, “and there’s part of me that wants to see what lies ahead — to map it, to understand it. But…”
He looks down at his open hand, curling his fingers once before dropping it to his side.
“Most of my magic is spent. What little I have left is threadbare. And some of us —” he glances toward Tarysaa and Ardana — “took wounds that time will heal better than potions.”
He looks back to Ardana now, then to the others, letting the question settle in the shared space between them.
“We don’t know what the next room holds. It could be nothing. Or it could be worse than anything we’ve faced yet. So… do we press forward now and hope luck is with us?”
His gaze moves from one companion to the next.
“Or do we leave it until we can return prepared — at full strength, and on our terms?”
He doesn’t answer the question himself.
Not yet.
He wants to hear what they say.
Mival listens attentively to both Elias and Ardana... but it is clear that his youthful enthusiasm makes him lean more towards the valiant paladin than the wise bard.
"We could also rest here, if anyone needs to recover their strength..." the Doppelganger tries to mediate "The undead that haunted this room is dissolved. Or we could even rest at the shrine we just passed. And then continue exploring".
[[ OOC: In game terms, he is proposing a Short Rest to allow the wounded to spend HDs to regain HPs ]]
Elias had been quiet for some time now — not in the way of exhaustion, nor in the manner of someone merely taking stock after battle. No, his stillness held weight. His gaze was fixed not on the flooded staircase or the battle-worn faces of his companions, but somewhere far off — inward, perhaps, or backward, toward something they had already passed.
Then, quite suddenly, his brow creased — not with worry, but realization.
He took a slow breath and spoke, voice low and even, but tinged with something harder to place: awe, perhaps... or humility.
“That shrine… to Eldath. I’ve been turning it over in my mind. At first I thought it an oddity, tucked down here in this drowned ruin — a relic left behind by someone seeking comfort in a lost place. But now… I’m not so sure.”
He looks to each of them, resting his eyes briefly on Tarysaa, then Ardana, then Koran and Mival.
“When I knelt there — I didn’t mean to pray. I never have. But something came over me. Peace. Clarity. And now I wonder… was it merely comfort? Or was it guidance?”
He shifts slightly, the damp edges of his cloak swaying as he moved.
“Eldath is the goddess of peace, yes — but also of still waters. Water untouched by violence, or shaped only by time. And what are we surrounded by now, if not water that has halted our path? What if that shrine is more than a kindness left behind? What if it is a key?”
A beat of silence passes before he adds, more quietly,
“I don’t know. But I’ve studied ancient ruins long enough to know that sometimes meaning is left in plain sight. That feeling I had... it wasn’t idle. It meant something.”
He spreads his hands gently.
“Perhaps we should return to it — together this time — before we choose whether to go forward or return to the surface. If there’s even a chance it holds a blessing or insight, we would be fools not to try.”
Mival's eyes light up with wonder and hope, as if expecting the bard to have something specific in mind: "I'm with you! What exactly do you want to do at the shrine? Do you want us to try to rest there?"
It had all happened a little while ago...
The three strangers had met in Rassalantar hamlet, 14 Ches 1501 DR, at the Sleeping Dragon Inn, after being awakened by a gentle breeze carrying the faint scent of spring flowers.
Rassalantar is a quiet village, not much more than a caravan stop on the Long Road, just north of Waterdeep in the Sword Coast North region, consisting of half a dozen walled farms, centered on a spring-fed horse watering pond.
Usually a reasonably quiet place, it seems, the hamlet had recently been animated by an inexplicable event. The son of Kara Sashar, the village wheelwright, nicknamed 'Tarsakh Flower', a young man, now, recently come of age, called Mival Loznhosk, inexplicably abandoned his mother, his home, his usual life... and the last people who saw him reported that he headed straight for the ruins.
The ruins are all that remains today of Rassalantar's Keep, which once served as a fortress for the warrior Rassalantar (a hero of the past of whom little certain information remains). Within the dungeon was a permanent teleportation circle that was used by the Blackstaff to communicate with Rassalantar. Over time, most of the keep's stones were dissembled and used for construction in nearby settlements. All that was left was the underground cellar and dungeons, both of which had flooded.
Some of the three strangers had in mind to go and 'save' Mival and return him safe and sound to his mother, if possible. Others had other, personal goals. But, at the inn, Ghesh, a dragonborn whose purple scales gave him an air of particular nobility or wisdom, had approached them, revealing dreams that tormented him. Dreams of abominations that waited beneath the ruins of the keep. Omens. Dark threats. "I know that abominations from far away, creatures capable of threatening the very natural order of creation, caused the ruin of the keep, long ago," Ghesh explained. "And the fact that the hamlet was spared and continued to thrive suggests that for some reason their threat has ceased. But I have had disturbing premonitions, and that is why I am willing to hire you to verify that there really are no more... threats from another world lurking down there in the depths of the ruins. I would not want, even if the main threat seems to have ceased, to have... seeds left. Seeds that perhaps, one day, could germinate and evolve into new threats. And I have had a vision. Mival, the young man who disappeared... I fear he may have a connection to this. I have seen him, along with... other people... wandering in the bowels of the ruins. And I can bring you before him in an instant."
And the three foreigners, perhaps out of fear for this potential threat, perhaps the promise of a reward, perhaps the prospect of tracking down the missing young man so easily, had allowed themselves to be convinced.
While in the dungeon...
Shortly before, Geados having finished ferrying all the party members, announces: "The outward leg of the journey is concluded. I will go and wait for any new customers... but when you return, if you wish to use my services again for the return leg, call my name and I will come... and take you back, asking just for the same fee as the outward journey". And, with a final wave of farewell, the fiendish helmsman had begun to row slowly along the calm waters of the flooded corridor, soon disappearing from sight.
That's why now, suddenly, the three materialize in front of the party!
That is, in a room that measures 15' x 20' and is completely unfurnished. A solemn marble-paved main corridor crosses the room, through the 10' wide openings in the southernmost part of the west wall and in the center of the north wall - the room is paved in the same way as the corridor. The room is flooded, but the water level is relatively low, about 2'. To the north there would be a spiral staircase that goes down...
But of course, the spiral staircase already is under the surface of the water already... going down would soon mean finding yourself completely immersed.
The smell of mold is omnipresent and natural light is completely absent - an elf provides the only illumination, holding a pebble that emits what can only be magical light.
It's easy to recognize Mival, from the description his mother had made of him: an eighteen-year-old young man, with gentle features that inspire confidence, thick, wavy brown hair, of average height and moderate build, a well-groomed brown moustache ready to reveal a bright smile, green eyes often shining with curiosity...
Mival is left speechless, amazed by the unexpected appearance. And, as according to Ghesh's vision, there are three other people with him...
[[ OOC: Free rein to you in the role-playing of the introductions! Only advice: it would probably help if each of the players, in their next post, in addition to narrating their reaction to the meeting, included the appearance of their character. Consider that for newcomers, this is the equivalent of what the first post was for the old party... it's better for everyone to get an idea of what the interlocutors look like. ]]
Elias takes a single measured step forward, staff in hand but angled downward — not a threat, simply a symbol of readiness. The strangers’ sudden appearance draws no outward alarm from him, though his pale blue eyes narrow slightly with suspicion behind their calm sheen.
His voice is steady, precise, and polite — the practiced tone of a man who has spent his life speaking in council halls and across ancient, dust-laden libraries:
“I am Lord Elias Cerwyn of House Cerwyn, presently in the service of knowledge and caution.” His eyes drift briefly over each figure — human, kenku, hobgoblin — noting gear, stance, bearing, any subtle tells.
“You’ve arrived with no warning, in a place unwelcoming to the uninvited.” He cocks his head slightly. “Who are you, and what business brings you to the drowned keep of Rassalantar?”
Though his voice remains composed, there is a faint weight behind the words — not threat, but the unmistakable air of a man prepared to speak reason, or summon ruin, depending on the answer.
A figure slips silently backward from the 'sudden trio' and places something on the end of her staff and seems to whisper to the self same staff. The crystal on the tip of the staff suddenly glows with a warm yellow-orange as if it were a lit torch. Light
Tilting the staff toward the trio, the figure is well lit for them to see. A female figure easily identifiable as an elf. Her movements alone would be a clue as to her elven heritage. A touch gaunt; perhaps due to recent lean times or recovering from some recent injury or illness. Pale skin. Silver-white hair braided but disheveled at the moment. Blue eyes that seldom miss seeing. No armor so perhaps a magic user of some sort... though, one that looks more drowned cat than impressive manipulator of magical energies at the moment.
She speaks softly but it carries easily to the trio's ears. "I am Tarysaa Sōlus, recent graduate of the University of Silverymoon and currently a journeyman wizard under the tutelage of the Longsaddle Harpells. What brings you to this soggy place? Or perhaps more importantly, who brought you to this particular spot?"
Her eyes peer into the faces of each of the trio; waiting for answers.
Zevriel's sudden appearance is met with the quiet composure of a seasoned knight. Wiry and sinewy beneath his neat, crescent-moon insignia-marked studded leather armor, Zevriel's presence is calm, controlled, yet unmistakably alert. His short dark hair, olive skin, and slightly pointed ears suggest subtle elven heritage, complemented by almond-shaped hazel eyes that swiftly and keenly assess his surroundings.
He stands lightly, almost unconsciously shifting his weight with practiced ease, instinctively balanced even in the shallow waters flooding the chamber. The twinblade slung across his back, etched lovingly with elven script, is drawn swiftly but calmly, blade pointing downward—ready without threatening outright. His stance relaxes visibly when his gaze lands upon Mival, recognizing the young man immediately from the wheelwright's anxious description. Noticing Mival’s surprise but clear lack of distress, Zevriel’s shoulders ease slightly, though his cautious demeanor remains.
Understanding their sudden appearance could cause alarm, Zevriel quickly tries to dispel any suspicion or tension with straightforward sincerity, speaking with simple words and a direct, earnest tone, free of pretension or cleverness: "Sorry for the sudden arrival," he says plainly, voice calm yet reassuring. "I'm Zevriel, Knight of the Moonblade. Came here looking for Mival. His mother Kara was worried—thought he might be in trouble." He offers a respectful nod to Elias, recognizing the man's calm authority and composure as signs of leadership, without yet knowing his deeper character. "I met a sage—Ghesh," he continues carefully, mindful of clarity, "who had visions of this place. Said there might be danger here, something dark from long ago. He sent us right to you. Seems Mival’s safe enough. Good to see that."
Zevriel glances at Mival again, genuine warmth and relief evident, his voice softening slightly in concern, yet without judgment: "Your mother misses you, Mival. If you're safe, I'm glad. But Ghesh thinks there's more down here—abominations, he said. We're here to make sure they won't threaten anyone else. We'll help if you’ll have us."
To be perfectly clear, he did not bring his riding horse. He left it in the village.
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Elf Rogue - Wildnis || b'Reh - Stig Cleric - Humblewood || Rowan - Halfling Giant - Runewarren || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Tribute || Arista - Frost Sorcerer - Old Keep || Zephirah - Demonic Bard - Sands || Merry - Gifted Surgeon - Short || Marasatra - Blood Mage - Avernus || Lan - Dwarf Dragon - Wuxian ||
Elias listens intently, his head tilting just slightly as Zevriel speaks. The bard’s posture remains reserved yet alert, one hand resting lightly atop the head of his staff. When the newcomer finishes, Elias responds with a slow nod—measured, thoughtful.
“Zevriel, Knight of the Moonblade,” Elias says, tasting the title with mild curiosity. “Your arrival was unexpected, but your purpose is… understandable. Kara is a woman of great feeling.” His eyes flick momentarily toward Mival, then back.
“If your words are sincere, you are welcome among us. But you’ll forgive me if I find surprise entrances into flooded ruins a cause for—measured scrutiny.” He smiles faintly, not without warmth. “As for the sage Ghesh… I do not know him, but I am no stranger to cryptic warnings.”
He turns slightly now, gaze shifting with subtle precision towards the kenku and the hobgoblin.
"And you two? I would hear your names and intentions as well, before we go forward. This place is layered in danger and deceit—we must be cautious with whom we place our trust.”
His voice remains calm and diplomatic, yet unmistakably firm—the tone of a man who has been lied to before, and remembers every instance.