Mival's eyes widen in wonder: "Hey! I don't know how to shapeshift that much! I don't know how to become that! You'll have to teach me, someday..."
The Doppelganger then transforms itself, taking on the appearance of a sea elf with webbed hands.
The pair of shapeshifters complete the short swim without difficulty and without being disturbed. Could it be that this stretch of water is truly free of danger?
Once they reach the shallow stretch of water where the shrine has been erected, Mival stops swimming, stands up and everything seems exactly as the party left it... just some ornamental shells as an offering and painting of a perhaps sacred symbol on the southern wall: a waterfall plunging into a still pool. The symbol of the goddess Eldath. A symbol that seems to emanate a sacred aura that invites prayer.
Zevriel nods as Mival and Paqen prepare to enter the water. He moves to a spot near the edge of the flooded stretch, water lapping just below his knees, and unslings his longbow with a practiced, quiet motion. He checks the string, then draws an arrow, holding it ready but not nocked. “I’ll watch for trouble,” Zevriel says simply, scanning the dark water and the shadows along the far wall. His voice is steady, no bravado—just plain intent. “If anything comes up, I’ll put an arrow in it. You two just give a shout if you see anything.” He stands vigilant, eyes alert, ready to cover his companions as they make their way across.
Tarysaa turns to Elias, "I have been considering a light spell on a rock or coin and tossing as far down the watery hallway as possible... to help with the dark depths. But I fear, any light down there might ATTRACT unwanted creatures which is never a wise choice. Then again, if they are used to darkness - suddenly bright light might stun them for a moment?"
She heaves a heavy sigh. "The Harpell left so much out of their 'request'."
Elias watches the shifting forms of Paqen and Mival with a mixture of curiosity and wary admiration, arms folded loosely as he leans his weight to one side. When Zevriel moves to cover them with a readied arrow, the bard gives him a nod of quiet approval.
“Strange bedfellows we make,” he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else.
Turning toward Tarysaa, he gives her a faint, rueful smile.
“If the Harpells told you everything up front, you might not have come. That’s their magic: half-truths wrapped in just enough mystery to make us feel clever for saying yes.”
He looks back toward the water, then adds more thoughtfully:
“If they resurface shaken, we’ll want the light ready. But if not... let’s keep the dark on our side for now.”
He rests his hand lightly on the hilt of his rapier, more for comfort than need.
“I don’t know what we’ll find when we go deeper... but at least we won’t be going alone.”
Crab-Paqen with his 30’ blindsight noticed that further down (about 20’) is a new level of the dungeon, specifically a section of a wide corridor (10’ wide)… The floor of this corridor is now littered with rubble from the fallen floor of the current level. There appear to be no creatures.
The two shapeshifters have reached the shrine without too much difficulty... What will the other heroes do now?
Elias watches Paqen and Mival disappear into the water’s gloom, his pale eyes narrowed in thought. The water ripples settle, untroubled by claws or current, and after several long moments, both figures reemerge safely on the far side.
He exhales slowly, then turns to the others. "Well... they made it," he says, his voice quiet but edged with hesitation. He glances down at the dark, waist-deep stretch of corridor, then back at Tarysaa, Sharinn, and Zevriel. "We can try to call Geados again, though I suspect he'll want another ten gold for the favor... or we can risk the water."
He pauses. The flicker of torchlight reflects faintly on the surface before them, broken only by the occasional ripple from a distant drip. "What say you? Do we swim for it?"
Zevriel watches as Mival and Paqen make it safely to the shrine, and only then does he lower his bow, letting out a breath he’d been holding.
He looks to Elias, brow raised. “Something ever come out of the water here? Or is it just dark?” His words are plain, not doubting, just checking—his mind works more on what’s in front of him than on what-ifs.
“Not paying ten gold for a few steps. Don’t have that much anyway.” He glances at Tarysaa and Sharinn, giving them a moment to object, but if there’s no protest, he wades into the water, moving steady and unhurried.
With his free hand, Zevriel holds his backpack high over his head to keep it as dry as he can, and starts to swim across, his eyes darting around for trouble, just in case.
Once there he checks out the shrine that apparently had drawn the groups attention, "What is this?" (Religion 11)
Zevriel and Sharinn's swim is also successful - the two heroes manage to reach the makeshift shrine.
Zevirel tries to think back, but in fact he can only associate the symbol with Eldath, the benevolent goddess of still waters, but not remember many other details about her. After all, the gods of Faerûn are quite numerous...
Once across, Zevriel sloshes quietly up to the painted symbol, kneeling in the shallows beside the shrine. He uncaps his waterskin and pours a small measure into the pool below the symbol, bowing his head. His words are simple, barely above a whisper. “Lady Eldath… keep these waters calm. Let us pass safe, if you will.”
He caps his waterskin and stands, wiping his hands on his armor. Glancing at the others, he speaks in his plain, honest way: “Gods… best not to forget ’em. Sometimes a little respect does something. Sometimes nothing at all. But if you mock or ignore ’em, that’s when trouble finds you. That’s what I was taught, anyway.”
He gives a small shrug, not trying to sound wise—just saying what he’s learned. “So… what now? Most of us can’t go swimming down there. Have you looked everywhere you could? Maybe we should just head back, tell folks the place is all water and we can’t go deeper.”
Zevriel begins to feel a growing sense of well-being as he prays to Eldath in her makeshift shrine... but the feeling slowly begins to fade as he stops...
Elias eyes the dark water with no small measure of hesitation. His expression is one of resigned dignity, like a nobleman forced to trudge through mud to keep his word.
He removes his cloak and folds it with practiced care, stowing it securely before stepping into the water. "Dignity is a fickle companion," he mutters under his breath as the cold seeps in.
With a final glance back at Tarysaa—who stands ready to provide cover—he nods and wades forward, pushing off into the swim with a determined, if not particularly graceful, stroke. The water is unpleasant, but he presses forward, his focus fixed on the dim light ahead where his companions wait.
Soaked but intact, Elias hauls himself up beside them at last, exhaling sharply and brushing hair from his eyes.
"Remind me to compose an ode to dry boots when this is over," he says flatly, wringing water from his sleeve.
Zevriel lingers a moment longer by the altar, watching the water settle from his small offering. He feels the fading warmth inside him, traces of peace still echoing in his chest. He glances at the others, his voice quiet and certain: “Feels like she’s got some strength here. Eldath, I mean. Maybe that’s why nothing’s bothered us… might be her doing. Waters been calm. Could be luck, but… I don’t think so.”
He squints at the painted waterfall, rubbing his chin with callused fingers. “Strange thing, though. Was this shrine put here before the water came? Or did someone build it after? Don’t make much sense to me…” His thoughts drift, brows knitting, but he just shrugs, letting the puzzle drop unfinished as his attention wanders to the rest of the group, waiting for their next move.
Paqen will drop his crab form and shake off as much water as he can as he transforms. Back in his form he ruffles up several times and preens with his beak any feathers that are out of place.
Looking to the shrine he kneels, now recomposed, in reverence to the lady’s shrine. “Thank you for guiding And protecting us. I pray your influence stretches deeper into this place…though I do wonder how you found yourself in a structure such as this. Buried in artifice and far from natures bosom.”
Lingering a moment longer over the shine with eyes closed in reflection. He pauses, “How long has it been since you have had a visitor…he pulls a broken compass from inside his vest and looks at it for a while and looks around the space and lets out a deep sigh. “I‘ve been carrying this around for a long time now. And you have probably not had a proper offering for even longer. I…we will most certainly need your help so I leave this for you. May you bless us with your guidance…” he places the compass on the shrine and rises, muttering to himself. “I may have bitten off more than I can chew with this one…”
taking a moment to recompose himself again he clicks his beak a couple times. “I know we just got out of the water but there appears to be access to a lower chamber below this corridor…back in the water…”
Elias gestures slightly with his hand toward the corridor behind them, his voice steady but thoughtful.
"You're not wrong, Paqen—this place has more than one path down." He glances briefly at the water stretching out ahead of them. "There’s a spiral staircase in the chamber where we faced the wight. That descent is entirely submerged now, though I doubt it always was. Time has changed the keep... and not for the better."
He folds his arms, his gaze briefly drifting back toward the shrine. "Another spiral stair further back was the same—flooded before it reached the lower level. Whether it’s poor construction, deliberate sabotage, or something darker, it seems clear that whatever is waiting down there doesn’t want company."
Turning back to the group, Elias adds, "Whatever path we choose, it’s going to take us into deeper water—literally and likely metaphorically. Best we choose carefully. One step wrong and this place could become a tomb, not a memory."
He nods with quiet respect toward Paqen. "But your offering… it may earn us favor we’ll need. Eldath is not a goddess of ruin. Her presence here may be the one mercy left in these stones."
As the group trades ideas and suggestions, Tarysaa uses Prestidigitation to dry and clean everyone's clothing as best she can. To add a little more to it all, she will also use the same spell to warm up cloaks, capes or doublets. Rather than soggy sadness; at least, for a few moments, everyone can be warm and dry.
Paqen is filled with a sense of well-being and peace as he kneels in reverence, as he prays, and as he presents his offering... It is a sensation that seems to gradually grow stronger and more pleasant as time passes... until, after about a minute [[ OOC: I assumed from the description of the actions that such a length of time may have passed ]], the sensation reaches its peak and the kenku anthropologist reaches the awareness of having received some sort of blessing from the Lady of the Still Waters.
The water now seems natural and familiar... at least as much as the air... and the druid is inexplicably but firmly convinced that he has acquired the ability to breathe (and even speak) underwater.
As the gentle glow of Prestidigitation lifts the damp from Elias’s coat and softly warms the fabric across his shoulders, he offers a quick, sincere “Thank you, Tarysaa,” without taking his eyes off Paqen.
He watches in silence as the kenku makes his offering, touched in some small way by the reverence of it. Something stirs—subtle and unsettling. Elias had never been one for gods. Too many wars had been waged in their names. Too many innocents buried beneath the weight of others’ beliefs. And yet… there was something undeniable here. In the hush that hung over the shrine. In the stillness that followed Paqen’s words.
Elias steps forward and slowly kneels beside the worn symbol of the goddess of peace and quiet waters. For a moment, he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. He merely is, letting the cool calm of the space settle around him.
Then, in a quiet voice not meant to carry beyond the stones, he speaks.
“Lady Eldath… I don’t claim to know your ways. I’ve walked too long with reason to ask things of faith. But we are trying to protect something… and someone. If you still watch this place—if your waters still reach into the deep—lend us safe passage.”
He doesn’t rise.
Instead, Elias remains there, kneeling before the shrine, head bowed in quiet thought. The flickering torchlight plays softly across the worn stone and his pale features, casting long shadows. For now, he says nothing more. Just lets the silence stretch, and the stillness seep into his bones.
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Mival's eyes widen in wonder: "Hey! I don't know how to shapeshift that much! I don't know how to become that! You'll have to teach me, someday..."
The Doppelganger then transforms itself, taking on the appearance of a sea elf with webbed hands.
The pair of shapeshifters complete the short swim without difficulty and without being disturbed. Could it be that this stretch of water is truly free of danger?
Once they reach the shallow stretch of water where the shrine has been erected, Mival stops swimming, stands up and everything seems exactly as the party left it... just some ornamental shells as an offering and painting of a perhaps sacred symbol on the southern wall: a waterfall plunging into a still pool. The symbol of the goddess Eldath. A symbol that seems to emanate a sacred aura that invites prayer.
Zevriel nods as Mival and Paqen prepare to enter the water. He moves to a spot near the edge of the flooded stretch, water lapping just below his knees, and unslings his longbow with a practiced, quiet motion. He checks the string, then draws an arrow, holding it ready but not nocked. “I’ll watch for trouble,” Zevriel says simply, scanning the dark water and the shadows along the far wall. His voice is steady, no bravado—just plain intent. “If anything comes up, I’ll put an arrow in it. You two just give a shout if you see anything.” He stands vigilant, eyes alert, ready to cover his companions as they make their way across.
|| 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 ||
Tarysaa turns to Elias, "I have been considering a light spell on a rock or coin and tossing as far down the watery hallway as possible... to help with the dark depths. But I fear, any light down there might ATTRACT unwanted creatures which is never a wise choice. Then again, if they are used to darkness - suddenly bright light might stun them for a moment?"
She heaves a heavy sigh. "The Harpell left so much out of their 'request'."
Elias watches the shifting forms of Paqen and Mival with a mixture of curiosity and wary admiration, arms folded loosely as he leans his weight to one side. When Zevriel moves to cover them with a readied arrow, the bard gives him a nod of quiet approval.
“Strange bedfellows we make,” he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else.
Turning toward Tarysaa, he gives her a faint, rueful smile.
“If the Harpells told you everything up front, you might not have come. That’s their magic: half-truths wrapped in just enough mystery to make us feel clever for saying yes.”
He looks back toward the water, then adds more thoughtfully:
“If they resurface shaken, we’ll want the light ready. But if not... let’s keep the dark on our side for now.”
He rests his hand lightly on the hilt of his rapier, more for comfort than need.
“I don’t know what we’ll find when we go deeper... but at least we won’t be going alone.”
Paqen scuttles out on the otherside of the water near the shrine and waves his claws around excited bubbles forming out of his mouth.
Would he have noticed anything in the water or on the ground beneath with his 30’ blindsight as a crab.
Crab-Paqen with his 30’ blindsight noticed that further down (about 20’) is a new level of the dungeon, specifically a section of a wide corridor (10’ wide)… The floor of this corridor is now littered with rubble from the fallen floor of the current level. There appear to be no creatures.
The two shapeshifters have reached the shrine without too much difficulty... What will the other heroes do now?
Elias watches Paqen and Mival disappear into the water’s gloom, his pale eyes narrowed in thought. The water ripples settle, untroubled by claws or current, and after several long moments, both figures reemerge safely on the far side.
He exhales slowly, then turns to the others. "Well... they made it," he says, his voice quiet but edged with hesitation. He glances down at the dark, waist-deep stretch of corridor, then back at Tarysaa, Sharinn, and Zevriel. "We can try to call Geados again, though I suspect he'll want another ten gold for the favor... or we can risk the water."
He pauses. The flicker of torchlight reflects faintly on the surface before them, broken only by the occasional ripple from a distant drip. "What say you? Do we swim for it?"
Zevriel watches as Mival and Paqen make it safely to the shrine, and only then does he lower his bow, letting out a breath he’d been holding.
He looks to Elias, brow raised. “Something ever come out of the water here? Or is it just dark?” His words are plain, not doubting, just checking—his mind works more on what’s in front of him than on what-ifs.
“Not paying ten gold for a few steps. Don’t have that much anyway.” He glances at Tarysaa and Sharinn, giving them a moment to object, but if there’s no protest, he wades into the water, moving steady and unhurried.
With his free hand, Zevriel holds his backpack high over his head to keep it as dry as he can, and starts to swim across, his eyes darting around for trouble, just in case.
Once there he checks out the shrine that apparently had drawn the groups attention, "What is this?" (Religion 11)
|| 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 ||
Sharinn will join the others when they enter the water.
Coriana - Company of the Grey Chain
Wagner - Dragon Heist: Bards.
DM - The Old Keep
Zevriel and Sharinn's swim is also successful - the two heroes manage to reach the makeshift shrine.
Zevirel tries to think back, but in fact he can only associate the symbol with Eldath, the benevolent goddess of still waters, but not remember many other details about her. After all, the gods of Faerûn are quite numerous...
Tarysaa will stand watch as the others all make their watery transition. Once all make it safely across, she will Misty Step across.
Once across, Zevriel sloshes quietly up to the painted symbol, kneeling in the shallows beside the shrine. He uncaps his waterskin and pours a small measure into the pool below the symbol, bowing his head. His words are simple, barely above a whisper. “Lady Eldath… keep these waters calm. Let us pass safe, if you will.”
He caps his waterskin and stands, wiping his hands on his armor. Glancing at the others, he speaks in his plain, honest way: “Gods… best not to forget ’em. Sometimes a little respect does something. Sometimes nothing at all. But if you mock or ignore ’em, that’s when trouble finds you. That’s what I was taught, anyway.”
He gives a small shrug, not trying to sound wise—just saying what he’s learned. “So… what now? Most of us can’t go swimming down there. Have you looked everywhere you could? Maybe we should just head back, tell folks the place is all water and we can’t go deeper.”
|| 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 ||
Zevriel begins to feel a growing sense of well-being as he prays to Eldath in her makeshift shrine... but the feeling slowly begins to fade as he stops...
Elias eyes the dark water with no small measure of hesitation. His expression is one of resigned dignity, like a nobleman forced to trudge through mud to keep his word.
He removes his cloak and folds it with practiced care, stowing it securely before stepping into the water. "Dignity is a fickle companion," he mutters under his breath as the cold seeps in.
With a final glance back at Tarysaa—who stands ready to provide cover—he nods and wades forward, pushing off into the swim with a determined, if not particularly graceful, stroke. The water is unpleasant, but he presses forward, his focus fixed on the dim light ahead where his companions wait.
Soaked but intact, Elias hauls himself up beside them at last, exhaling sharply and brushing hair from his eyes.
"Remind me to compose an ode to dry boots when this is over," he says flatly, wringing water from his sleeve.
Zevriel lingers a moment longer by the altar, watching the water settle from his small offering. He feels the fading warmth inside him, traces of peace still echoing in his chest. He glances at the others, his voice quiet and certain: “Feels like she’s got some strength here. Eldath, I mean. Maybe that’s why nothing’s bothered us… might be her doing. Waters been calm. Could be luck, but… I don’t think so.”
He squints at the painted waterfall, rubbing his chin with callused fingers. “Strange thing, though. Was this shrine put here before the water came? Or did someone build it after? Don’t make much sense to me…” His thoughts drift, brows knitting, but he just shrugs, letting the puzzle drop unfinished as his attention wanders to the rest of the group, waiting for their next move.
|| 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 ||
Paqen will drop his crab form and shake off as much water as he can as he transforms. Back in his form he ruffles up several times and preens with his beak any feathers that are out of place.
Looking to the shrine he kneels, now recomposed, in reverence to the lady’s shrine. “Thank you for guiding And protecting us. I pray your influence stretches deeper into this place…though I do wonder how you found yourself in a structure such as this. Buried in artifice and far from natures bosom.”
Lingering a moment longer over the shine with eyes closed in reflection. He pauses, “How long has it been since you have had a visitor…he pulls a broken compass from inside his vest and looks at it for a while and looks around the space and lets out a deep sigh. “I‘ve been carrying this around for a long time now. And you have probably not had a proper offering for even longer. I…we will most certainly need your help so I leave this for you. May you bless us with your guidance…” he places the compass on the shrine and rises, muttering to himself. “I may have bitten off more than I can chew with this one…”
taking a moment to recompose himself again he clicks his beak a couple times. “I know we just got out of the water but there appears to be access to a lower chamber below this corridor…back in the water…”
Elias gestures slightly with his hand toward the corridor behind them, his voice steady but thoughtful.
"You're not wrong, Paqen—this place has more than one path down." He glances briefly at the water stretching out ahead of them. "There’s a spiral staircase in the chamber where we faced the wight. That descent is entirely submerged now, though I doubt it always was. Time has changed the keep... and not for the better."
He folds his arms, his gaze briefly drifting back toward the shrine. "Another spiral stair further back was the same—flooded before it reached the lower level. Whether it’s poor construction, deliberate sabotage, or something darker, it seems clear that whatever is waiting down there doesn’t want company."
Turning back to the group, Elias adds, "Whatever path we choose, it’s going to take us into deeper water—literally and likely metaphorically. Best we choose carefully. One step wrong and this place could become a tomb, not a memory."
He nods with quiet respect toward Paqen. "But your offering… it may earn us favor we’ll need. Eldath is not a goddess of ruin. Her presence here may be the one mercy left in these stones."
As the group trades ideas and suggestions, Tarysaa uses Prestidigitation to dry and clean everyone's clothing as best she can. To add a little more to it all, she will also use the same spell to warm up cloaks, capes or doublets. Rather than soggy sadness; at least, for a few moments, everyone can be warm and dry.
Paqen is filled with a sense of well-being and peace as he kneels in reverence, as he prays, and as he presents his offering... It is a sensation that seems to gradually grow stronger and more pleasant as time passes... until, after about a minute [[ OOC: I assumed from the description of the actions that such a length of time may have passed ]], the sensation reaches its peak and the kenku anthropologist reaches the awareness of having received some sort of blessing from the Lady of the Still Waters.
The water now seems natural and familiar... at least as much as the air... and the druid is inexplicably but firmly convinced that he has acquired the ability to breathe (and even speak) underwater.
As the gentle glow of Prestidigitation lifts the damp from Elias’s coat and softly warms the fabric across his shoulders, he offers a quick, sincere “Thank you, Tarysaa,” without taking his eyes off Paqen.
He watches in silence as the kenku makes his offering, touched in some small way by the reverence of it. Something stirs—subtle and unsettling. Elias had never been one for gods. Too many wars had been waged in their names. Too many innocents buried beneath the weight of others’ beliefs. And yet… there was something undeniable here. In the hush that hung over the shrine. In the stillness that followed Paqen’s words.
Elias steps forward and slowly kneels beside the worn symbol of the goddess of peace and quiet waters. For a moment, he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. He merely is, letting the cool calm of the space settle around him.
Then, in a quiet voice not meant to carry beyond the stones, he speaks.
“Lady Eldath… I don’t claim to know your ways. I’ve walked too long with reason to ask things of faith. But we are trying to protect something… and someone. If you still watch this place—if your waters still reach into the deep—lend us safe passage.”
He doesn’t rise.
Instead, Elias remains there, kneeling before the shrine, head bowed in quiet thought. The flickering torchlight plays softly across the worn stone and his pale features, casting long shadows. For now, he says nothing more. Just lets the silence stretch, and the stillness seep into his bones.