Zevriel moves quietly down the corridor, eyes alert as he takes in the sight of the black marble crypt and the two ornate sarcophagi. His gaze lingers on the ghostly woman drifting above the floor, her figure tall and thin, weeping endlessly in a way that tugs at something deep in his chest. He watches for a moment—long enough to see her sorrow, but careful not to get too close or draw her attention.

He slips back to the others, voice low and steady. “There’s a spirit in there. Young woman, tall, dressed fine. She’s floating above the floor, crying her eyes out. Seems desperate… lost in her own grief.” Zev shakes his head, thoughtful. “Didn’t try to speak with her. Sometimes ghosts just want peace, sometimes they turn on you if you get too close. Don’t know which we’ve got here.”

He looks to Elias and the rest for guidance, plainly willing to follow their lead but content to let others decide how to handle something so far outside his experience.

(OOC: I want to note that Zevriel does not have darkvision –just blindsight of 10ft– and needs light to see, I'm not sure who is carrying any light sources and how much/far they illuminate, or what is the light situation down here? I assumed total darkness.)

Yes, total darkness, except the magic Light Tarysaa is bringing.

Elias slows as the group approaches the edge of the crypt, raising a hand to gently signal the others to pause before entering. His pale eyes narrow slightly, not in suspicion—but in thought. There’s a familiarity to the spirit drifting through the waterlogged air, her sorrow cutting deeper than the chill.

He turns to his companions, speaking in a low, measured tone that carries easily through the blessed water.

“We’ve encountered a spirit here before,” he begins, nodding back toward the passage behind them. “Captain Stedd Satboar. Long dead, still guarding the way down. He mistook us for enemies, thought we were the ones who betrayed his lord—Rassalantar himself. We listened, we spoke truth, and in doing so, we earned safe passage.”

He gestures subtly toward the grieving specter, her sobs distorting the water like ripples of sound and sorrow. “He spoke of Rassalantar’s wife—Lady Nathundam—being taken below. Said their Lord died trying to reach her, or perhaps because of her.”

“That may be her,” he says quietly, “bound to this place by grief and tragedy, still mourning whatever happened in the depths.” He lets the silence sit for a beat, respectful. Then:

“We should approach with caution—but compassion. Words, not weapons. If we’re to lay the past to rest... she may hold a piece of it.”

Elias looks to each of them in turn—Tarysaa, Ardana, Zevriel, Sharinn, and Paqen—waiting for their assent or objections before he dares to disturb the woman’s eternal lament.

Sharinn looks up and says, "Kind words and compassion is something I take pride in. Let me try approaching gently."

She steps into the room, careful to not bar the way of the spirit. She says, "Your grief has touched me, is their anything we can to to help you find peace?"

If appropriate - Persuasion: 16

Paqen descends with the group and observes the spirit floating there above the crypt in the darkness more than anything. All of his interactions and experiences have not fallen into this category so he lacks the conversational repertoire to contribute. Like in all previous situations he has felt this he gives those with the abilities space and tries to soak up as much as he can so he will be prepared for the next time.

Somewhat unnerved by it all he is cautious and waiting for a reaction, good or bad.

At Sharinn's words, the ghostly woman whirls around, her eyes, still veiled with ectoplasmic tears, lighting up with hope, as she runs toward the party, shouting, "My Precious! My Precious! Is that you?"

The woman's face quickly fixes on each of the party members, one after the other, but she evidently hasn't located who she was looking for, because she turns back to the gentle hobgoblin, approaching him until she almost invades his body: "Where is he? Do you want to give me peace? Then tell me where my precious is! Bring me news of him, of my precious Rajmund... He's not dead, is he? He's not actually dead... What happened to him?"

Ardana has little knowledge of magic so she defers to the others as they discuss the circle, but she remains on guard and alert to any threats coming from the water corridors.   She carries a javelin in hand judging that weapon to be more effective underwater.

She observes the ghost if that is what it is.    She tries to discern what she can from the garments worn by the ghost and the decorations of the tomb.

The decorations of the tomb mainly consist of the candelabra and the elegant bas-reliefs on the two sarcophagi - both details suggest a double tomb designed for a couple of rank.

The clothes of the phantasmatic woman, although now transparent because of their incorporeal nature, seem elegant. Their original version was to be of fine manufacture, worthy of a real lady, Ardana would bet.

Elias steps forward slowly, his movements deliberate, respectful, as if approaching the altar of a forgotten chapel. The dim, undulating light plays across his features, and his voice carries through the water with a smooth clarity—gentle, but resonant.

“My lady… may I ask—are you Nathundam? Wife of Lord Rassalantar?”

He inclines his head, not bowing fully, but offering a solemn gesture of respect. His eyes meet hers with quiet intensity—not pity, but understanding.

“We spoke with your Captain—Satboar—who still guards the upper halls. He told us of the day your Lord went below… of the flood, the trap. He mourns still, for what he could not prevent. As do you, it seems.”

His expression softens. “You called for someone just now… Rajmund. Is that your son?” He says the name with care, trying to give it weight, give it dignity.

“If there’s anything we can do to help you find peace… or to help him, if he still lives… we will.”

He glances briefly toward Sharinn and the others, his voice low as he finishes:

“But only if you’re willing to share the truth.”

"The... flood..." the ghost woman promptly falls back into a state of acute sadness, bringing an ethereal hand to wipe the equally ethereal tears from her eyes "The... trap... So it's true. It wasn't a nightmare. Rajmund, my precious. Son? No, Rajmund and I didn't have time to have children. He was always away, on those stupid adventures of his..."

"Yes, I am Lady Rephis Nathundam, of the noble and ancient Mulan House of Nathundam" her face now seems the portrait of despair. "Wife of Lord Rajmund Rassalantar, founder of this keep. Peace... My peace would be to finally be with Rajmund forever... I have never wanted anything else... And for this very reason... for this very reason..."

But whatever Rephis is about to say, it almost seems too heavy to rise to her lips and earn the exit...

Mival has meanwhile approached in turn and does not miss a word! He can hear with his own ears a direct testimony from someone who personally knew the famous hero about whom almost nobody knows anything for sure anymore!

Zevriel stands back from the others, eyes drifting over the carved sarcophagi and the strange, swirling images on the black marble. His fingers trace the edge of one, feeling the cold stone. The words in the room swirl around him, sometimes hard to follow, but when he hears the word 'trap,' his head snaps up, focus sharpened.

He speaks up, voice plain and a bit blunt, “A trap? You mean for your husband? Someone did this to him?” Zev looks at the ghostly lady, brow furrowed in worry and confusion. “Who set the trap? Why flood the place?”

He stands still, listening for the answer, letting the others handle the details but wanting, in his own way, to understand who would do such a thing.

The pain of her memories seems to prevent the ghost woman from continuing, but after she meets the empathetic eyes of Sharinn, whose words seem to have deeply touched her, she finally finds the strength to speak again: "It was a trap for everyone," she begins, bitterly, staring at Zevriel. "A deception for everyone. My servant Jhessail. That damned Jhessail Buckman! She convinced me to lure my Rajmund down here! But how could I know... How could I imagine... I only wanted Rajmund with me. I had to pretend I was taken hostage. Send word that, for my own safety, he alone should come down to face my captor. Rajmund would save me - and the risk of losing me would remind him of my value to him!"

"But when he, my precious, came... it didn't happen at all as agreed" the ectroplasmic tears are now streaming almost continuously, dispersing shortly after leaving the eyes. "The kidnapper who was holding me hostage disappeared. The wall next to us gave way. And water poured everywhere. Water and... monsters. They must have prepared everything carefully in the previous days. My Rajmund found himself fighting under their conditions. Alone, against so many. Trying to protect me, as well as himself. Hampered by the water. And none of his beloved underlings came to help us! No one! No one swam underwater to us".

"Sometimes, I hope it's all just a terrifying nightmare" Rephis confesses. "That I may wake, with my precious coming here for me. That it is not true what I remember. That my Rajmund's courage was ultimately in vain, as the great claw of a crustacean-like horror finally managed to tear open his chest, stopping once and for all that burning and daring heart. After witnessing that horrifying scene, I decided to end it all. I killed myself by inhaling water deeply and letting myself drown. Yet even that was not something I was ready to do." She curls up in a fetal position, shaking with sobs (though, given her nature, instead of sinking to the floor, she simply floats). "Nothing is over. I am here. Always. And always alone - more, much more than I felt alone in life."

Elias moves a half-step closer, just enough to show he is present with her—truly with her—but not so close as to intrude on her grief. His voice, though underwater, carries a warmth and quiet strength.

“My lady… Rephis…” he says, using the name as gently as if it were a fraying thread.
“Your sorrow is not without witness. We hear you. I hear you. And while I cannot pretend to understand the weight of what you carry… I can promise you this: if there is a way to honor your Rajmund, to bring some measure of truth or peace to this place… I will see it done.”

He glances at the others briefly—Sharinn, Paqen, Zevriel, Ardana, Tarysaa—searching their faces for quiet consensus, or at least, lack of dissent.

“Perhaps there is something left behind—evidence, memory, a mark of him. If we find it, we can carry his name out of these waters. And yours. You need not be alone in this forever.”

Then, softer still:

“You were deceived. Used. But you are not forgotten. Not now.”

He lets the words hang like candles in the deep, their light faint—but steady.

Paqen would meet Elias’s eyes and nod in agreement and then look to the spectre with a sense of sadness for her gazing at her with large black eyes.

Digging through his memory he tries to think of what the crustacean horrors might be.

Paqen, as a good druid, knows several sea monsters that, to those who have never seen them, might seem like 'crustacean horrors' - including perhaps the form he had adopted to swim with Mival towards Eldath's Shrine. But in the absence of some further details, it is impossible for him to understand which creature Rephis is referring to.

Meanwhile, the deceased noblewoman answers Elias with bitter contempt: "And what do I care about you?! It's Rajmund that I was interested in... I wanted him forever at my side... only him..." while speaking she stood up again and fixed her gaze on the interlocutor - so she also notice Mival, who is close to him and suddenly...

...Suddenly Rephis begins to stare at the Doppelganger carefully: "No! It's not possible! And yet it is so! Too many similar traits... Plus... I feel it in the depths of my soul: you are a descendant of him! Of my precious! Of my Rajmund!" trembling, she approaches to caress him "I don't know if it is from anger and indignation, or from relief and happiness, that I am about to explode right now... You are his descendant... So in a certain sense he still lives in you... And this should be a joy capable of suddenly projecting me to the top of Mount Celestia... if it weren't for the fact that it is not to me that you owe your birth. He... my precious... is with someone else, who has obtained his descent!"

Mival, paralyzed by surprise and clearly unsure of what he should say, simply looks at her with wide open eyes, letting those elegant hands pass through him; hands that would like to caress him, but can only pass through his cheek, his flesh, his body...

Elias blinks once, twice—his mind racing to connect the implications of what Rephis has just revealed. Then he speaks, his tone reverent but edged with the spark of discovery:

“If that’s true…” he says slowly, looking from Rephis to Mival, “If Mival truly bears the blood of Rajmund… then by heritage, wouldn’t that make him the rightful heir to these halls? To this keep?”

He glances toward the black marble sarcophagi, the solemn benches, the rich craftsmanship of the place—even drowned and timeworn, it still holds the aura of nobility.

“This ruin, this place… it may be lost to time and tragedy—but lineage carries weight. Especially among the noble families of the Sword Coast. That bloodline may be the key to more than just memories. It might be the key to restoring what was lost.”

Turning back to Mival now, Elias softens.

“I know that’s a heavy thought. And I know it’s sudden. But if she speaks true, then this place—its secrets, its pain, even its restoration—might be part of your story, too.”

A pause. Then, lighter, an edge of his usual sardonic calm returns.

“And here I thought we were just diving into ruins for coin and curiosity. Turns out we might be rebuilding legacies.”

His eyes flick once more to Rephis, watching her reaction—hoping, perhaps, that this spark of legacy offers some balm to her torment.

Zevriel stands quietly, still and watchful as the story pours out in bitter fragments. He tries to follow the noblewoman’s tale, brow furrowed, lips pressed tight in thought. The details twist around him—traps and lies, loss and guilt, bloodlines tangled up with tragedy. He gets enough to know she was the lure, used in a plot that doomed her husband. He wonders about the servant, about monsters in the flood, but senses the pain is too raw to push for more.

When Elias speaks up, tying Mival to the noble blood of Rajmund, Zev blinks, surprised, glancing at the young man they came to find. The weight of that idea—Mival as the heir—settles on Zevriel. He stands there, turning it over in his mind, but says nothing, too busy trying to make sense of the old wounds and the fresh shock.

He listens, quiet, feeling a strange mixture of sorrow for the ghost’s loss and hope for Mival. But for now, Zev knows to hold his tongue, letting those wiser with words and gentler with hearts lead the talk. He stays close, hand on his weapon out of habit, watching the ghost and the boy, the weight of the story heavy on his face.

At Elias's words, Mival murmurs: "Part of my story... but also part of my mother's story! Surely my lineage from Rassalantar comes from her! I... it would be really nice..." he seems to daydream "to be able to restore this place... for her!"

Rephis is more and more certain: "A dreamer... Just as he was... I..." she seems to reflect "I may have exhausted my time and purpose here. Yet I still feel something... something that may help me find my Rajmund, when I leave... The wedding ring! Bring me his wedding ring! I feel that the ring is still down here... The feelings that emanate from that object speak to me. I feel that it must still be down here. Bring me back my precious's wedding ring, so that I, reassured by the knowledge that his lineage lives and prospers and armed with an item that I believe can guide me to him, can finally... finally leave, leave this place, perhaps in the end really reach him, my Rajmund, my precious..."

It is great devotion to your lord to still be here, waiting for him.   We will look for your ring, but I fear that the monsters are still here.  If you can tell us where the wall was that allowed the water in, where Rajmund made his last heroic stand...

Paqen continues watching and listening. His eyes widen more at the revelation of Mival’s lineage. 

”So I wonder if it was instinct or some kind of primal force outside him that drew Mival here…” he says aloud, his internal commentary coming out. He turns away quickly in slight shame. “So sorry, that was rude.”

He recollects himself and interjects, “Just so we know what might be down there deeper in the keep. What was the reason of the attack? Might still be some surprises down there waiting for us. Would like to be as ready as possible for whatever is waiting down in the dark.”