Zevriel tracks Old Green’s every movement, never letting his focus waver. The moment she reappears beside Elias, he moves fast and true. Planting his feet, he lines up his shot—steady, sure—and drives his dagger forward with all his skill (bonus: Steady Aim, 23 to hit, 6 piercing plus 7 sneak attack). Zevriel keeps his stance low, ready to defend Elias or press the attack the next instant she falters.
Clawed and bleeding, Elias staggers back with a choked gasp as Old Green’s talons rake across his chest. His breath hitches, eyes wide with shock—and pain.
He drops to one knee, clutching the torn fabric and fresh wound, blood clouding faintly in the water around him.
Still, his eyes burn with determination. He doesn't break.
"Well... that answers that question..." he mutters between ragged breaths. "She is still in the room..."
With his free hand, he grips his staff, readying for whatever comes next.
Ardana steps forward seeing her chance at well, and she jabs Old Green with her javelin. She calls on Helm to give her strength but the split loyalty with Eldath mutes his response.
Ardana's javelin, guided by Helm (and the experienced heroine) insinuates itself between the ribs of Old Green, who avoids the worst only thanks to a desperate lateral dodge, but who still receives another wound. Not too deep, but it hurts and slows her down.
Now Tarysaa, Zevriel, and Paqen are up! Any order! Whoever posts first acts first!
Old Green is struggling to keep all her opponents under control - taking her attention off Zevriel for a moment is a costly mistake! Zevriel's knife hits her between the shoulder blades, eliciting a loud cry. The monstrous crone now seems seriously injured and aboput to collapse any time!
"On second thought..." she spits blood as she speaks (though it quickly disperses into the ever-present waters) "I could tell you something about the Far Realm... if you'd let me live."
Now Tarysaa and Paqen are up! Any order! Up to them if they want to talk or to keep fighting...
24 Mival 12 Damage 17 Elias 11 Damage 12 Old Green 71 Damage, On her last leg 11 Tarysaa 11 Damage 8 Zevriel Undamaged 8 Ardana Undamaged 7 Paqen Undamaged
Elias pushes himself back up from one knee, blood still curling into the water from the gashes in his chest. His voice is low, but steady, as he eyes the hag with open suspicion.
"You lie like you breathe... and I'm not convinced either habit can be trusted."
He glances toward his companions—first to Paqen, then to Zevriel and Ardana—gauging their reactions, then turns his gaze back to Old Green.
"Perhaps there's a place for lies to be unwound and truth laid bare. A dragon’s lair, for example."
"Let’s see what Nesurentul makes of you."
His grip tightens on his staff. He's not striking, but he clearly isn't ruling it out if she tries anything.
Paqen seeing the injury to his companions touches the back of Mival. “Thank you. Let me return the favour.” The. Looks towards Elias as the star like lights around him begin to glow. “Both of you.”
He turns back to the monstrosity, “Your time in the plane is near its end. May the spirits of those you entrapped find some peace in that.”
Action: Casting Cure wounds on Miva(Heals 8) Chalice star sign heals Elias(Heals 8)
BA: Moves Moonbeam to cover the bottom two right squares to hit Her again.
Tarysaa moves into the doorframe and spies the chaos. With a thin lipped smile, she sends three glowing, blue-white darts of magical force into the 'sea hag'.
Elias was thinking of having Old Green judged by Nesurentul, but Paqen and Tarysaa seem to have a different opinion: the druid (after having treated two of the wounded) moves his column of burning light so as to incinerate the insidious crone but the Harpells' envoy, without even waiting for the light to take effect, executes the enemy with a volley of darts of pure magical energy, which hit her in the breast and face.
With a final angry cry, Old Green assumes a horizontal position, floating in the water, losing copious blood from all three points where she was hit. She is definitely dead.
Gratz! Combat won! You can act freely, outside of the rounds now.
Zevriel stands over Old Green’s lifeless form, chest heaving from the fight, dagger still clenched in his hand. For a moment, he’s silent—watching the blood and magic fade into the water, feeling his own heart pound, and still half-amazed he’s able to draw breath here at all.
He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, glancing around at his battered friends. Then, still staring at the strange, monstrous corpse, he shakes his head and mutters, voice rough and honest: “By the gods… what is that thing? Never seen anything like it. Ain’t right. Is it… some kind of sea witch?”
He steps back, not eager to touch it, letting the smarter folk figure it out. Zevriel just watches warily at the uneasy furniture, ready for any more trouble, and not trusting the dead to stay that way down here.
Elias pulled himself upright, wincing slightly as the last traces of pain ebbed from his side where Seyntillua’s magic had torn through him. The soft glow of Paqen’s healing still lingered on his robes, like dew after rainfall. He turned to the druid, his expression one of quiet gratitude.
“My thanks, Paqen. Eldath’s grace is ever a balm to the weary.”
He glanced down at the lifeless form of the sea-witch—no longer the serene elf she had pretended to be, but the gnarled and monstrous creature beneath. His eyes narrowed, not in malice, but in thought. There was something bitter in his voice when he next spoke.
“A shame. I had hoped she might give us something of worth before turning on us. But lies are the armor of the desperate, and she wore them well.”
He tapped his staff once against the stone floor and exhaled slowly. His features betrayed the weight of the battle—not just physically, but spiritually. The effort it had taken to unweave her illusions, the toll of magic expended, and the gnawing sense that there was still more beneath the surface here.
“My arcane strength is all but spent,” he admitted quietly to the group. “And though I remain standing, I’d rather not tempt fate further without time to recover.”
He motioned gently toward the corpse.
“Let’s take her to Nesurentul. If anyone can glean what she truly was—or what sent her—it's him. And under his watch, perhaps we may rest without fear of further deception.”
He looked to each of his companions in turn, gaze steady despite the weariness behind it.
Elias offered a faint chuckle at Tarysaa’s dry wit, appreciating the spark behind her calm demeanor. He leaned a bit more heavily on his staff, the fatigue behind his eyes betraying the composed exterior.
“If we were to drown beneath Eldath’s own blessing, I daresay we’d be the first—and the most ironic.”
His gaze swept the ruin around them, noting the gently shifting waters, the strange tranquility that had settled since Seyntillua’s demise. Yet something still stirred at the edges of his thoughts—a nagging sense that their work here was far from done.
“Tempting as dry ground may be, I think we would do well to speak with Nesurentul first.” He turned toward the others, eyes sharp again despite the lines of weariness. “The sooner he sees what we’ve uncovered, the better. There may be more to this corpse than meets our eyes—and I trust his insight more than our guesses.”
He paused, letting his words settle like silt in water.
“Then, with our answers—and perhaps his protection—we might rest without fear of... further surprises.”
He nodded once toward Tarysaa, a gesture of solidarity and calm leadership.
When the party returns to Nesurentul, the dragon listens patiently as they recount what happened between them and the monster.
The dragon's long, serpentine neck leads the head to examine the corpse carefully, but after a few moments he concludes: "I don't know exactly what monster it is, but it does not matter really - as ungainly and unattractive as it looks, it is not an aberration from the Far Realm. I don't sense that wicked influence on it. If it was in league with those forces..." the serpentine head nods approvingly "it's a good thing it was eliminated."
The dragon seems intent on returning to ponder some important matter, but first concedes: "You are of course welcome to rest here. No one will dare disturb you in my lair. Just be careful not to make too much noise..."
So... will our heroes decide to take a long rest underwater?
Elias inclined his head in thanks as Nesurentul finished speaking, though the faint crease in his brow betrayed a trace of disappointment. He had hoped for more—some revelation, some hidden connection unveiled. But not every secret gave itself up so easily.
Still, the dragon’s certainty brought a measure of peace. Elias looked down at the sea-witch’s corpse one last time, and then away.
“Then let that be the end of her,” he said softly. “One less mask upon the face of this ruin.”
He turned to his companions, his voice gathering a bit more strength despite the fatigue lining his frame.
“The dragon’s protection is no small gift, but I wonder if we might heed Tarysaa’s earlier wisdom.” His eyes lingered on her briefly, respectful and contemplative. “Eldath’s blessing sustains us now—but for how long? The shrine is sacred ground, and I would not see us caught mid-search should this divine grace fade.”
He looked between Paqen, Zevriel, Sharinn, and the others, letting the thought hang like a ripple in still water.
“Perhaps we rest in her presence, renew the blessing if we can, and return to these depths with minds clear and magic restored. I do not relish the idea of scrambling for air when next we delve into shadow.”
A small, tired smile crept across his lips as he added, more lightly:
“Besides… I doubt Nesurentul would enjoy our snoring.”
Zevriel eyes the sea-witch’s corpse and shrugs, his voice plain and honest. “One less monster down here. That’s good enough for me.”
He glances around the dragon’s lair, uneasy in the open water. “I don’t trust sleeping underwater, blessing or not. Never know when it might run out, and I’d rather not wake up choking.” He nods toward the way back. “The shrine’s the best place we’ve seen—feels safe, peaceful. If we’re resting, I’d do it there. Seems like the gods are more likely to watch over us, too.”
He waits for the others to decide, but makes it clear by word and manner that he’ll sleep easier near Eldath’s altar than anywhere else in these ruins.
Old Green's Claws Attack: 16 Damage: 12 (slashing)
Round 2
The cruel nails tear Elias' chest, but at least Old Green is now visible!
Now Tarysaa, Zevriel, Ardana and Paqen are up! Any order! Whoever posts first acts first!
Combat Stats (those interested can peek):
Initiative Name Status
24 Mival 12 Damage
17 Elias 11 Damage
12 Old Green 47 Damage, Wounded
11 Tarysaa 11 Damage
8 Zevriel Undamaged
8 Ardana Undamaged
7 Paqen Undamaged
Zevriel tracks Old Green’s every movement, never letting his focus waver. The moment she reappears beside Elias, he moves fast and true. Planting his feet, he lines up his shot—steady, sure—and drives his dagger forward with all his skill (bonus: Steady Aim, 23 to hit, 6 piercing plus 7 sneak attack). Zevriel keeps his stance low, ready to defend Elias or press the attack the next instant she falters.
|| 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 ||
Clawed and bleeding, Elias staggers back with a choked gasp as Old Green’s talons rake across his chest. His breath hitches, eyes wide with shock—and pain.
He drops to one knee, clutching the torn fabric and fresh wound, blood clouding faintly in the water around him.
Still, his eyes burn with determination. He doesn't break.
"Well... that answers that question..." he mutters between ragged breaths.
"She is still in the room..."
With his free hand, he grips his staff, readying for whatever comes next.
Ardana steps forward seeing her chance at well, and she jabs Old Green with her javelin. She calls on Helm to give her strength but the split loyalty with Eldath mutes his response.
(19+5 to hit, 6+3 damage, 2d8 = 2 smite damage)
Round 2
Ardana's javelin, guided by Helm (and the experienced heroine) insinuates itself between the ribs of Old Green, who avoids the worst only thanks to a desperate lateral dodge, but who still receives another wound. Not too deep, but it hurts and slows her down.
Now Tarysaa, Zevriel, and Paqen are up! Any order! Whoever posts first acts first!
Combat Stats (those interested can peek):
Initiative Name Status
24 Mival 12 Damage
17 Elias 11 Damage
12 Old Green 58 Damage, Wounded
11 Tarysaa 11 Damage
8 Zevriel Undamaged
8 Ardana Undamaged
7 Paqen Undamaged
Zevriel already went this turn, see post #728.
|| 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 ||
You're right! My bad, I missed it. I'll take it into account. Old Green fares worse then... It might not take much more to get permanently rid of her.
Round 2
Old Green is struggling to keep all her opponents under control - taking her attention off Zevriel for a moment is a costly mistake! Zevriel's knife hits her between the shoulder blades, eliciting a loud cry. The monstrous crone now seems seriously injured and aboput to collapse any time!
"On second thought..." she spits blood as she speaks (though it quickly disperses into the ever-present waters) "I could tell you something about the Far Realm... if you'd let me live."
Now Tarysaa and Paqen are up! Any order! Up to them if they want to talk or to keep fighting...
Combat Stats (those interested can peek):
Initiative Name Status
24 Mival 12 Damage
17 Elias 11 Damage
12 Old Green 71 Damage, On her last leg
11 Tarysaa 11 Damage
8 Zevriel Undamaged
8 Ardana Undamaged
7 Paqen Undamaged
Elias pushes himself back up from one knee, blood still curling into the water from the gashes in his chest. His voice is low, but steady, as he eyes the hag with open suspicion.
"You lie like you breathe... and I'm not convinced either habit can be trusted."
He glances toward his companions—first to Paqen, then to Zevriel and Ardana—gauging their reactions, then turns his gaze back to Old Green.
"Perhaps there's a place for lies to be unwound and truth laid bare. A dragon’s lair, for example."
"Let’s see what Nesurentul makes of you."
His grip tightens on his staff. He's not striking, but he clearly isn't ruling it out if she tries anything.
Paqen seeing the injury to his companions touches the back of Mival. “Thank you. Let me return the favour.” The. Looks towards Elias as the star like lights around him begin to glow. “Both of you.”
He turns back to the monstrosity, “Your time in the plane is near its end. May the spirits of those you entrapped find some peace in that.”
Action: Casting Cure wounds on Miva(Heals 8)
Chalice star sign heals Elias(Heals 8)
BA: Moves Moonbeam to cover the bottom two right squares to hit Her again.
Tarysaa moves into the doorframe and spies the chaos. With a thin lipped smile, she sends three glowing, blue-white darts of magical force into the 'sea hag'.
Magic Missile
MM 1: 4 force dmg
MM 2: 3
MM 3: 3
Tarysaa's eyes scan the room to evaluate the condition of her friends.
Round 2
Elias was thinking of having Old Green judged by Nesurentul, but Paqen and Tarysaa seem to have a different opinion: the druid (after having treated two of the wounded) moves his column of burning light so as to incinerate the insidious crone but the Harpells' envoy, without even waiting for the light to take effect, executes the enemy with a volley of darts of pure magical energy, which hit her in the breast and face.
With a final angry cry, Old Green assumes a horizontal position, floating in the water, losing copious blood from all three points where she was hit. She is definitely dead.
Gratz! Combat won! You can act freely, outside of the rounds now.
Zevriel stands over Old Green’s lifeless form, chest heaving from the fight, dagger still clenched in his hand. For a moment, he’s silent—watching the blood and magic fade into the water, feeling his own heart pound, and still half-amazed he’s able to draw breath here at all.
He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, glancing around at his battered friends. Then, still staring at the strange, monstrous corpse, he shakes his head and mutters, voice rough and honest: “By the gods… what is that thing? Never seen anything like it. Ain’t right. Is it… some kind of sea witch?”
He steps back, not eager to touch it, letting the smarter folk figure it out. Zevriel just watches warily at the uneasy furniture, ready for any more trouble, and not trusting the dead to stay that way down here.
|| 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 pulled himself upright, wincing slightly as the last traces of pain ebbed from his side where Seyntillua’s magic had torn through him. The soft glow of Paqen’s healing still lingered on his robes, like dew after rainfall. He turned to the druid, his expression one of quiet gratitude.
“My thanks, Paqen. Eldath’s grace is ever a balm to the weary.”
He glanced down at the lifeless form of the sea-witch—no longer the serene elf she had pretended to be, but the gnarled and monstrous creature beneath. His eyes narrowed, not in malice, but in thought. There was something bitter in his voice when he next spoke.
“A shame. I had hoped she might give us something of worth before turning on us. But lies are the armor of the desperate, and she wore them well.”
He tapped his staff once against the stone floor and exhaled slowly. His features betrayed the weight of the battle—not just physically, but spiritually. The effort it had taken to unweave her illusions, the toll of magic expended, and the gnawing sense that there was still more beneath the surface here.
“My arcane strength is all but spent,” he admitted quietly to the group. “And though I remain standing, I’d rather not tempt fate further without time to recover.”
He motioned gently toward the corpse.
“Let’s take her to Nesurentul. If anyone can glean what she truly was—or what sent her—it's him. And under his watch, perhaps we may rest without fear of further deception.”
He looked to each of his companions in turn, gaze steady despite the weariness behind it.
“What say you?”
"I do not disagree, Elias. I too need to rest and recover my energies," Tarysaa tries to keep her voice low and moderated.
"Dare we rest 'underwater' or find a dry spot next to Eldath's imagery? I would hate to drown while resting."
While spoken somberly, there does seem to be a bit of a twinkle in her eye.
Elias offered a faint chuckle at Tarysaa’s dry wit, appreciating the spark behind her calm demeanor. He leaned a bit more heavily on his staff, the fatigue behind his eyes betraying the composed exterior.
“If we were to drown beneath Eldath’s own blessing, I daresay we’d be the first—and the most ironic.”
His gaze swept the ruin around them, noting the gently shifting waters, the strange tranquility that had settled since Seyntillua’s demise. Yet something still stirred at the edges of his thoughts—a nagging sense that their work here was far from done.
“Tempting as dry ground may be, I think we would do well to speak with Nesurentul first.” He turned toward the others, eyes sharp again despite the lines of weariness. “The sooner he sees what we’ve uncovered, the better. There may be more to this corpse than meets our eyes—and I trust his insight more than our guesses.”
He paused, letting his words settle like silt in water.
“Then, with our answers—and perhaps his protection—we might rest without fear of... further surprises.”
He nodded once toward Tarysaa, a gesture of solidarity and calm leadership.
“We’ll not drown, my friend. Not today.”
When the party returns to Nesurentul, the dragon listens patiently as they recount what happened between them and the monster.
The dragon's long, serpentine neck leads the head to examine the corpse carefully, but after a few moments he concludes: "I don't know exactly what monster it is, but it does not matter really - as ungainly and unattractive as it looks, it is not an aberration from the Far Realm. I don't sense that wicked influence on it. If it was in league with those forces..." the serpentine head nods approvingly "it's a good thing it was eliminated."
The dragon seems intent on returning to ponder some important matter, but first concedes: "You are of course welcome to rest here. No one will dare disturb you in my lair. Just be careful not to make too much noise..."
So... will our heroes decide to take a long rest underwater?
Elias inclined his head in thanks as Nesurentul finished speaking, though the faint crease in his brow betrayed a trace of disappointment. He had hoped for more—some revelation, some hidden connection unveiled. But not every secret gave itself up so easily.
Still, the dragon’s certainty brought a measure of peace. Elias looked down at the sea-witch’s corpse one last time, and then away.
“Then let that be the end of her,” he said softly. “One less mask upon the face of this ruin.”
He turned to his companions, his voice gathering a bit more strength despite the fatigue lining his frame.
“The dragon’s protection is no small gift, but I wonder if we might heed Tarysaa’s earlier wisdom.” His eyes lingered on her briefly, respectful and contemplative. “Eldath’s blessing sustains us now—but for how long? The shrine is sacred ground, and I would not see us caught mid-search should this divine grace fade.”
He looked between Paqen, Zevriel, Sharinn, and the others, letting the thought hang like a ripple in still water.
“Perhaps we rest in her presence, renew the blessing if we can, and return to these depths with minds clear and magic restored. I do not relish the idea of scrambling for air when next we delve into shadow.”
A small, tired smile crept across his lips as he added, more lightly:
“Besides… I doubt Nesurentul would enjoy our snoring.”
Zevriel eyes the sea-witch’s corpse and shrugs, his voice plain and honest. “One less monster down here. That’s good enough for me.”
He glances around the dragon’s lair, uneasy in the open water. “I don’t trust sleeping underwater, blessing or not. Never know when it might run out, and I’d rather not wake up choking.” He nods toward the way back. “The shrine’s the best place we’ve seen—feels safe, peaceful. If we’re resting, I’d do it there. Seems like the gods are more likely to watch over us, too.”
He waits for the others to decide, but makes it clear by word and manner that he’ll sleep easier near Eldath’s altar than anywhere else in these ruins.
|| 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 ||