Seeing Ophelia stepping towards the water, Satina is not far behind. She had heard that this was not about forfeiting a life for Nahlun. But there were clearly still dangers here beneath the water. "And where exactly do we go?" she says softly to the woman as she proceeds. "We aren't going to be able to breathe in the water. I'm not sure how long we can go under there."
Relieved to hear that Ophelia would stay among the living, Nepthys too steps closer, not sure what will happen next but ready to follow the others into the pool to see what could be done to free Nahlun. "It can't be that deep, we can go up to breathe when needed and then go back down right?"She says to Satina with a reassuring smile, her eyes gleaming with adventurous excitement now. "You should perhaps consider leaving your armour up here though."She adds, although she is not at all sure how much something like that would hamper your swimming.
Zehprah steps cautiously into the water, every nerve alight with the enormity of what they’re about to face. Her viol, carefully cradled beneath her chin, stills for a moment—and then she draws the bow in a lively, bouncing rhythm. The bright strains spill out across the oasis, regal and triumphant. Though the piece belongs to distant courts and ceremonies, she shapes each note to resonate with the strange hush of the desert twilight. Her music flickers over the surface of the pool like sunlight on rippling waves.
Glancing at Ophelia and Satina, Zephirah offers a quick, determined nod. Perhaps it is old court music, perhaps the setting could hardly be more different—but the cheerful pulse of the piece rings with unstoppable life. It’s a call to courage, a promise that ancient bindings can be undone and new bonds formed. As she wades deeper, the final notes wash into the quiet, mingling with the uncertain hush before the dive. (Bardic Inspiration to Ophelia)
“Let’s bring them back,” she murmurs, bow hovering over the strings in case another spark of inspiration should strike. “And may we all still stand once they do.”
Zahara watches the others move—Ophelia stepping into the water like a pale ghost reborn, Satina close behind, Nephthys offering calm, practical wisdom, and Zephirah weaving song into something like courage.
Her breath catches.
They are all are answering the call, that costs something—sweat, blood, purpose. It echoes through Nahlun’s words, through the music, through the light glinting off the pool.
Still, her heart thunders with unease.
“You were bound by trust, and forgotten by the world above,” she murmurs. “We will not forget you.”
As she steps into the pool, the magic in the air sharpens. Her skin prickles with it.
Then she turns back one last time, eyes resting on Ophelia.
“I asked you what the winds whispered,”Zahara says, her tone softer now. “Maybe it wasn’t death. Maybe it was just… a calling home.”
Nahlun bows his head and slips beneath the water, disappearing from view. The water stirs, then begins to part, and the heart of the pool is laid bare. Beneath the water, the muddy earth glistens, dark and slick. The water’s movement ceases, yet it remains held in place, creating a liquid valley.
At the center, half-sunken in the mud, is a slab of metal, resting like the lid of a tomb. It is not iron, nor bronze, nor any mundane alloy. The surface is smooth and mirror-like, glinting with faint blues and greens even in the fading light, as if reflecting the memory of oceans. Along its edges and etched deep into its face are glyphs, glowing faintly with elemental energy—symbols older than language, written in the tongue of storm and stream. They spiral inward toward a central seal: a complex binding rune, circular and layered, like overlapping ripples on a still pond.
The air around you feels heavier. Magical. Ancient. To look upon the slab too long is to feel the pressure of deep water in your lungs, to sense something vast and dreaming just beneath your feet.
Everyone please make Charisma, Intelligence, and Wisdom ability checks (1d20+mod). That’s three checks per PC. This effort to understand what is required is based on group checks, and it is based on innate understanding and will, not skill.
Softly, softly, Ophelia murmurs back Zahara's final word, though whether it is a hope, a plea, a bitter remembrance or a prayer remains impossible to know.
"Home."
Ophelia's CHA check: 9 Ophelia's INT check: 17 Ophelia's WIS check: 4
No keyhole. No latch. Only a smooth, circular indentation at the center, surrounded by three concentric rings of symbols. As the party examines the door, it becomes clear: This shrine is warded by an ancient triune seal, a test of intellect, charisma, and wisdom. The three pillars of the divine and arcane insight once honored here.
Satina speaks with calm clarity, explaining the history of the shrine and persuading the symbols to respond. Zephirah and Ophelia negotiate back and forth, solving the etched riddles, tracing lines between sigils until the correct pattern emerges. Nephthys closes her eyes and listens, to the wind, to the silence, to something deeper. She reaches out, not with reason, but with knowing, and places her palm against the innermost circle.
There is a hum beneath her fingertips, like a heartbeat deep within the stone. The rings begin to rotate, first slowly, then in perfect harmony, like a mechanism winding to life. Light spills from the seal in pale blue threads, and the air grows cooler, dense with the scent of old water and forgotten incense. With a soft, resonant chime, the entrance unlocks. The seal fades away, revealing a narrow stone staircase descending into stillness.
The stairs are narrow, made of stone. Torches in ancient sconces flicker to life as you approach. Cracked murals depict Nahlun as a once-revered spirit, bound by priests during a long drought. There are also worn reliefs of flowing water and Nethys’ twin visage (masked and unmasked). As you descend the final steps into the shrine, a hush falls over the space, as though even the desert wind dares not intrude. You emerge into a domed chamber, its air cool and damp with the scent of old stone and still water.
Flickering blue torches ignite in sconces along the walls, illuminating the surface of a wide, shallow pool at the center of the chamber. The water glows faintly, touched by bioluminescent threads that swirl just beneath its surface, coiling around moss-covered ruins and half-submerged stone. At the heart of the pool lies a smooth metallic slab, ancient and etched with softly glowing runes, surrounded by four leaning pillars that jut from the water like broken fingers. Around the perimeter, a raised stone walkway encircles the chamber, cracked and weathered but still holding mosaics of Nahlun, spiraling glyphs, and twin-faced masks.
The runes on the metallic slab flare to life, blue to white, and the air above the slab begins to ripple. A figure rises from the center of the seal, as if drawn upward from another layer of reality. Water lifts and spirals with him, clinging like threads of silk before falling away in droplets. He was once tall and statuesque, but now his flesh is shriveled and stretched. It is carved with ancient script that pulses like veins. His face is obscured by a smooth mask, half white, half black--the face of Nethys. His tattered robes drift in unseen currents.
He raises a hand, and a perfect globe of shimmering arcane force blossoms around him (globe of invulnerability).
His voice resounds, not from his mouth, but from the walls, the water, and the stones of the shrine. “Halt. I am The Binder. The Guardian of the Seal. You stand at the edge of a tide that must never rise again. To break the seal is to break the balance. Nahlun was not just bound; he was contained. For the good of the land, for the life that flourishes in this place. The blessing of our great oasis, and of our kingdom, comes from keeping him imprisoned.”
He lifts both arms--and the shrine answers. The walls hum. The water churns. Each of the four pillars surrounding him flares to life, their glyphs glowing--one blue, one white, one red, one yellow.
“You will not undo what was bound by the hand of Nethys himself. Turn back. Or be unmade.”
Insight DC 10:
The Binder speaks of things--life flourishing in this place, the great oasis, a kingdom--that suggest he misunderstands the state of things above.
Roll20 map is updated. Please let me know if you are unable to move your token.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
The young dark-haired woman follows the others down into the ancient shrine. This was nothing new to her, treading on ground that had been untouched for ages and ages. She listens to the ancient apparition, his words about life flourishing in this place, something from another time. "Revered Binder, we know of your great deeds preserving this land and making it flourish, but so much time has passed and the land above has changed. I'm sad to say it is now only a shattered shrine and an oasis that will one day be devoured by the desert. Nahlun has served you loyally through these ages but perhaps with nothing to preserve and no people to nourish he has now deserved his freedom?" She explains with a deeply respectful tone and her most graceful bow.
Persuasion: 6 Another roll if help action is provided: 23 +2 from Thoth if helpful
"Dead and gone your people, dead and gone your land, Guardian of the forgotten, 'round which the sands, Lone and level, boundless and bare, stretch far 'way, Desert-dimmed remnants, bound to which none need stay, Yet in freedom shall serve to restore balance."
At the actions of Nephthys and Ophelia, Satina takes a step to the side to allow the pair to speak with this Binder. She has no words to add but smiles slightly as once again Ophelia's words seem to be so understandable. Waiting for a response, she casts her eyes about the room, to try and see if there is anything of note in the chamber. Or particularly anything that might suggest a hazard. (Perception: 21)
Zephirah keeps a careful distance, letting Nephthys and Ophelia handle the poetic talk for now—too many riddles already swirl in the air without her adding more. Still, her fingers itch at the sight of that shimmering globe. She tilts her head, narrowing her silver eyes, listening and searching.
A whisper of arcane sensation brushes along her senses—a subtle hum that she tries to recognize, faint though it is beneath the Binder’s resounding presence. Her mind leaps to match each glyph, each flicker of power, hoping that the shape of it emerges as clear as a chord resolved. (Arcana 24, had been re-rolled with heroic inspiration)
She glances at the grim lines of the mural, at the half-submerged pillars radiating each distinct glow, and clicks her tongue softly. This Binder is as much a prisoner to the seal as Nahlun. That realization tugs at her, all too close to the memory of her own chains. For a moment, she almost pities him.
Almost. But he's the jailor, she reminds herself, he chose to imprison himself with his charge.
Brushing a stray curl of raven hair away from her eyes, she casts a sidelong glance at Satina, then back to her braver companions still speaking. Her viol rests at the ready, and her voice, if needed, can weave illusions that might bend a proud mind. But for now, she remains silent, poised for whatever next shape the confrontation might take.
"You lie!" The words echo, impossible to pin to any one direction. They seem to rise from the water itself, reverberating through the shrine’s ancient stonework. The air thickens, pressure building like a coming storm.
"Blasphemers of the All-Seer!" the voice howls, now resonating from the masked figure at the center of the pool. Ancient glyphs across all of the stone worked ground blaze to life, pulsing with color--white, then red, then yellow, then blue.
"You would desecrate the Seal and bring ruin to all. You know not what you would release. You know not the nature of Nahlun!"
The glyphs upon the pillar glowing white flare, surpassing the radiance of the others. The Binder’s form fades into partial incorporeality. He levitates, surrounded not only by his protective globe, but by swirling wind and arcane static. All of the glyphs on the ground pulse white. A fierce wind begins to whip through the shrine. Five swirling motes of air coalesce into being around the party. The glyphs beneath Nephthys, Zahara, and Ophelia begin to flare ominously.
"Return to the dust from which you were made!"
Zephirah realizes that the globe immunizes the Binder from spell attacks, while his incorporeality will offer some protection from physical attacks. His power appears fueled by the energy from the seal and the surrounding pillars, but it is a finite resource. Eventually, it would seem, this energy will be used up.
Roll20 updated. The Binder is levitating 20ft off of the ground. The water surrounding the Binder is difficult terrain. The fierce wind causes all ranged attacks to have disadvantage. Note the presence of any ground-glyphs flaring.
Zephirah staggers back as the wind lashes at her, the eerie glow from the water casting wild reflections across her eyes. She calls out above the roar:
“He’s drawing on the seal—the pillars feed him, but it’ll run dry if we can last. He's immune to spells and will resist our weapons, beware! And watch the glyphs; don’t stand on them when they flare!”
Her heart hammering, she snaps her bow across the viol in a sharp, discordant chord—just enough to gird her focus with familiar magic. She allows the notes to weave through her, and in a shimmering instant, mirror images of herself appear, three illusions fanning out around her like echoes in a warped mirror. With the taste of enchantment still on her tongue, she fixes the Binder in her silver gaze. She lifts her chin, voice a careful blend of reverence and allure:
“Guardian of the Seal—your devotion after all these centuries is breathtaking. None but you could hold so firmly to Nethys’s charge. Your vigilance honors the All-Seer.”
As her words resonate, the beguiling magic threads through them, reaching for the Binder’s mind. Under its sway, she prays that his hatred wavers—if only for an instant.
Beguiling Magic You always have the Charm Person and Mirror Image spells prepared. In addition, immediately after you cast an Enchantment or Illusion spell using a spell slot, you can cause a creature you can see within 60 feet of yourself to make a Wisdom saving throw against DC 13. On a failed save, the target has the Charmed condition for 1 minute. The target repeats the save at the end of each of its turns, ending the effect on itself on a success.
Zephirah can feel her enchantment, although powerful, pass over the Binder like air whistling through a canyon. He takes no heed of her words. (Immunity to Charmed).
“No, no, no, no, no!” His voice travels with the wind. “Liars! Deceivers, they! They must not interfere. They would dry the river, the fields. All shall perish!”
The ground beneath Zahara's feet pulses with ancestral glyphs—white, then red, then white again.
Her hand moves to the earth beneath her, fingers brushing the cold stone as she speaks softly—words that blend with the sounds of the wind, but with the weight of ancient wisdom behind them.
“The desert endures. We, too, endure.”(Zahara casts Barkskin) The texture of her skin darkens, the hue deepening to a weathered brown as thin, flexible layers of bark form, laced with veins that glow faintly with the pale light of the glyphs beneath her feet.
But she does not hide. She steps forward, toward the Binder.
“You call us liars. Blasphemers. Because we seek to open what you were told must never break.”
She tilts her head, not in defiance, but contemplation, as though hearing something distant through the wind.
“You were bound here not by malice, but by a purpose tied to time long fled. The world has shifted."
She steps closer now.
“Would you deny the cycle its turning? Would you claim the right to hold destiny at bay, simply because you were told to?”
She pauses, voice softer now.
“The seal will fail. It was never meant to last forever. You feel it. The pillars strain. The glyphs crack.”
A breath before continuing.
“Embrace what is inevitable, not in folly, but with care. With knowledge. With reverence. Let your purpose end with grace, not violence.” (Influence Action)
Seeing Ophelia stepping towards the water, Satina is not far behind. She had heard that this was not about forfeiting a life for Nahlun. But there were clearly still dangers here beneath the water. "And where exactly do we go?" she says softly to the woman as she proceeds. "We aren't going to be able to breathe in the water. I'm not sure how long we can go under there."
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
Relieved to hear that Ophelia would stay among the living, Nepthys too steps closer, not sure what will happen next but ready to follow the others into the pool to see what could be done to free Nahlun. "It can't be that deep, we can go up to breathe when needed and then go back down right?" She says to Satina with a reassuring smile, her eyes gleaming with adventurous excitement now. "You should perhaps consider leaving your armour up here though." She adds, although she is not at all sure how much something like that would hamper your swimming.
Zehprah steps cautiously into the water, every nerve alight with the enormity of what they’re about to face. Her viol, carefully cradled beneath her chin, stills for a moment—and then she draws the bow in a lively, bouncing rhythm. The bright strains spill out across the oasis, regal and triumphant. Though the piece belongs to distant courts and ceremonies, she shapes each note to resonate with the strange hush of the desert twilight. Her music flickers over the surface of the pool like sunlight on rippling waves.
Glancing at Ophelia and Satina, Zephirah offers a quick, determined nod. Perhaps it is old court music, perhaps the setting could hardly be more different—but the cheerful pulse of the piece rings with unstoppable life. It’s a call to courage, a promise that ancient bindings can be undone and new bonds formed. As she wades deeper, the final notes wash into the quiet, mingling with the uncertain hush before the dive. (Bardic Inspiration to Ophelia)
“Let’s bring them back,” she murmurs, bow hovering over the strings in case another spark of inspiration should strike. “And may we all still stand once they do.”
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Elf Rogue - Wildnis || Rowan - Halfling Giant - Runewarren || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Yawning Portal || Arista - Frost Sorcerer - Old Keep || Marasatra - Blood Mage - Avernus || Lan Shi - Liquid Swords || Syed - Drakkenheim || Kaelthor - Dragonlance ||
Zahara watches the others move—Ophelia stepping into the water like a pale ghost reborn, Satina close behind, Nephthys offering calm, practical wisdom, and Zephirah weaving song into something like courage.
Her breath catches.
They are all are answering the call, that costs something—sweat, blood, purpose. It echoes through Nahlun’s words, through the music, through the light glinting off the pool.
Still, her heart thunders with unease.
“You were bound by trust, and forgotten by the world above,” she murmurs. “We will not forget you.”
As she steps into the pool, the magic in the air sharpens. Her skin prickles with it.
Then she turns back one last time, eyes resting on Ophelia.
“I asked you what the winds whispered,” Zahara says, her tone softer now. “Maybe it wasn’t death. Maybe it was just… a calling home.”
Nahlun bows his head and slips beneath the water, disappearing from view. The water stirs, then begins to part, and the heart of the pool is laid bare. Beneath the water, the muddy earth glistens, dark and slick. The water’s movement ceases, yet it remains held in place, creating a liquid valley.
At the center, half-sunken in the mud, is a slab of metal, resting like the lid of a tomb. It is not iron, nor bronze, nor any mundane alloy. The surface is smooth and mirror-like, glinting with faint blues and greens even in the fading light, as if reflecting the memory of oceans. Along its edges and etched deep into its face are glyphs, glowing faintly with elemental energy—symbols older than language, written in the tongue of storm and stream. They spiral inward toward a central seal: a complex binding rune, circular and layered, like overlapping ripples on a still pond.
The air around you feels heavier. Magical. Ancient. To look upon the slab too long is to feel the pressure of deep water in your lungs, to sense something vast and dreaming just beneath your feet.
Everyone please make Charisma, Intelligence, and Wisdom ability checks (1d20+mod). That’s three checks per PC. This effort to understand what is required is based on group checks, and it is based on innate understanding and will, not skill.
[CHA: 9]
[WIS: 8]
[INT: 1]
Zephirah: [INT: 20], [WIS: 7], [CHA: 10]
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Elf Rogue - Wildnis || Rowan - Halfling Giant - Runewarren || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Yawning Portal || Arista - Frost Sorcerer - Old Keep || Marasatra - Blood Mage - Avernus || Lan Shi - Liquid Swords || Syed - Drakkenheim || Kaelthor - Dragonlance ||
Nephthys
Cha: 11
Int: 8
Wis: 20
(Satina - CHA:18 INT: 7 WIS: 11)
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
Softly, softly, Ophelia murmurs back Zahara's final word, though whether it is a hope, a plea, a bitter remembrance or a prayer remains impossible to know.
"Home."
Ophelia's CHA check: 9
Ophelia's INT check: 17
Ophelia's WIS check: 4
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons | Lyra(Warlock2/Bard4): VitusW's Silverwood Forest
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(Druid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(Sorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(Cleric3/Sorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
No keyhole. No latch. Only a smooth, circular indentation at the center, surrounded by three concentric rings of symbols. As the party examines the door, it becomes clear: This shrine is warded by an ancient triune seal, a test of intellect, charisma, and wisdom. The three pillars of the divine and arcane insight once honored here.
Satina speaks with calm clarity, explaining the history of the shrine and persuading the symbols to respond. Zephirah and Ophelia negotiate back and forth, solving the etched riddles, tracing lines between sigils until the correct pattern emerges. Nephthys closes her eyes and listens, to the wind, to the silence, to something deeper. She reaches out, not with reason, but with knowing, and places her palm against the innermost circle.
There is a hum beneath her fingertips, like a heartbeat deep within the stone. The rings begin to rotate, first slowly, then in perfect harmony, like a mechanism winding to life. Light spills from the seal in pale blue threads, and the air grows cooler, dense with the scent of old water and forgotten incense. With a soft, resonant chime, the entrance unlocks. The seal fades away, revealing a narrow stone staircase descending into stillness.
The stairs are narrow, made of stone. Torches in ancient sconces flicker to life as you approach. Cracked murals depict Nahlun as a once-revered spirit, bound by priests during a long drought. There are also worn reliefs of flowing water and Nethys’ twin visage (masked and unmasked). As you descend the final steps into the shrine, a hush falls over the space, as though even the desert wind dares not intrude. You emerge into a domed chamber, its air cool and damp with the scent of old stone and still water.
Flickering blue torches ignite in sconces along the walls, illuminating the surface of a wide, shallow pool at the center of the chamber. The water glows faintly, touched by bioluminescent threads that swirl just beneath its surface, coiling around moss-covered ruins and half-submerged stone. At the heart of the pool lies a smooth metallic slab, ancient and etched with softly glowing runes, surrounded by four leaning pillars that jut from the water like broken fingers. Around the perimeter, a raised stone walkway encircles the chamber, cracked and weathered but still holding mosaics of Nahlun, spiraling glyphs, and twin-faced masks.
The runes on the metallic slab flare to life, blue to white, and the air above the slab begins to ripple. A figure rises from the center of the seal, as if drawn upward from another layer of reality. Water lifts and spirals with him, clinging like threads of silk before falling away in droplets. He was once tall and statuesque, but now his flesh is shriveled and stretched. It is carved with ancient script that pulses like veins. His face is obscured by a smooth mask, half white, half black--the face of Nethys. His tattered robes drift in unseen currents.
He raises a hand, and a perfect globe of shimmering arcane force blossoms around him (globe of invulnerability).
His voice resounds, not from his mouth, but from the walls, the water, and the stones of the shrine. “Halt. I am The Binder. The Guardian of the Seal. You stand at the edge of a tide that must never rise again. To break the seal is to break the balance. Nahlun was not just bound; he was contained. For the good of the land, for the life that flourishes in this place. The blessing of our great oasis, and of our kingdom, comes from keeping him imprisoned.”
He lifts both arms--and the shrine answers. The walls hum. The water churns. Each of the four pillars surrounding him flares to life, their glyphs glowing--one blue, one white, one red, one yellow.
“You will not undo what was bound by the hand of Nethys himself. Turn back. Or be unmade.”
Insight DC 10:
The Binder speaks of things--life flourishing in this place, the great oasis, a kingdom--that suggest he misunderstands the state of things above.
Roll20 map is updated. Please let me know if you are unable to move your token.
Actions?
The young dark-haired woman follows the others down into the ancient shrine. This was nothing new to her, treading on ground that had been untouched for ages and ages.
She listens to the ancient apparition, his words about life flourishing in this place, something from another time.
"Revered Binder, we know of your great deeds preserving this land and making it flourish, but so much time has passed and the land above has changed. I'm sad to say it is now only a shattered shrine and an oasis that will one day be devoured by the desert. Nahlun has served you loyally through these ages but perhaps with nothing to preserve and no people to nourish he has now deserved his freedom?" She explains with a deeply respectful tone and her most graceful bow.
Persuasion: 6 Another roll if help action is provided: 23 +2 from Thoth if helpful
Ophelia curtsies to the Binder alongside Nephthys, attempting to help her persuasion in her own winding, inscrutable way.
(Insight: 10)
"Dead and gone your people, dead and gone your land,
Guardian of the forgotten, 'round which the sands,
Lone and level, boundless and bare, stretch far 'way,
Desert-dimmed remnants, bound to which none need stay,
Yet in freedom shall serve to restore balance."
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons | Lyra(Warlock2/Bard4): VitusW's Silverwood Forest
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(Druid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(Sorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(Cleric3/Sorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
(Satina Insight: 17)
At the actions of Nephthys and Ophelia, Satina takes a step to the side to allow the pair to speak with this Binder. She has no words to add but smiles slightly as once again Ophelia's words seem to be so understandable. Waiting for a response, she casts her eyes about the room, to try and see if there is anything of note in the chamber. Or particularly anything that might suggest a hazard. (Perception: 21)
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
Zephirah keeps a careful distance, letting Nephthys and Ophelia handle the poetic talk for now—too many riddles already swirl in the air without her adding more. Still, her fingers itch at the sight of that shimmering globe. She tilts her head, narrowing her silver eyes, listening and searching.
A whisper of arcane sensation brushes along her senses—a subtle hum that she tries to recognize, faint though it is beneath the Binder’s resounding presence. Her mind leaps to match each glyph, each flicker of power, hoping that the shape of it emerges as clear as a chord resolved. (Arcana 24, had been re-rolled with heroic inspiration)
She glances at the grim lines of the mural, at the half-submerged pillars radiating each distinct glow, and clicks her tongue softly. This Binder is as much a prisoner to the seal as Nahlun. That realization tugs at her, all too close to the memory of her own chains. For a moment, she almost pities him.
Almost. But he's the jailor, she reminds herself, he chose to imprison himself with his charge.
Brushing a stray curl of raven hair away from her eyes, she casts a sidelong glance at Satina, then back to her braver companions still speaking. Her viol rests at the ready, and her voice, if needed, can weave illusions that might bend a proud mind. But for now, she remains silent, poised for whatever next shape the confrontation might take.
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Elf Rogue - Wildnis || Rowan - Halfling Giant - Runewarren || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Yawning Portal || Arista - Frost Sorcerer - Old Keep || Marasatra - Blood Mage - Avernus || Lan Shi - Liquid Swords || Syed - Drakkenheim || Kaelthor - Dragonlance ||
"You lie!" The words echo, impossible to pin to any one direction. They seem to rise from the water itself, reverberating through the shrine’s ancient stonework. The air thickens, pressure building like a coming storm.
"Blasphemers of the All-Seer!" the voice howls, now resonating from the masked figure at the center of the pool. Ancient glyphs across all of the stone worked ground blaze to life, pulsing with color--white, then red, then yellow, then blue.
"You would desecrate the Seal and bring ruin to all. You know not what you would release. You know not the nature of Nahlun!"
The glyphs upon the pillar glowing white flare, surpassing the radiance of the others. The Binder’s form fades into partial incorporeality. He levitates, surrounded not only by his protective globe, but by swirling wind and arcane static. All of the glyphs on the ground pulse white. A fierce wind begins to whip through the shrine. Five swirling motes of air coalesce into being around the party. The glyphs beneath Nephthys, Zahara, and Ophelia begin to flare ominously.
"Return to the dust from which you were made!"
Zephirah realizes that the globe immunizes the Binder from spell attacks, while his incorporeality will offer some protection from physical attacks. His power appears fueled by the energy from the seal and the surrounding pillars, but it is a finite resource. Eventually, it would seem, this energy will be used up.
Roll20 updated. The Binder is levitating 20ft off of the ground. The water surrounding the Binder is difficult terrain. The fierce wind causes all ranged attacks to have disadvantage. Note the presence of any ground-glyphs flaring.
Nephthys Initiative: 18
Ophelia Initiative: 21
Satina Initiative: 14
Zahara Initiative: 11
Zephira Initiative: 17
Enemy1 Initiative: 3
Initative (bold may act):
Zephirah staggers back as the wind lashes at her, the eerie glow from the water casting wild reflections across her eyes. She calls out above the roar:
“He’s drawing on the seal—the pillars feed him, but it’ll run dry if we can last. He's immune to spells and will resist our weapons, beware! And watch the glyphs; don’t stand on them when they flare!”
Her heart hammering, she snaps her bow across the viol in a sharp, discordant chord—just enough to gird her focus with familiar magic. She allows the notes to weave through her, and in a shimmering instant, mirror images of herself appear, three illusions fanning out around her like echoes in a warped mirror. With the taste of enchantment still on her tongue, she fixes the Binder in her silver gaze. She lifts her chin, voice a careful blend of reverence and allure:
“Guardian of the Seal—your devotion after all these centuries is breathtaking. None but you could hold so firmly to Nethys’s charge. Your vigilance honors the All-Seer.”
As her words resonate, the beguiling magic threads through them, reaching for the Binder’s mind. Under its sway, she prays that his hatred wavers—if only for an instant.
Beguiling Magic
You always have the Charm Person and Mirror Image spells prepared. In addition, immediately after you cast an Enchantment or Illusion spell using a spell slot, you can cause a creature you can see within 60 feet of yourself to make a Wisdom saving throw against DC 13. On a failed save, the target has the Charmed condition for 1 minute. The target repeats the save at the end of each of its turns, ending the effect on itself on a success.
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Elf Rogue - Wildnis || Rowan - Halfling Giant - Runewarren || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Yawning Portal || Arista - Frost Sorcerer - Old Keep || Marasatra - Blood Mage - Avernus || Lan Shi - Liquid Swords || Syed - Drakkenheim || Kaelthor - Dragonlance ||
Zephirah can feel her enchantment, although powerful, pass over the Binder like air whistling through a canyon. He takes no heed of her words. (Immunity to Charmed).
“No, no, no, no, no!” His voice travels with the wind. “Liars! Deceivers, they! They must not interfere. They would dry the river, the fields. All shall perish!”
Initiative (bold may act):
The ground beneath Zahara's feet pulses with ancestral glyphs—white, then red, then white again.
Her hand moves to the earth beneath her, fingers brushing the cold stone as she speaks softly—words that blend with the sounds of the wind, but with the weight of ancient wisdom behind them.
“The desert endures. We, too, endure.” (Zahara casts Barkskin) The texture of her skin darkens, the hue deepening to a weathered brown as thin, flexible layers of bark form, laced with veins that glow faintly with the pale light of the glyphs beneath her feet.
But she does not hide. She steps forward, toward the Binder.
“You call us liars. Blasphemers. Because we seek to open what you were told must never break.”
She tilts her head, not in defiance, but contemplation, as though hearing something distant through the wind.
“You were bound here not by malice, but by a purpose tied to time long fled. The world has shifted."
She steps closer now.
“Would you deny the cycle its turning? Would you claim the right to hold destiny at bay, simply because you were told to?”
She pauses, voice softer now.
“The seal will fail. It was never meant to last forever. You feel it. The pillars strain. The glyphs crack.”
A breath before continuing.
“Embrace what is inevitable, not in folly, but with care. With knowledge. With reverence. Let your purpose end with grace, not violence.” (Influence Action)