Satina smiles as Nahlun, after giving thanks for his freedom, fades away.  She watches Zephirah as she plays the mornful music which then resolves to a more hopeful sounding key. As the lulling spell washes over her, she softly speaks to the bard. "Thank you my friend, for both your music and rejuvenation."

The woman also nods at the Tiefling's suggestion that Ophelia take the gem. "Yes, the success was all of us together. But you Ophelia chose to follow this path. It feels right you should have Nahlun's gift."

Her eyes drift to the sky and then the horizon. Satina then asks, "What hour is it now? It seems at minimum we should rest a bit. Do we pause here for the night?"

Nephthys smiles and nods in agreement with the others about Ophelia having earned the gem, although she knew that her mentor would likely want to have a peek at anything that might be ancient and hold any secrets from the past. "Thanks, that was a sweet note, I feel much better now, let's see if I can do something for you in return." She says softly to Zephira with a warm smile, speaking a soft prayer in celestial as she gently takes the other's hands in hers, letting a divine warmth briefly surge through the tiefling to rejuvenate her. 

(Cure Wounds on Zephira: 19)

"Better?" She asks with a warm smile as she lets go of the other's hands again. 

"Well done mortals, you all fought bravely. Although it saddens me to see things of the ancient past leave this world I agree it was that right thing to do to allow Nahlun his freedom." The blue sphinx says to the others as he licks his wounds after the terrible fight. "You should indeed allow yourselves time to rest and recuperate, the desert will likely hold even greater dangers ahead."

Zephirah exhales a shaky laugh as Nephthys’s holy warmth knits the last bruises beneath her skin. “That was no mere song—thank you, truly.” She squeezes the scholar’s hands once before letting go, flexing her fingers as fresh strength settles in. Glancing over the cracked basin, she lets her bow skim a single wistful note. “A shame the oasis had to wither the instant the chains broke, but freedom often asks a ruthless price.” As she well knows. Then, she nods to Satina. “Rest is the one debt we still owe ourselves tonight—let’s make camp while the ground is quiet and the winds are kind. Perhaps, we can still find some shade and water in this fading haven.”

The gemstone floats before Ophelia before landing in her palm. It grants her a memory of stillness, of life, and of the silence beneath the waves.

With that, Nahlun's form rises, pulled into the sky on the desert wind, breaking apart into vapor and light, evaporating into the night air, until nothing remains but the faint scent of rain and a shimmer on the horizon where stars meet sand.

(It's not yet midnight. Perhaps time for a long rest? Go ahead and Level up to 4!)

For once, Ophelia does not say anything.  No longer shining with brilliant arcane light, she sits down cross-legged in the exact spot she had been standing, holding the aquamarine vestige of Nahlun in both hands, violet eyes fixed unblinking upon the gemstone.  (She would show it to others if asked).

(Also, from the last few nights, her companions would know that Ophelia, being an elf, does not sleep.  She can keep watch for the first few hours of the night.  After which she will not move from her position, but enter a semi-conscious trance).

Satina nods to Zephira. "It is a shame about the oasis. But I think it's for the best Nahlun is free."  Her gaze then shifts over to Ophelia as she simply sits down in place once she takes the gem. She softly comments, "She is ok, right? I mean, she seems fine." 

With that comment, she then goes to help set up the encampment for the night. She makes sure everything is taken care of, helping others as needed, before sitting down herself. "I can take the second watch," she calls out to the others as she eats a bit of her rations. Shortly after that she heads off to get a bit of rest before she has to get back up for the watch.

Zephirah finishes tightening the last tent line, then settles her viol across her knees, the strings muted beneath her palm. “I’ll keep the last watch,” she says, glancing toward Ophelia. “Give our storm-caller the quiet hours before dawn for her trance.” She flashes Satina and Nephthys a tired but reassuring smile, eyes scanning the empty, moon-lit basin where water once lay before she settles in and an easy sleep overcomes her.

"That was nothing compared to what you can do with your violin Zephira, I am just glad to be of some use here." The young dark-haired woman says with a warm smile to the musically gifted tiefling. 

Nephthys would help out with setting up the camp and offer to take any remaining watch before tucking in for the night. Thoth would however stay up to study the mask if allowed to.

The morning sun rises after a peaceful night, shedding light on sand and secret.

The black and white mask:

 Nahlun’s jewel:

Perception DC 13:

At the shared morning meal, assuming he had the chance to examine the mask, Thoth would excitedly share what he has found out about the mask. Not having the attention span needed when the blue sphinx starts to elaborate on the duality of the god Nethys, Nephthys instead notices something gleaming in the sand, excusing herself, going down to retrieve it.
"Did you drop this yesterday Satina?" She says with a smile as she comes back a bit awkwardly carrying a heavy flail with both hands. "It seems to fit you though." She says, offering it to the heavily armoured woman, mostly relieved to be off with it herself. "Looks to be of fine quality right?" She continues, then weaving her divine magic. "Oh, and magical too." She adds with a bright excited smile.

(Perception: 15, Detect Magic)

As the camp settles beneath a velvet sky heavy with stars, Zahara stands a short distance from the others, the air cool on her skin. The last of the firelight flickers behind her as she watches the horizon where Nahlun had disappeared, where power had risen and then faded into mist and memory.

She hears Thoth’s wings before he speaks, and when he asks for the mask, she doesn’t hesitate. Turning, she draws it from her satchel, still damp from the pool, its split face gleaming under moonlight.

“Careful with it,” she says, voice low, a warning. “It belonged to something ancient and arrogant. It may still carry its echo.”

With that, she passes the mask into Thoth’s waiting hands, her fingers lingering for a moment, just long enough to acknowledge the weight of what she’s passing on, before releasing it completely.

She watches the sphinx for a moment, then turns away, walking to the edge of the camp.

“I’ll take the next watch,” she offers quietly to the group, not needing agreement, only to be heard.

The desert morning dawns gentle, the chill slowly lifting as golden light spills across the sand. Zahara is already seated by the time the others rise, legs folded beneath her, a simple bowl of dried fruit and flatbread in her lap. The fire is little more than glowing embers now, but the warmth of shared survival hangs heavy in the still air.

She listens as Thoth begins to speak, his voice laced with the kind of academic excitement that pulls him far from the material world. Zahara doesn’t interrupt, but her amber eyes remain fixed on the mask as he speaks, watching it, not him. Her expression is unreadable, though her hand tightens slightly around the stem of her staff.

 At last, she speaks, not loud, but clear. “We faced a creature born of the old world. A relic of divine intention twisted by time. And we broke him.”

She pauses, setting her bowl aside.

“But it wasn’t just strength. It was trust. Coordination. All of us, moving with one purpose.”

She looks toward Ophelia, then to Zephirah, then the others in turn.

Her voice fades into the morning wind. Then she leans back slightly, casting a glance at the distant dunes.

“Next time, I’ll aim for the throat first,” she adds dryly, but there’s a flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

And for the first time since the Binder fell, she allows herself to feel something that might be peace.

Zephirah accepts the slender Ring of Spell Storing from Zahara with a grateful dip of her horns. “A safe pocket for spare magic—I won’t let it go to waste,” she promises, slipping the band onto her tail-finger and closing her eyes a moment as its quiet reservoir of power syncs with her own. By the time the camp is struck and packs are hoisted, the ring’s sigils glow faintly beneath her copper skin: attunement complete.

Breakfast finished, she coaxes a mellow dawn-song from her viol—soft slides and airy trills that drift over the empty basin like a breeze across cool sand. The melody carries an easy, contented cadence: proof that their wager with fate proved inspiring, profitable, and—most of all—worth the scars. When the last notes fade, she shoulders her instrument and flashes the group a bright grin. “Detour’s done, spirits are tuned, and the road’s calling. Let’s see where the next verse leads.”

[Ophelia and Zahara can claim Heroic Inspiration–the others are humans. Sorry Thoth, you'll have to wait for level 5 :) ]

When Nephthys comes over carrying a flail, Satina looks up at the woman from where she is sitting.  She gives her a look of slight confusion, her hand going to where her flail is at her side. "I still have my flail. Magic?"

As Nephthys offers it to her, she takes it with both hands. Drawing it closer, she looks at it closely. "Strange that this was just sitting here at this oasis."

Having listened to Zahara's words she adds, "It was a challenging opponent we faced. And you are right, we worked well together."

She quickly finished off her small breakfast and by the time Zephirah mentioned the road she is ready to get moving.  "Yes, let's go," she agrees, rising to her feet.

Zahara stands with practiced efficiency, brushing the last of the sand from her cloak as Thoth approaches, the mask cradled reverently in his arms. She watches him for a moment, gauging his expression, part reverence, part intellectual glee, and just a shadow of caution. When he holds the mask out to her, she accepts it without flourish.

Her fingers close around the artifact slowly, carefully, as if it might bite.

“Thank you, Thoth,” she says, voice low. “Whatever else it is… it’s ours now. And it’s not done with us.”

The mask feels heavier than it did before. Not in weight, but in presence. She doesn’t strap it to her belt or stash it deep in her pack, instead, she wraps it in a strip of cloth and places it in the top of her satchel, within easy reach.

As Zephirah secures the ring and the last pieces of camp are packed, Zahara pulls her scarf up over her nose, shielding her face from the rising sun. She shoulders her gear in one smooth motion and glances toward the horizon, where the sun begins to burn away the morning haze.

"Every step forward from here is further into the unknown,” she says, mostly to herself, but loud enough to be heard. Then her voice firms. “So let’s make them count.”

She falls in beside Zephirah, the group shifting from quiet preparation to steady motion. One last look over her shoulder toward the last remnants of the oasis they leave behind, then she turns her back on the past, and walks into the sun.

All night, awake or entranced, Ophelia holds Nahlun's jewel, gazing deep into it, seemingly seeing things in it that are otherwise imperceptible.  Murmuring.

...Deep the current, strong the tide
That lifts my soul to flow astride...

By the morning, she has, with a thread pulled from her belt, fashioned a loop and knot with which to hang the gem around her throat as an amulet.

As usual, she smiles brightly, if distractedly at her companions and, once all are ready to set off, and casts her shimmering arcane armor on herself.

(Mage Armor, roll for Wild Magic Surge:  15 - none).

Osirion | The Parched Dunes
Expedition Day 4
Supplies: 12

With luck, you should reach the pyramid tomorrow. For now, the desert stretches out in every direction, an endless sea of gold and bone-white sand, the dunes rippling like frozen waves. As you set out, your boots sink lightly into the fine sand, each step leaving only a fleeting mark before the breeze smooths it away. The sun climbs quickly, and by midmorning, the coolness of morning has fled. The heat presses down with a tangible weight, turning the air to shimmering veils that dance just above the ground.

Travel grows arduous. Sweat evaporates faster than it forms, leaving your skin dry and tight. Every breath feels hotter than the last, your mouths parched despite careful rationing of water. By midday, you seek whatever meager shade you can find, the shadow of a tall dune. Here, you huddle, breathing shallowly and conserving strength, while the desert hums with the silence of forgotten ages.

The afternoon stretch is harder. The ground beneath your feet seems to radiate heat. Tiny lizards and insects dart between cracks in the stone, and the occasional distant cry of a hawk overhead is the only sign of life. You pass over fields of cracked earth, patches of thorny scrub, and sometimes, strange stones half-buried in the dunes, weathered into smooth, alien shapes.

As the party is cresting a dune, a sudden gust of hot, dry wind sweeps across the dunes, stronger than before. The sand beneath your feet shifts and slides, causing the dune itself to subtly but steadily reshape. In the confusion, one of the camel’s satchels is torn loose and buried almost instantly under a fresh wave of sand.

All: Make a DC 18 Wisdom (Survival) or Intelligence (Investigation) check allows to locate the supplies before they’re lost. Failure: If the check fails, an amount of supplies are lost. Your Slow Pace grants you advantage on Survival checks.

Nephthys Survival: 19

(Satina Survival: 22) 

The oppressive heat wears on Satina as the group presses on towards its goal.  At her side, the weight of the new flail at her side occasionally draws her attention. It was quite a fortunate find, following their success at releasing Nahlun.  Ophelia had made the right choice to awaken the guardian. But her thoughts don't linger long. Plodding on in silence, she focuses on keeping alert and pushing herself to keep moving. 

Ophelia is gazing, eyes unfocused, into the distance as she often does when the satchel comes free.  Belatedly, she makes a half-hearted attempt at it, not moving herself, but casting Mage Hand, the spectral appendage likely not even enough to lift the satchel if it reached it.

When Nephthys and Satina are able to recover the satchel, the elven woman stands there for a moment, smiling uncertainly.

Zephirah startles out of her reverie only when Satina and Nephthys haul the half-buried satchel free (She rolled Survival 13). “Sharper eyes than mine—thank the sands for you both,” she says, brushing stray grit from her viol. As the caravan settles, her gaze drifts to the hazy horizon where jagged stone tips tease the sky. Tomorrow, the pyramids. The thought snags at her curiosity: why had those vaults of antiquity shrugged off centuries of sand now? A shifting fault beneath the dunes? Some buried engine of magic stirring, the way Nahlun’s seal once pulsed underground? She fingers a muted arpeggio, letting the notes chase her questions on the wind, and resolves to stay alert; whatever caused the pyramids to resurface may yet be humming beneath their next footstep.