Spotting the falling satchel, Satina had dove onto the sand, grasping at one of the straps. She gets ahold of it, slowing it from falling more, just as Nephthys reacts as well.  "Good reactions there," she says to the woman as she lies on the sand. "That was close."  She quickly gets to her feet. "The camels are ok?" she asks as she dusts off some sand from her clothes. 

Assuming there are no further issues, she is soon ready to continue onward. 

"Not as good as yours, good catch there girl." Nephthys says with an small smile as she offers Satina a hand to help her get up again. "An impressive dive there considering all that metal you're carrying around." She continues, helping the other to get some sand off her. "And I think the camels are alright, just got a bit startled." She adds with a warm smile before assisting with making sure the satchel is safely back, then returning to the reins of her camel, ready to move on.

As the sun begins to lower, the sky catches fire—brilliant reds, oranges, and purples spilling across the heavens. The sand cools quickly as the day dies, and shadows stretch long and strange across the desert floor. A brisk, dry wind rises, carrying whispers of sand that sting the skin and obscure the tracks behind you.

By nightfall, the desert becomes a different world: cold, vast, and dark, beneath the starry sky. The dunes glow faintly under the starlight, and every step feels like a step into a dream.

The night passes peacefully, as if the desert has accepted you as its own.

The next morning passes uneventfully as well, but the journey feels arduous. Each cresting dune brings with it the possibility of revealing the wondrous pyramid beyond.

Then, a few hours into your journey, you come upon it. An incredible man-made mountain, the pyramid rises out of the desert sands, a relic of an earlier age. Its limestone casing blocks are weathered from millennia of scouring sands, but the structure seems solid and intact. A stone wall, buttressed by drifts of sand, surrounds the entire structure. To the east, closer to you, stands a squat stone building, connected to the pyramid by a long, covered causeway. No visible entrances to the pyramid’s interior can be seen.

But the early afternoon sun reveals a grave danger. Your eyes catch movement on the distant horizon — not a caravan, nor a creature, but something vast and terrible.

There, far to the southwest, a wall of darkness churns against the sky, swallowing the light with its advance. It stretches for miles, an immense, rolling mass of sand and fury, its topmost billows glowing red-gold where the sun strikes them, while the base seethes in deep, bruised shadows. The air shimmers and wavers between you and the storm, making its edges dance like a living thing. The khamsin, a name whispered with fear in these lands, moves with slow, implacable grace, a titan made of dust and wrath. It rolls across the desert, vast and indifferent, bearing the full weight of ancient, forgotten anger.

Though it moves north, perpendicular to your path, for now sparing you its fury, you can feel its breath in the shifting wind, dry, electric, and laced with the bitter scent of scorched stone. Distant flashes of strange lightning ripple within the storm, illuminating monstrous shapes that may be tricks of the eye... or perhaps something far worse. In its presence, the desert itself seems to grow quieter, as if the land holds its breath, awaiting judgment.

[Survival: 24]

Zahara crests the last dune with the others, her eyes narrowing against the glare of the high afternoon sun. When the pyramid reveals itself, she breathes in sharply, not with awe, but with a sharp, wary respect. Even battered by time, the structure radiates purpose. Age has not dulled its edges; it feels as if it waits.

She steps forward a few paces, her boots sinking into the cooling sand, and turns to scan the horizon, only for her body to stiffen, a taut line of instinctive alarm.

"There," she says, low and urgent, pointing southwest.

The others gather, following the line of her gaze.

In the distance, the khamsin boils and roars, a living wall of ruin tearing across the world. Zahara’s stomach tightens. She can feel it in her teeth, in the low crackle of static crawling along her skin. The storm is not aimed at them—yet. But its mere presence transforms the landscape into something hostile and merciless.

Her hand tightens unconsciously around the satchel strap slung over her shoulder, the mask inside seeming to pulse with a heavy, unseen weight.

“We don’t have long,” she says, her voice steady but grim. “That thing... if it shifts toward us, we’ll have nowhere to run. We should move now, and move quickly.”

She sweeps a hand toward the structure and the covered causeway.

“That’s our shelter. We make for it fast.”

For a moment, she catches each of their gazes, Zephirah, Ophelia, Thoth, Satina, Nephthys, meeting them with determination.

“The desert may have accepted us for a night,” Zahara says, “but the storm won’t."

She turns sharply and starts toward the stone building at a swift, deliberate pace, hoping that the others heed her words and follow. Every step toward the ancient structure feels like a race against the titan of dust and wrath rolling in the distance.

Zephirah’s gaze lingers on the whirling wall of dust just long enough for her throat to go dry. “If that thing decides to veer, no tune I know will calm it,” she mutters, tightening the strap of her viol case. She nods to Zahara. “Anything that’s stood here longer than memory can stand a few more hours—and we’ll stand with it.”

She turns to the others, voice lifting above the gritty wind: “The desert gave us safe passage so far; let’s not test its patience. To the causeway—quick steps, light feet.” With that, she breaks into a brisk trot toward the squat stone building, trusting the rest to follow.

Satina's eyes had followed the menacing khamsin in the distance. "Let's not waste time. But let's also remain cautious. We have rivals, and there appears but one path to follow."  She moves her camel forward at a bit faster pace, hoping that the others won't rush forward too quickly. She keeps an eye out on the surroundings more near at hand for any signs of danger. (Perception: 16)

Setting off in the morning, Ophelia would have cast her shimmering Mage Armor once more on herself (Wild Magic Surge roll:  13 - none).

As soon as the majestic pyramid comes into view, the she-elf veers towards it like a magnetic filing to a lodestone.  Or rather to the eastern stone outbuilding connected to the causeway, guiding her camel.  She does not need to be told, and does not even seem to notice the distant Khamsin until the two tieflings point it out.  Once they do, Ophelia glances to the horizon for a long moment, but does not stop her beeline towards the pyramid.

"So close, so close, where sky meets stone,
Reaching, reaching, secrets yet hide.
'Ere wind and sand strip flesh from bone,
To face our fate and sate our pride."

With nothing to add to what had been said Nepththys simply  follows along with the others.
Meanwhile the tiny blue winged feline soars in the sky above, watching for others in the desert.
(Thoth perception: 2)

As Zahara's camel moves over the cooling sands, she throws a glance at the roiling, monstrous storm. A cold, unsettled feeling gnaws at the edge of her mind, too large, too close.

She pulls her hand free from her cloak and makes a sharp, deliberate gesture in the air. Her fingers curl into a small spiral, as if gathering the unseen threads of the world around her. Then she sweeps her hand outward, her palm brushing the space before her like a blade parting reeds.

The scent of sun-warmed sage rises faintly around her. Tiny motes of sand lift from the ground, dancing briefly in the currents stirred by her magic, a silent question sent into the fabric of the desert itself.

A call to the land, the winds, the old, hidden patterns of nature, asking:
Will the storm change? Will it turn its fury toward us?

The motes swirl upward, caught in unseen currents, but the desert holds its breath. No answer comes yet. Only the looming weight of the khamsin, stirring the horizon with its slow, implacable rage.

Zahara narrows her eyes, the hand she used to cast falling back to her side, tense and ready. She quickens her pace toward the stone causeway..

Satina and Thoth peer about, but do not see others in the desert.

As Zahara raises her hand, her weather sensor hums into existence. It manifests as a golden orb, suspended above her palm, and filled with swirling sand.

The party presses on, descending the tall, sun-scorched dunes toward their destination.

A rectangular building constructed of large stone blocks sits on the desert sands to the east of the pyramid. A wide portico opens to the east, its ceiling supported by two rows of red granite columns. A dark passage leads deeper into the temple to the west.

(Roll20 updated. The map is huge, but I still had to shrink your tokens very small; consequently, status bars and icons may not be usable. One square is 10ft. Also note the directions. The top of the map is West. Location is important--please move your token and/or indicate where you move in your post.) 

Actions?

"For those who might not have been into an ancient tomb before, these are often riddled with traps. I have some experience with this at least but I'm not sure I'm best suited to take the lead anyway, what do you think? Anyone who possesses some trap revealing magic or something like that? Either way I suggest we proceed with great caution from here on." The young dark-haired woman says quietly to the others, seeming both a bit anxious and excited about entering the old pyramid.

Meanwhile both she and Thoth looks around the entrance for symbols and inscriptions that might give clues to what lies ahead.
Perception Nephthys: 17  Thoth: 18

For once, Ophelia appears to listen intently, this time to Nephthys as she speaks of her experience with tombs and traps.

Standing in place, the she-elf takes a good look around, violet eyes wide, scanning the floor, ceiling, walls, pillars.  Perception:  6 (or 12 if advantage)

Ophelia then begins to mumble and make arcane gestures, beginning to cast a ritual spell (10 minutes to ritually cast Detect Magic).

Zahara moves carefully to the front of the group, her boots stirring the thin veil of sand that coats the ancient stone beneath them. The golden orb she summoned with Druidcraft continues to swirl gently above her hand, faint glimmers of magic catching the desert light.

She glances toward Nephthys with a small, approving nod, her own voice low but steady.
"You're right. If there are traps, and more than likely there are, many would be tied to disturbances in the environment. Shifting air. Moving sand. Pressure where there should be none."

Her eyes sweep the columns, the way the dust curls at their bases. Thoughtfully, she flexes her fingers and the orb of swirling sand shifts in her palm, the currents within responding to her will.

"If I cast Druidcraft again inside, I may be able to detect subtle shifts, hidden drafts, unnatural stillness, signs of recent disturbances. Traps often betray themselves to the elements before they reveal themselves to us."

She lets the orb fade, the magic slipping away into the dry air like mist burning off at sunrise. Turning her gaze back to the darkened passage ahead, she tilts her head slightly, considering.

"Let me walk a few steps ahead, lightly. I’ll stir the air as we go. If something feels wrong, we’ll know before we stumble blindly into it."

Her hand brushes lightly against the wall as she moves to the threshold of the portico, feeling the stone’s ancient pulse, steady and silent beneath her fingertips.

She steps cautiously forward, ready to weave her spell as they move into the ancient tomb.

Satina steps up just behind Zahara to peer into the building. (Perception: 9, or 14 if Advantage) "We should let Ophelia cast her spell first," she suggests. "Then if you think you might be able to detect possible dangers, then you proceed Zahara and we'll be right behind." 

Zephirah nods agreement as Satina reins everyone to patience. “A little foresight now saves a ballad full of regrets later,” she murmurs, settling her viol at her back so both hands are free. While Ophelia traces luminous sigils in the air, Zeph keeps a respectful distance from Zahara’s testing breeze, ready to punctuate any sudden discovery with a shouted warning—or a timely distraction—should ancient machinery grind awake.

With the group momentarily still, she drifts along the portico’s sandstone walls, fingertips brushing faint carvings half-buried by windblown grit. She hums a soft, steady note, letting the vibration guide her eyes across eroded reliefs and lines of hieratic script. Every few paces she crouches, blowing sand from a glyph to check for repeating patterns—keys to rituals or warding phrases—and commits anything legible to memory before the march inside begins. (Arcana: 21; adv/dis roll: 24)

Osirion | The Parched Dunes | Pyramid of the Pharaoh of Sphinxes
Expedition Day 5
Supplies: 12

(^ forgot to include this in an earlier post)

The sunlight outside the portico provides normal light in this chamber. The portico walls were once carved in relief, but millennia of exposure to windblown sand has worn the carvings away. Nephthys and Thoth examine them, but there is not enough detail remaining to decipher what they once depicted.

Meanwhile, Ophelia ritualistically casts detect magic. Nothing registers to her arcane senses.

Ahead to the west, the light grows dim. A pair of carved and brightly painted granite columns support the ceiling of this darkened, roughly triangular chamber. To the east, stone statues of a regal man holding a crook and flail and wearing a striped cloth headdress stand on either side of the chamber, though the head of one of the two statues now lies cracked and broken on the alabaster floor. Two more stone statues depicting winged creatures with leonine bodies and falcons’ heads sit beyond.

The smooth granite walls are decorated with hieroglyphs and faded murals, but while they are more preserved than those in the antechamber, they are too faded to discern at this distance.

Beyond, a passageway to the west stretches off into darkness.

Actions? If you move, please update your position on the map (or tell me and I can move your token).

Zahara pauses at the threshold of the triangular chamber, her silhouette outlined in golden sunlight as the wind whispers behind her, carrying with it the dry hush of the desert.

Her gaze settles first on the regal statues, the crook and flail still defiant in the grip of ancient stone, even as time has shattered one face beyond recognition. Then her eyes drift toward the falcon-headed sphinxes beyond, unnervingly poised in their eternal watch.

With a breath drawn from the still air, she takes a single step into the chamber.

As her boot touches the smooth alabaster floor, she raises one hand. The magic comes easily, woven as naturally as breath. A soft pulse of Druidcraft extends outward, a gentle current of air, coaxed into motion with a flick of her fingers. It snakes low across the chamber floor, curling between statues, brushing over uneven stone and cracks in the walls.

The breeze is barely perceptible to the others, but to Zahara, it speaks.

She tilts her head slightly, eyes narrowing in concentration. Watching how the sand shifts beneath the movement. Listening to the way the air catches around the statues, whether it flows cleanly or is subtly interrupted. Seeking any unnatural stillness, hidden gaps, or an imperceptible thread hidden to be sprung by some one stumbling over it.

She doesn’t move further, yet, but keeps her stance balanced, ready, her eyes flicking over the chamber.

Perception: 12

Zephirah kneels beside Zahara and makes a show of brushing sand aside, but her fingers slip on the polished stone and scatter grit farther than she clears it. She lays her bow down to measure, only to nudge it askew with an elbow, smearing whatever faint markings might have been there. After a few awkward thumb-spans and a puzzled squint at a perfectly smooth tile, she gives a sheepish shrug—the floor’s story, if it had one, remains unread.

Survival: 2

As Zahara moves forward, Satina moves slowly with her.  She stays just behind and continues to stay alert. (Perception: 13)

Meanwhile the tiny blue sphinx seems quite reverent as he admires the scene, talking quietly but quite excitedly about the history of the pharaoh and his pyramid.

Another lecture for those inclined to endure it.