I slow and stay hidden among the reeds and low stone ribs, watching the ritual unfold. I check to glean specifics of the rites—the words, components, gestures, and any focal points that might be important.
I hold very still in the reeds, easing my breathing to a minimum to avoid disturbing the mist. From my position I can make out the ritual's broad strokes but not every whispered syllable.
What I observe:
- The chanting is in an old dialect threaded with guttural consonants; Icatch fragments—words Elira mentioned like "bind," "bone," and "hallow." They repeat a short refrain and punctuate phrases with the scraping of the curved blade across a flat stone.
- The tall, unhooded leader acts as the ritualist: he places small bundles of nightseed (a dark, oily herb) and cracked eggshells around the mound, then sprinkles a pale powder from a crushed vial. The vial's contents smoke when exposed to air and give off a faint sweet-sour odor.
- The wicker cage is positioned next to the mound. Inside I make out something small and restless—perhaps an animal or a bound, smaller humanoid. The ritualists feed strands of cloth and bone into the mound; the tall leader mutters names and touches the bound man's chest briefly with the blade's hilt.
- The glowing focus seems to be the mound itself: a shallow pit ringed with rib-like stones. Whenever the leader speaks, the mound gives off a faint, sickly luminescence—like light seen through dead tissue. The glow pulses when the blade strikes the stone.
- The leader occasionally glances toward Tomas, as if testing whether the captive still responds. He does not appear fully aware of my presence; the group is focused inward on the rite.
I also notice small runes etched into the rim of one of the rib-stones, covered in algae. Though partly obscured, the pattern matches sigils I've seen described in banned texts—bindings used to tether spirits to bone. If the ritual completes, the mound may accept something into its posture and anchor it to this place.
I flip through the grimoire with practiced, hungry fingers, focusing on marginal notes and the cramped diagrams drawn in a shaky, ink-dark hand. The book responds like an old conspirator—fragments align with what I see at the henge.
What the grimoire tells me:
- The rite is a binding called "Hallow of the Ribbed Warden," an archaic ritual intended to anchor a spirit or lesser undead to a locus of bone and earth. It requires a living anchor (a conscious, unwilling humanoid), bone-shaped stones to act as conductors, and a focus of corrupted seed-essences (nightseed) combined with powdered ossicle (the pale powder) to bridge flesh and spirit.
- The wicker cage is likely a fettering device—used to hold a small spirit or animate creature until the rite completes, at which point the spirit is forced into the mound and bound to the circle. The small restless thing could be either a trapped wisp, a tethered spirit, or a writhing animal meant to be sacrificed as a conduit.
- The runes on the rib-stones are binding sigils that, once completed, become semi-permanent anchors. They can be disrupted by scraping them away, washing them with consecrated water, or by breaking the pattern via counter-ritual—preferably before the final strike of the blade.
- The vibrating luminescence I noted is characteristic of a spirit being coaxed into corporeal attachment. If allowed to complete, the mound will form a focal point that can "birth" a tethered guardian—something the wardens call a Bone-warden. Such a guardian would be bound to protect the henge and obey the wardens' commands, and its creation would likely strengthen the wardens' hold within this swamp.
- Timing: the rite appears to be near its midpoint. There are several gestures left—three major bladescrapes and a culminating incantation that will anchor the spirit. The grimoire suggests that interrupting the rite before the third scrape could unmake the binding; after the final incantation the sigils would "set" and be much harder to undo.
- The text also hints that if the living anchor (Tomas) is rendered unconscious or removed from the mound before the final incantation, the link falters and the ritual fails. Conversely, if the anchor dies during the rite, the binding may draw from his remaining life force and bind a more violent guardian.
I close the grimoire, the knowledge settling like a pleasant weight. I now know what the wardens aim to create, how close they are to finishing, and several plausible methods to stop them—scrape the sigils, disrupt the ritual before the third blade scrape, or remove/knock unconscious the living anchor.
I begin spellcasting, tongue moving in the dark as I shape a sphere of burning energy. A Fireball requires verbal and somatic components; the hollow air of the henge trembles as I release it.
Warden 1 stumbles, cloak catching flame; they scream and collapse, clutching at scorched robes.
- Warden 2 staggered but recovering, shielded somewhat by a stone.
- Warden 3 is thrown back by the blast, face and hands badly burned.
- Warden 4 is blasted against a rib-stone; smoke rises from their hair and sleeves.
- The leader reels from the blast, cloak and skin singed; he staggers but is still standing, eyes wide with fury.
- The mound at the center of the henge erupts in flames; the pale powder and nightseed combust violently. The luminescent glow sputters and dims but is not fully extinguished — the ritual is disrupted and likely interrupted by the explosion.
- Tomas, the captive, coughs and thrashes as smoke fills the circle. He seems scorched but still alive; the gag is singed. He will likely be able to speak or move if freed.
- The wicker cage near the mound catches fire. Whatever was inside begins to screech and thrash; the sound draws attention.
- The surrounding reeds and some nearby rib-stones glow with smoldering scorch marks. There's a strong smell of burning herbs and charred flesh.
- The wardens are now fully aware of my presence. Some of them are on fire and enraged; others move to retaliate.
The fire still hisses and smoke curls up from the center of the henge. The wardens, now alerted and some still smoldering, prepare to act.
The four wounded wardens scramble to their feet, one cursing as flames lick his sleeve. The leader singed but furious, draws a curved blade and points to me. Two of the wardens move to try to extinguish the flaming wicker cage and the small thrashing thing inside; they shove at it with short spears and one flings a handful of smoldering nightseed into the peat, trying to snuff the flames and salvage the ritual components. The wounded Warden 1 claws himself up and advances toward me through the reeds, eyes wild.
One of the wardens draws a crude, soot-darkened shortbow and fires at me from behind a low ribstone.
Tomas is coughing; the gag has been burned through and he coughs out, trying to breathe. The ritual's glow is sputtering; with the fire's interruption the wardens will try to either regroup and finish the rite or drag Tomas away to restart it elsewhere.
The archer's arrow hits me, barely leaving a gash on my arm. Other wardens move into positions: one lunges through the reeds toward the edge of the circle, two others fan out to try to surround the henge, and the leader yells an order and starts sprinting toward a low ribstone for cover, drawing a short ritual dagger.
I cast Mirror Image creating 3 illusory duplicates of myself that makes me harder to hit.
I begin the somatic motions and muttered incantations for Scorching Ray. I scorch the wardens with searing rays of fire.
The leader reels, clutching his singed cloak; his breathing is ragged but he remains standing.
The archer cries out, hair and sleeve aflame, and collapses behind a rib-stone, badly burned and likely out of the fight.
Warden 3 is blasted backward, coughing smoke; he struggles to his feet but is clearly grievously hurt.
- The burning wicker cage finally bursts open with a shriek; a small, charred will-o'-wisp–like thing flares up, slick with oily nightseed. It darts erratically, drawn to the remaining wardens and the smoldering mound.
- The remaining wardens, enraged and wounded, brace themselves. The leader glares at me, the blade in his hand glinting with intent.
- Tomas coughs and tries to move; he looks toward me with something like pleading hope, though his strength is uncertain.
The wounded wardens exchange furious, low-voiced commands. The leader lunges from cover and charges toward my hiding reeds, blade raised. Warden 1 (the one shoved up and moving) follows, stumbling through the muck. Warden 3, badly burned, snarls and stays near the henge to tend the smoldering mound; he is slow to move. The fallen archer remains down behind a rib-stone, groaning.
The leader runs up to me and makes a melee attack with his curved blade. the attack strikes one of my mirror images instead of me.
One duplicate flickers and shimmers as the leader's curved blade slices through illusionary flesh. One image is destroyed; I still have two remaining.
The leader snarls, swears in a tight, cracked voice, and glares at the reeds where I hide. Warden 1 closes the distance and prepares to strike next; Warden 3 stays behind the henge, coughing and tending the smoldering mound. The will-o'-wisp–like thing darts around unpredictably near the burned cage.
I send 3 magic missiles toward the leader. After the scorching ray earlier and this new hit, he staggers, breathing heavily, blood and scorched flesh on his garments, but he remains standing and glares at me with murderous intent.
I begin the quick verbal and somatic weave for Fly. A faint, ripple-light wraps my robes and I lift clear of the muck—my feet no longer touching the swamp
I then prepare to cast Scorching Ray while airborne. All three rays strike
After previous damage, the Leader staggers badly but remains standing and angrier.
- Warden 1 reels, smoke wreathing his clothes, and slows his advance.
- Warden 3 collapses to one knee, clutching burned lungs, and stumbles back from the mound.
The wardens stagger and hiss, smoke curling from their clothes. They still have one clear goal: recover Tomas and finish the rite if possible, or at least stop the attacker in the reeds.
The leader charges out from behind cover, blade raised, he hurls his curved blade like a heavy knife in desperation.
Warden 1 forward through the muck and flings a short spear toward me, trying to pin me or force me down.
Warden 3 drops the tending and, choking, aims a desperate shout and hurls a small alchemical flask of smoldering nightseed toward the smoldering mound attempting to rekindle or distract. His throw is aimed at the mound, misses more than hits: the flask shatters against a ribstone and the fumes flare, briefly filling the clearing with more acrid smoke. The smoke reduces visibility.
The leader's thrown blade hits one of my Mirror Image duplicates.
- One image is destroyed.
Warden 1's spear also targets an image.
- The final duplicate is struck and destroyed.
I ready another fireball.
Before I cast, I take in the battlefield and consequences:
- I'm flying roughly 20 feet above the reeds, about 60 feet from the henge center well within Fireball range.
- Tomas is inside the henge circle ~60 ft away and likely within the blast if I center the Fireball on the mound or nearby.
-The leader, Warden 1, and Warden 3 are clustered around the henge; Warden 2 is down.
- The smoldering mound and ritual items are already on fire; another Fireball will further alter the environment and could kill or badly injure Tomas or produce unintended effects (including potentially creating more dangerous undead if the ritual anchor dies).
I beat back the urge to aim carelessly and instead push higher and farther back on my Fly — gaining distance so the blast won't swallow Tomas if I place it carefully. I fly to a point roughly 120 feet from the henge and 60 feet slightly off to the side, giving me a clear line of sight while staying out of the 20-foot radius I plan to place. From this vantage I can still reach the henge with Fireball.
I place the center of the Fireball sphere five feet from Tomas, positioned so the 20-foot radius covers the ring where the wardens stand but attempts to leave Tomas just outside the worst of it.
The leader was already badly wounded; this blast engulfs him. He screams as flame sears him and collapses, dead.
- Warden 1 is badly burned and falls to his knees, on the edge of unconsciousness but still alive
- Warden 3 convulses, charred, dead.
- Warden 2 remains down, already incapacitated.
- The Will-o'-wisp–like creature, flares once in a bright burst and collapses into a smoking husk — destroyed.
- Tomas coughs, charred and singed, pain racking his body. He is down but still alive; his bindings are scorched and partially burned away. He is unconscious from the trauma and heavy damage
The mound and much of the henge are scorched; the ritual items and remaining nightseed combust and mostly burn away, destroying the immediate components and unmaking the bulk of the rite. The rib-stones are blackened and cracked; the glowing tether sputters and then collapses. The ritual is effectively broken — any nascent bound guardian failed to fully manifest and the danger of a fully-formed Bone-warden has been averted, at the cost of possible consequences for killing the anchors.