Nawain/Logs/20240822

She’s chewing on her hair again. She thought she’d kicked that habit, but the sodden ends grinding between her teeth begged to differ. Nawain’s herb-stained fingers are buried in the massive weave of holy mana she has wrapped around this place. A handful of clerics harness as much as they can and feed it into the gaps she was leaving, but she needs more. This place – that stone, and the nascent aether snarl still possibly present in the same place – needs to be protected until the party was ready.  

“Bah! Now I’m even thinking in code. Maybe I am insane. I was certainly insane to think that no one would try to sabotage us,” she growls to herself, pulling on thread upon thread of clear, golden mana in closer to stone 139. “And, I suppose… Nothing easy is really worth doing.”  

Step by step she pulls her beacon in upon itself, wrapping it about that precious aether snarl that she swears she can see with all of her magical perception spells up. She pulls great, greedy handfuls of mana from the surges generated by the group of alchemist casually casting in another corner, and fills in more holes her pulling creates. The golden strands of her mana-cocoon maintain a healthy distance from the stone and its interplanar interloper, the inside of the cocoon smoothed to a precise curve to prevent stray curls of holy mana from impinging on the last metaphysical remnants of the rift that leads to the null prison.  

Exhausted but exultant, the little Rakash eyes her work and makes a note to bring some Paladins by as soon as possible to reinforce the strands against accidental entanglement or destruction. It just has to survive a short while longer…