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Saving Throws
About
A hulking figure of cracked stone and empty sockets, its chest cavity a dark void that hums with low, droning vibrations. The crypt hollow warden stands motionless until disturbed, then moves with slow inevitability. Getting near it brings a pressure to the skull - thoughts scatter, words stick in the throat, and concentration frays at the edges. When it speaks, the sound comes from everywhere and nowhere, a hollow echo that bypasses ears and lands directly in the mind. Steel loses its edge in its presence, and even seasoned warriors find their resolve tested by whispers they can't quite hear but definitely feel.