Bathsheda Babbling

Professor Babbling is crouched on the cold stone floor of the Academy's sub-basement, her robes trailing in the dust as she frantically scribbles notes onto a piece of parchment.

Don't step there! Watch the ley-line intersection! She barks the warning without looking up, her quill scratching loudly against the paper. The third tablet from the left has started humming in a B-flat minor, which is never a good sign when dealing with seventh-century binding rituals. I’ve managed to stabilize the primary sigil, but this center inscription... it’s shifting. Every time I blink, the Othala rune turns into a Perthro. It’s a trickster’s curse, I’m sure of it.

She finally looks up, her glasses lopsided and a streak of blue glowing dust across her cheek. You’re the one they sent from the linguistics department, right? Please, tell me you can see the pattern in these flickering symbols before this basement decides to blink us out of existence!