A strange crypt

28th of Shar 358

A lot has happened since I last wrote. We decided to focus on the chasm next. Hymn sent a lizard made up of stars down into the chasm and looks through its eyes, relaying what he saw inside. There was a large expansive cave, the sound of water dripping, a lit torch on the wall, and a crypt in the heart of the cave.

Hymn sent his lizard to get closer but it got caught in a spider's web. Fathom and Hymn worked together using a rock enchanted with light to summon a guy down there to help. Fathom called down to him, asking him to find a way to the surface, sending down another rock enchanted with light.

The guy said there is a crypt down there, a light in the corner, and a giant spider. Hymn excavated some of the dirt, moving it out of the way. He peeled back the thin layer of mineral easily, revealing an opening into the cave. We all entered.

Inside the cave, we see a big spider on the ceiling. It was gashed open and killed. This cave seems ancient but the spider was killed recently. Fathom picked up a rusted blade off of the floor. He says the sword is about 30 years old and the blood stains on it about two weeks old. He thinks the blood is the same from the blood trail we saw above ground.

There was a sign of a scuffle here. There are marks on the ground, signs that the door was opened recently but it has been shut for a while. There is a journal discarded on the floor. The crypt door has ancient markings on it.

I pick up the sword. As I picked it up, I felt my muscles tense up and flex in my right arm. I felt like I knew how to use it. I felt fear, desperation, and pain as I held the blade in my hand. I had a vision of a battle taking place here against someone. The sword was dropped and left behind, succumbing to a blazing heat. Its wielder fled deeper into the cave. I communicated this to the others, adding that I think the wielder may be dead by now.

Hornet is at the door of the crypt, trying to figure out how to open it. They pulled out the deacon's longsword and hit the door with it. The stone gives way to its unbendable steel, crumbling with each hit. Hornet then goes to the guy and brings him over to the door. They teleports the guy inside the crypt. The guy opens the door from the inside and the door clicks into a fully open position. The smell of rot fills pours out of crypt like a fog. The cent is followed by a rolling fog of stone dust. I covered my and Erafinyr's nose.

Fathom asked me to touch the door to learn about its construction. I wasn't sure why then but now I know that it's because my ability has changed to feel the past of objects. As I touch the door, I get the feeling of grief, closure and relief as it is shut. I see the door open and I feel panic and fear. I said the door should've stayed closed but the others noted the room looks empty.

Hymn pulls out his scythe, shining light into the crypt. A lifeless body lays on a stone slab, his face locked in an eternal anguish with a sword lodged into its skull. The body looks like it has been decomposing for weeks, and there is scorch marks on the walls, indicated a struggle occurred. A worn leather satchel is against the slab, with spell scrolls and shattered vials scattered along the floor. Hornet moves the corpse off of the slab. It slops into several pieces, leaving a goop of bile over the stone. It looks like the person fought to the bitter end to protect this place and he failed. Judging from the burn marks along the cave outside, it looks like the scuffle started outside the door and came inside. Hymn grabs the blade, impaled into the person's skull and the stone slab. The sword is basically a blunt weapon at this point. He tosses it aside to the gibs of flesh.

I was asked by Fathom to see if I can discover any information about this place. I pick up the satchel on the floor. I feel a sense of necessity. I feel desperation as the pockets are emptied. I feel the pockets, once overfilled with spell scrolls and vials, quickly empty, as the satchel's owner tries to defend themselves. I feel the satchel hit the floor. I decide it is best for me to take the satchel with me; it could prove useful for me and I have a sense that the original owner wouldn't wanted it to go to waste.

I walk over to the gibs of flesh on the ground, reaching down for the sword. My first instinct as I touch it is to recoil, my hand snapping back. I take a deep breath, steeling myself in preparation of what I might see. I am transported through time to when the sword was in its prime. I hear shouting, the banging of spells and guns around me. The clang of metal on metal, metal cutting through flesh. The smell of fresh blood spilling onto soil and stone. I stood in the middle of a battlefield and the sword is cutting down countless foes. I see the sword used on foes, allies. Men, women, children. Innocent people and anyone who dared to protect them, cut through effortlessly. I felt the sword slowly become more blunt, less sharp. But the sheer force, the sheer will of the person wielding it, it only took one or two impacts for it to take down a foe. I witnessed death after death, kill after kill. I feel disgusted. I feel disgusted from seeing all that death but... I felt empathetic towards the blade. This blade should be taken care of, used for its purpose. It felt so good to hold that blade. I felt a sense of pleasure from holding it from the lives it took. My thoughts were filled with the thoughts of killing. What would it be like to kill someone, I wondered. What would it feel like to feel steel cutting against flesh, to watch the life fade from someone's eyes as I dealt the final blow. I... I am sickened by these thoughts, but it hurt to think about anything else in that moment. For a moment, I felt consumed by the thought of using this blade. But I dropped the blade. I refused to touch that blade again, no matter how tempting it was, how good it felt to hold it in my hands.

After that, Fathom asked me to touch the slab, thinking it may point us to Slaughter. I was very hesitant to touch anything after touching the sword but I agreed. What I see is that who used to reside here. The figure that used to reside here was stirred awake from death. They stood on their own two feet, leaving the slab and presumedly walking to the exit. Then darkness. It felt so wrong, it felt like this place and everything it stood for was dragged through the dirt. Then I saw a mangled face with countless scars, but only for a second. It frightened me and I jumped back. Fathom believes this is the sign that this was Slaughter's resting place.

I look around and I find footprints through the soot. The footsteps lead out the door and through the cave. It leads to a narrow opening. I'm guessing this is the way to the exit. It's a tight opening. As I follow the tracks to the opening, I give one last glance at the sword. Oh, I was so tempted to just pick it up once more but I was also terrified of it. Fathom thinks that we should follow the tracks and asks me if we should. The guy seems distraught about going into the tight space and curls up into a ball, presumedly having a panic attack. He says something along the lines of "not thinking about the ethics of a spell before casting it." Fathom smacks him and the guy seems fine, not indifferent about the thought of death. He goes through the hole first, then I go through. Everyone else follows.

We have been walking for hours, my feet feel tired and my back hurts from crawling and being hunched over. I tried to pass the time by writing everything that has happened so far but not much has happened since the last I wrote. We reached an fork in the cave, one path going down seemingly endlessly, and upwards through a mined tunnel. We went upwards and we reached an expansive opening of a room. The room is covered in snow and ice that has blown in. It's cold but sheltered. Wherever we were, it is not where we came in. Directly to the left of the hole was a huge stone door carved with eyes. To the right and far end of the room was the way out, the footsteps going that way. It smells of decay here.

As we exit the hole, I am hit with a wave of tiredness. I feel like I barely have the energy to write what's going on. The cold feels familiar and the icy floor looks comfortable. I want to sit down just for a minute. Hymn recognizes this place, the large figure dead in the corner. It was a giant who let him stay here for an evening and we are far north of where we once were. Slaughter, or whoever came through here, must've got the giant in its sleep. Hymn tells of his time here, of his friend, and the gift of a compass he got from them. Fathom seems tired too but Hymn and Hornet don't seem to be. Hornet says it's the door making us tired and we should leave. Where we are is the same distance to Hrorilad as Hrorilad is to the Tower.

I slowly inched towards the door. I wanted to touch it, learn about it. See why it is here. From what I understand, this door has never been opened but... I'm curious. I put my hand to the door. I feel desperation, weakness. The sense of self-preservation echoes through me. I feel a desperate cry of exertion and like I'm trying to preserve myself. I felt so tired. I passed out.

I woke up not long after, having had the weirdest dream. Everyone surrounded me and I recounted my dream to them.

I was pondering something, though I don't know what. Wondering what I should do. I was looking into a pool of water, the reflection of the water being an endless void. In the water, I see a golden spark within. It calls to me so strongly. I reached for it. Everything changed around me. A long golden thread wrapped its way around my arm and I knew I had to exert my will against it. I felt everything drain out of me, my energy, my self, everything. I tried to pull on the string and tried to let go of it but it was too late. The words "No, you are not going to die here" echoes. I then found myself watching a mountain. I felt the feeling of going through the sky so fast. I was a comet coming from the heavens. I felt it slam into the side of the mountain. The dream cuts and I experienced what I could only imagine as the end of everything. Everything was so quiet, so dark. The stars in the sky slowly went out, one by one. As the last star faded, so did I and everything else. There was a crash of thunder and I woke up.

I felt a deep sorrow about leaving the door unopened. I felt empathetic towards the door, I felt like I needed to help. I think we should open the door.

The others agree and Hymn and Fathom brace either side of the door and push. They slowly push the door open. As the door opens, the tiredness fades and the etchings of the eyes on the door close. As the door opened just a crack, a beaming light pierces through the crack. The door crumbles, turning into dust. The golden light dims and a shadow is left behind as a figure on the floor. Fathom runs over to it. The figure slowly wakes up, standing up.

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