The retaining wall folds shut above the stair, leaving the market’s sunlight behind. Tessa and the blue-vested resident remain at the entrance, while Slaan stays beside Nhal.
Below, pale steps descend into cool violet shadow. No scent of death, restless spirit, or necromantic residue rises from the darkness, only old stone and quiet ward-magic.
Slaan
Nothing here calls to the dead, at least not yet. That makes this a sanctuary first, and a mystery second.
Slaan lifts one hand, allowing a faint spell-light to gather above her palm. It reveals worn carvings along the walls, each softened by generations of passing hands.
the market steward
We will remain here. The sanctuary was built for welcome, and no one below should mistake our curiosity for supervision.
Slaan
The road is open, Nhal. We can descend, examine the ward, or leave the old silence undisturbed. Your reading should lead us.