As they step into the cavern, a sharp chill cuts through the air, making every breath visible in the dim space.
The walls and ceiling drip constantly, leaving the entire area feeling damp and unwelcoming. The two non-darksee'ers were in pitch black, until the faint light slowly flickers to life as Thistle's fingers brush the sigil on the wall. Soft, golden light spills along the walls, spreading out and illuminating the chamber.
At the heart of the cavern, in a shallow pool of water that ripples under the light, stands a suit of armor—a figure of a knight. The armor gleams, its surface adorned with etchings—glyphs, runes, and sigils—some spiraling decoratively, others thrumming faintly with magic. The lines of the glyphs pulse gently, their glow casting an eerie reflection on the surface of the pool.
A deep hole gapes in the sentinel's chest. The sword it clutches in one hand gleams as if freshly forged, its blade untouched by time or rust.
Above it, the helmeted head stares out into the cavern, faceless, but somehow, a feeling that it is waiting.