Beneath the keep lies the labyrinthine catacombs; none know what lies below. It is to this mystery that a scryer once came, bedecked in robes lined with gold, her tools bright, sharp, and brittle. The scrying arts have long served those of ambition, and our king was naught if not ambitious. She was charged with finding what lay below the fort, what truly lurked beneath our sanctuary through those twisted halls of flesh and umbral shadow.
Her preparations found some early success; in the entrails of misshapen things, and of potions mixed from malevolent verdature, she was able to glance within the catacombs. Each time, going deeper and deeper, her careful maps growing ever more detailed; such success was uncanny in this place of thwarted venture.
We found the charred remains of her maps alongside those of her eyes, as she gibbered with raucous mirth. That she found something is questionable; that something found her is undeniable. To see her, robes torn and befouled, blood dribbling down her chin as she chews through her tongue, one may be moved to pity. Yet, reach too close and one quickly realises that the scryer is still exploring down below, and something else came back.