It be damned, everything seems to start with either a tavern or a fire. Unfortunately or otherwise, this time it was in a fire, a comforting sloop of flame within a depression deep within something that could be called a cursed, dead forest.
But as the dead trees twisted in their running from a formidable wind from the east, one thing was certain, somebody had to get that damn door open? Was it trapped, held against the mighty by some unknown lore or nothing. For this was a strange maze into the underworld- it was- nameless.
So who about that fire could figure this door, or perhaps it was open already? There were no bones about, was that fortunate or a trap, a curse?
Nonetheless, it beckoned.
Who?
Crisp and clean is the fire, cold are the stones on the door. Lights flicker upon the shadows, Beckoning forever more.
The lght casts a strange light upon the massice door, with shapes and contours exagerated in the light of that full moon.
Somewhere the sound of a turning lens beckons...