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?
Doors don't usually do that.
Gereon checks the handles for trap-triggering mechanisms, and will attempt to open the door if he doesn't find any. Holding his breath against whatever foul odors might be trapped within.