Following the sense of dark magic is easy enough, but when the trail ends at a blank cliff face, Mordecai has no idea what to do. He doubts he can scale the cliff, and given it’s part of the same cliff that he and Achillea had set up camp next to, it must be miles across. He considers walking along it to find a section with some footholds, but to find the source of a possibly-evil aura? It doesn’t seem worth the trouble.

The flora around him seems innocuous enough, though there are no animals in sight. Could it be a patch of cursed earth? They are getting close to Redburn. The cave Mordecai raised in must have been cursed as well, but he doesn’t remember if it felt like this. He wouldn’t have even known to feel for it.

Mordecai slumps in defeat. He should probably get back to Achillea.

He turns to sweep his gaze over the cliff face one last time, carefully, just in case he missed something. It appears by all accounts to be a normal wall of stone and dirt until suddenly he notices something.

A circular stone, set high up on the side of the cliff, half-covered in moss. It would look completely natural but for its perfectly round shape. And it could just be his imagination, but there seem to be faint lines carved into it, obscured by the moss.

Could that be the source of the aura?

Mordecai gives the cliff face a considering look. He may be able to get high enough to get a better look at it. He sizes up a large boulder at the bottom of the cliff, identifying it as his first hurdle. He backs up, makes a running jump at it, and falls straight through.

The abrupt transition from leaping at a rock to lying on a dark brick-cobbled floor leaves him stunned, mind reeling trying to catch up with his body.

When he regains his bearings, he finds himself in a large stone foyer. The opposite wall is curved, forming not-quite a half circle. Directly in front of him, a tunnel leads down into inky blackness. On either side is an alcove twice his height. They look like they should hold menacing statues to impress visitors and/or deter trespassers. Both of the alcoves are empty.

The statues they presumably once held lie broken on the ground. Massive stone figures in imposing armor, each wielding a humongous stone sword, cracked and crumbled, lying in a nest of mangled armor and shattered bone. A thick layer of dust covers everything and moss slowly creeps in from outside, inching its way over the figures. A few weapons too damaged to use are strewn amongst the carnage.

A number of scratches, scrapes, and discarded arrows litter the floor. There must have been a battle here, Mordecai thinks. But who were they fighting?

He looks around out of curiosity, examining the walls and floor carefully. Being stone, there’s little more than faint lines marring the room, with the exception of a few grooves etched into the stone. On closer inspection, they don’t appear to be purposefully made, a few feet long and about half an inch thick and deep with a taper at both ends, scattered seemingly at random about the room. Cracks emanate from them as though they were caused by something very thin and heavy being slammed into the stone with incredible force. But the only thing in the room big enough to cause them would be…

Mordecai’s eyes trail to the giant swords. One of the statues is still mostly intact from the waist up, sword held mid-swing. The other’s arms and head have snapped off, but it’s clear that they were in different positions, both posed as if they were in battle. An odd way to frame a door.

Eyeing some bones half-buried under one of the statues, an uneasy thought begins to form in his mind. Don’t tell me they were fighting these things!

Stone statues of this size, even broken into pieces as they are, should weigh a ton. They don’t appear to have fallen from their displays. They’re several feet away from them, in fact.

Mordecai goes completely still.

For a long moment, nothing in the foyer moves. Then, cautiously, Mordecai takes a step forward. Then another.

Nothing else moves.

He pads tensely toward the statues, ready to bolt if they so much as twitch. Nearing their heads, he takes a good look at them. Despite the carnage around them, their expressions remain stoic, the mostly-intact one staring up at the ceiling, the decapitated one facing the opposite corner. For the first time, he notices their eyes are deep blue gemstones. The intact one’s left eye is missing; in its place is a mess of chipped stone.

Mordecai waves a nervous hand in front of its narrow face. When it doesn’t immediately leap at him, his hand wavers. If he accidentally activates this thing, he could end up joining the other skeletons in the bone nest. He really, really doesn’t want to join the bone nest. It reminds him of the two in the cave, how close he was to making it a trio. Three shattered skeletons lying in a cave, no one to know or remember they ever existed.

Gingerly, he touches the statue.

Nothing.

Mordecai slumps, relieved, letting his hand slip off the smooth stone. He couldn’t sense any magic coming from them, but he had to be sure. Whatever spells or such were animating them, they’re long gone. Only broken stone remains.

There’s no magic in the statues, but the aura of dark magic is still strong. Mordecai glances back the way he came. The wall behind the cliff is flat, smaller alcoves lining it holding softly glowing bluish-purple flame in stone bowls. In the center of the wall is an archway, large bricks lining the sides. The arch’s keystone is a circular stone with a glowing symbol inscribed on it, about the same height as the one he’d seen outside. Through the arch he can see the forest outside.

The aura isn’t coming from the stones either. It seems to be coming from down the tunnel.

Peering down into the depths, he can make out a staircase and more bowls of weird fire along the walls, but after a good distance the darkness closes in, obscuring the bottom despite his dark vision. Just how far down does this lead? he wonders. This may be a bad idea…

The dark magic spicing the air doesn’t feel particularly threatening, but who knows what else is down there? Memories of the last dark cave he walked into pluck at him. Even if it is supernatural, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s friendly.

A skeletal face staring impassively down at him…

Then again, he reminds himself, he’s also supernatural. He has no more reason to fear dark magic than the living do healing magic. Achillea proved that. And even before her, the slime, the shadow imps, the long days spent watching them frolic, nearing him fearlessly but paying him no mind.

It might be friendly.

It might have answers to some of his questions.

But there’s still the what else.

He looks over the statues again. He considers their elegant stone armor, their vicious-looking stone swords, their long, pointed stone ears.

Internally, he grimaces. He pulls his cowl up over his skull and descends.