The tower’s door hung open, the gaping entrance sending a shiver down Nevin’s spine. He could swear there was a chill in the air, completely at odds with the muggy atmosphere of the later afternoon. The light from the setting sun barely pierced the gloom of the interior that the man could see - illuminating only a few feet through the archway, showing bare cobblestones and a worn door that hung crooked from its hinges.
Nevin rummaged in his pack for a few moments, pulling out a slender torch and a striker set. A few sharp clacks of flint against metal and the head of the torch caught, flame blazing bright as he set the striker back in his bag. He stood up and slung the pack onto his back and took a deep breath, gripping the torch tight in his left hand, right hand holding the hilt of his whip as he strode through the damaged archway.
The torch’s fire cast the hallway into sharp relief as Nevin looked around. The oppressive chill still clung in the air, almost like something was watching and didn't appreciate his presence in the least. He fought down a nervous swallow and tightened his grip as he examined the hall. The dust of years sat heavy on the ground - but there, very faintly, there were tracks in the dust, like someone had long ago disturbed a part of it, but the footprints only went in one direction, out.
So someone had been here, and left, since the devastation of the tower. Interesting to note, as the townsfolk firmly believed no one could survive here. Maybe sometime later he would see if he could find the person who’d been here - who knows what they had seen so long ago? But that was a concern for later, not today. For now, he had to keep his eyes open for anything dangerous. Or anything he could use to further his Alchemy.
The hallway yielded nothing further to his searching eyes beyond the tracks in the dust. Ahead of him lay a stairway leading upwards, a couple of doors leading off to the sides, and a hatch that was firmly locked. He frowned - he wanted to get down there, but it looked like… cautiously, the Alchemist approached the hatch slowly, his eyes sliding across the doorways as he passed them.
One led into a decrepit kitchen, the prep table rotted half away by time. Even from here in the hall, Nevin could smell putrid food, things that had obviously suffered the passage of time very poorly. He wouldn't go in there if he could help it, he didn't think he could stand the odor any closer.
The other was a small bedroom, and Nevin did take the time to duck in here. There was a tiny wardrobe, though the clothing in it looked like it hadn't been used even longer than this place had been abandoned. There was a bed, that seemed like at some point animals had made a nest there, but aside from droppings and some tufts of fur, nothing remained of them. The final thing of note was a small desk and chair - and in the drawer of the desk, he found a tattered journal. Nevin’s eyes widened as he set the book down and began flipping through it, trying to see what he could decipher from the ravages of time.
