Jace

After a few more days of travel, we arrived at Osvin. The streets overflowed with innumerable pedestrians, carts bursting through the waves. Forcing our way upstream, we slowly shove our way to the northern edge of Osvin, overlooking the vibrant, violent river that acts as the demarcation for the Auburnian-Effrostian border. I've always found it strange that Unnatrulus is cut in twain by but a single river. Why does it flow so vigorously when it has an ocean at either end?

At this point, I'm not entirely sure why Harris and Twilight are still following me. I mean, Twilight does at least have a reason—even if it isn't a very good one—but, as far as I know, Harris is just kind of here. The more hands the better I suppose.

The sun bled red as it sank below the horizon, marking the end of the day's journey.

I've never been the type to pray. Maybe James finally rubbed off on me—I went to church when the morning came. Twilight came with me but Harris stayed behind, something about "needin' more money." I shambled through a squeaky side entrance and slipped into the nearest edge of a pew to me, variegated light streaking through stained glass windows behind the gilded altar, inspiring an air of tranquility and reverence.

Though there were no congregants visible in the nave from where I sat—well, unless Twilight counts. Is Twilight religious? I don't really know, and I would have had to break that sacred silence to ask. I recall seeing people entering the main vestibule of the church though, and that's why I entered through the side. I wasn't avoiding them, but I did not want to... mingle... at the time.

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Twilight did not sit on a pew; rather, she strode toward the center of the church. At first I thought she was heading for the altar, but she snaked around and entered the sacristy. Fearing she may run into a priest and the church's pursuit would begin anew, I inelegantly lurched from my seat and scrambled after her as silently as I could. I did not find Twilight in the sacristy, much less any member of the clergy.

She could not've gone far. I stopped to listen and heard the rustling of robes from the vestry, so I turned toward the door into the vestry and tried the knob but it did not turn—locked. I could've kicked the door in, but I feared whom the noise may bring so I settled for picking the lock. I normally circumvented locked doors in dark dungeons by simply shifting through them, but I often picked locks on boxes and chests so I thought it would not prove difficult. Luckily, the vestry had a simple lock and it only took a moment to get it unlocked.

As the door pivoted soundlessly on well-oiled hinges, Twilight came into view. She was facing away from me so I could not see what exactly she was doing until her outward-facing hands grasping the fabrics of robes and reality pried open a rift right before my eyes.

There was a lot of speculation as to how dungeons came to be. Some said that they were the work of gods, others claimed they were an inexplicable force of nature, and still others claim that either the greatest mages or nations or both agreed to create dungeons so that those of words would have common enemies to loot and not turn against one another. Well, I guess the whole made by mages concept was mostly right, but the type of mages and the why for making them hold little credence now.

Get it? Credence? Because that's the type of table—no, I'm not feeling it right now. That's not even a good joke, and I'm not in the right place mentally to make a good one. I should just get what I have to write off my chest, and then I'll surely be in a better mood.

Twilight created a dungeon in that vestry where there was no comforting khroma or radiant gold, only washed-out white robes in a gray room with no windows. She stabilized the rift and went inside. I'm about to follow.