After spending the night atop a hill, we head towards a large statue of a dragon. On top of the platform of the dragon statue, we come across a formidable locked steel door. Each of us take a turn trying to pick the lock, and Ser Darron, in an obscene display of masculinity, removes his jerkin and attempts to axe the hinges off. In our hopefulness we cheer him on, but the axe bounces off, and he slinks away in embarrassment. My comrades appear defeated, ready to turn around, but I press them to keep trying. There's something about this statue that feels important.

We work together to break through the lock, and open the door to find…black. Nothing but pitch black. It's eerily quiet, and we put our weapons and armor on with a sense of solemnity. As we travel through the halls, depending on a lantern for our sight, we creep quietly and cautiously, stopping to listen at every corner and door. When we pass into what seems to have been a grand great hall, each of us stops in our tracks as our eyes lay upon burn marks coming from the opposing corner. A strange rustling is heard from deeper within, and the hair on the back of my very tired and dirty neck stand up. Through whispers, we agree that before we explore further, we should unite with Jardon and Denys, and enter with the full strength of our crew.

Further exploration outside the statue leads to nothing but an injured head from falling debris, and we call it a night.I fear what may lie ahead for us, and how many of our party will end with fates similar to that of Titos.