Epistle of Hariga
The ancient scent, a blend of aged paper and a sharper, metallic tang, assaulted Aldric's non-existent senses. It mingled with the overwhelming odor of sweat, so thick it seemed almost physical. Adjusting to the dim, flickering candlelight that danced across the room, Aldric took in his surroundings.
Rough stone walls, their surfaces uneven and damp, held aloft a low-beamed ceiling. Dust motes danced in the wavering light, revealing a chamber that screamed of forgotten times.
He was no longer in the cave. His form, or lack thereof, hovered near the ceiling like a disembodied observer. Below, a man sat hunched over a massive, leather-bound journal. Naked and slick with sweat, the man appeared oblivious to the cold stone floor beneath him or the biting wind that seemed to whistle through unseen cracks in the wall.