The Eeire Barrows

Hidden within the wind-scoured hills of northern Bariatok , four days' travel east of Tycho , lies a place long shunned by wanderers and spoken of only in hushed tones, the Eerie Barrows. The Barrows are an ancient subterranean necropolis of unknown origin, a winding complex of stone corridors and sepulchral chambers that stretch deep beneath the barren earth. Though the structure is undeniably human in craftsmanship, its precise age and builders have been lost to time, predating even the earliest Imperial records of settlement in Bariatok.   History and Origins   Little is known of those who first carved the Barrows. The architecture bears no resemblance to modern or even early Imperial funerary designs. The layout suggests a ritual purpose: long, symmetrical halls branching into clusters of tombs and ossuaries, each chamber more finely hewn than the last. Faded carvings of indistinct figures, perhaps priests, perhaps kings, adorn some of the outer walls, though time and moisture have eroded all inscriptions.   Scholars who have studied recovered fragments argue that the complex may date back to one of the first human cultures to settle the northern highlands, possibly a proto-Imperial civilization that vanished before the rise of modern nations. Others, more superstitious, believe the Barrows were not built by mortals at all, but by those who worshipped something that still sleeps below.   The Descent   The upper passages of the Barrows have long been stripped of valuables by tomb robbers and explorers. What remains are empty sarcophagi, scattered bones, and murals whose pigments have dulled to near-black. Yet even these looted sections are unsettling, those who enter speak of a constant, suffocating quiet, broken only by the sound of their own breath and the faint echo of movement from unseen sources.   Deeper within, the air grows colder and heavier, and the sensation of being watched intensifies. Some claim to have seen shadows move against the stone without light to cast them. A handful of explorers have made it far enough to glimpse chambers lined with unbroken coffins, or doors that hum faintly at their touch. None who have reached the innermost depths speak coherently afterward; most return in silence, trembling and hollow-eyed, unwilling to describe what they saw. A few never emerge at all.   Imperial Awareness   Though no official decrees forbid entry to the Barrows, the Empire makes no effort to encourage exploration. Scouts stationed near Tycho are aware of its existence and occasionally track those who venture there, but intervention is rare. Among soldiers and travelers, the site has become a grim curiosity, a place to test courage or to vanish from notice. For all its dangers, the Barrows have yielded no treasures of note in living memory, and most now believe the true wealth of the tomb lies deeper than any sane soul would dare to tread.   Folklore and Superstition   Local tales speak of The Watcher Beneath, a nameless presence said to stir when the living disturb its rest. Some versions describe it as a spirit bound to guard the dead, others as the remnant of a forgotten god still feeding on the fear of trespassers. Old Bariatokian songs warn travelers not to call out names within the Barrows, lest the stone remember them.   Scholars dismiss these stories as superstition born of isolation and fear, but even the most rational observers admit that there is something profoundly wrong with the place. Torches burn shorter, sound carries strangely, and compasses lose their bearings within the deepest halls. Whether these effects are caused by ancient enchantments, geological anomalies, or something far older is a question that remains unanswered.   Legacy   Today, the Eerie Barrows stand as one of Bariatok’s most chilling relics, a relic untouched by time, where the line between history and horror blurs. It is said that the dead of the Barrows do not rest easily, and that the land itself remembers the secrets buried beneath. Those who return speak not of gold or relics, but of whispers in the dark, and of eyes that follow, long after they’ve left the tomb behind.