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Charis - The Temple

General Summary

As you step through the crumbling archway into the temple gardens, the overgrown grounds stretch before you, a place once cultivated with care, now left to the wilds. The stone pathways, once smooth and precise, are now fractured and uneven, overtaken by twisting roots and stubborn weeds that have forced their way through the cracks. The remnants of carefully arranged flower beds lie in disarray, their shapes barely discernible beneath tangles of vines and thorny undergrowth. A few faded blooms still cling to life among the weeds, their colors muted by time and neglect.   Stone benches, cracked and weathered, sit half-buried in creeping ivy, their once-inviting surfaces now rough with moss and lichen. Some have collapsed entirely, reduced to little more than piles of rubble, while others lean precariously as if weighed down by the years.   Throughout the garden, statues stand in silent vigil, their forms eroded by wind and rain yet still holding a regal presence. Dragons, their wings spread wide in majestic display, have lost much of their detail, their once-fierce expressions now softened by time. Great cats—lions, panthers, and tigers—prowl in frozen motion, though some are missing tails, ears, or even entire limbs, shattered and strewn among the overgrowth. Figures of various races—elves, humans, and others—stand solemnly among them, carved in poses of devotion or contemplation, their faces worn smooth, their eyes now little more than hollowed impressions gazing into eternity.   At the garden’s heart, an elaborate fountain rises, its stonework depicting dragons and great cats. Time has not been kind to it—the carvings are chipped and worn, their once-pristine edges dulled and broken. The basin, meant to shimmer with crystal-clear water, is instead filled with dirt, dead leaves, and fragments of fallen stone. Yet, even in decay, small, stubborn flowers have taken root in the cracks, their pale petals a quiet defiance against the creeping ruin.   The air is unnervingly still. No birds call, no insects hum—only the occasional whisper of wind stirs the heavy silence. The overgrown vines shift faintly with each breath of air, as though the garden itself is holding its breath, waiting.   Beyond the tangle of greenery and stone, the temple looms, its presence imposing and absolute. The heavy stone doors stand shut, their surfaces weathered yet unmoving, barring the way forward.
Ahead, the massive stone doors of the temple loom, their surfaces worn by time but still bearing intricate carvings.   To the left, a dragon coils through churning waves, its form merging with the currents. Below it, another dragon rises amidst a swirling inferno, flames curling around its outstretched wings. To the right, a dragon’s body twists with the wind, its wings unfurled as if riding an unseen current, while below, another dragon weaves through thick, winding vines, its claws tangled in roots and leaves.   At the base of the frame, two great cats are depicted in quiet majesty—one basking beneath a stylized sun, the other curled beneath a crescent moon. Their eyes, though mere stone, seem to watch all who approach.   Above the door, crowning the arch, a final dragon perches with its wings unfurled, staring downward as though watching those who stand before it.   The chamber beyond is vast and solemn, untouched by time yet thick with the weight of forgotten history.   Just beyond the threshold, a flimsy barricade—little more than broken pews and shattered furniture—rests against the doors, as though hastily thrown together in a desperate, final act. It offers no real resistance, crumbling at the slightest touch.
The vast chamber stretches before you, its vaulted ceiling soaring high above, though the once pristine, glass roof is now shattered and broken. The remnants of the glass scatter across the floor, some shards catching what little light filters through the cracks. The lack of sunlight makes the room feel colder than it should be, a chilling silence hanging heavy in the air. Vines and creeping ivy have begun to reclaim the space, twisting through cracks and spilling down from above.   Massive stone pillars line the hall, their surfaces etched with worn carvings, and the benches that once provided seating for worshippers are now decayed and crumbling, barely recognizable. A few candelabras remain, though many of the candles are long melted or broken, their bases covered in dust and cobwebs. The walls, though worn, still bear intricate carvings and faded murals   At the far end of the hall, seven shrines stand in quiet reverence, each adorned with an ornate statue—one for every god depicted on the doors. Though dust-covered, their craftsmanship is unmistakable, each figure carved with an almost lifelike precision. The offerings upon the diases remain undisturbed— bowls of dried herbs, fine cloths long faded, once-polished trinkets that have lost their luster.   Scattered across the floor, countless remains lay in eerie silence. Skeletons, some still clutched together in small, tight groups, litter the space. Their broken forms rest in awkward postures
As you approach the first shrine, the stone statue, towering yet graceful, depicts a mighty cat in a proud, seated posture, its head tilted slightly upward, eyes gazing toward the heavens. Its fur is intricately carved, the muscles of its form defined with expert precision. The expression on the great cat’s face is serene yet commanding, its mouth slightly open as though whispering a command to the light itself.   Before it, on the stone dais, lie offerings of golden coins, tarnished but still gleaming faintly in the dim light. A few sunstone gemstones are scattered across the base, their warm, amber hues catching the faint light. Dried sunflowers, their petals fragile and brittle, are placed in a small, broken ceramic bowl, while incense sticks, long extinguished, sit in their holders—their scent long since faded.
The second shrine holds a Dragon Goddess of Fire, her form carved in a powerful stance, her wings arched protectively around her body, with flames curling from her tail and neck in intricate, fierce patterns. Her expression is one of intense focus, her eyes glowing with an inner fire, her mouth open as though preparing to unleash a blaze that would consume everything before her. Her posture is one of unwavering strength and authority, commanding respect.   At her feet lie offerings of ruby gemstones, their deep red colors flickering like embers, and scattered gold coins that shine in the gloom. Charred wood is placed on the dais in small piles, blackened and ashen, while dried roses rest at the base, their petals curling inward like the last flickers of a dying flame. Incense, though long gone cold, still clings to the air with the faintest scent of smoke.
Moving to the third shrine, you come to another Dragon Goddess. The statue is majestic, wings spread wide in an elegant, outstretched flight pose, with sweeping curves carved into the stone that suggest both movement and grace. The dragon’s face is fierce yet peaceful, the expression one of wisdom and power, its mouth slightly open as if to draw in the wind, its eyes fierce and unyielding, yet filled with a deep, ancient calm.   Before the statue lie offerings of small sapphires, their deep blue hues reflecting light in a soft, mesmerizing way, alongside silver coins that glint like the stars. Feathers, some long and iridescent, others small and worn, are arranged carefully at the base of the statue, while a few dried roses, their petals brittle but still delicate, rest in a small woven basket. Incense is burned in long, twisted holders, though the smoke is little more than a memory now.
You reach the fourth shrine. This statue is more ethereal in nature, the dragon carved in a seated, meditative pose, eyes closed in deep concentration, its wings gently spread behind it. The details of the statue seem almost otherworldly, as if the dragon is not merely a physical being but something of the spirit, connected to all that is known and unknowable.   Before the statue, offerings of amber stones, warm and golden, lie scattered, alongside a few old, well-worn books, their pages yellowed and fragile. Small, polished coins are arranged in neat stacks, while several dried jasmine flowers, their scent now faded, are placed delicately along the base. The incense holder here is a small, ornate scroll, though the smoke has long since dissipated.
The fifth shrine is dedicated to another Dragon. The statue depicts the dragon in a reclining position, surrounded by a tangle of leaves, vines, and flowers that seem to pulse with life, even in their carved stone form. The dragon’s eyes are closed, a peaceful, content smile gracing its face as it rests in perfect harmony with the earth, its wings gently folded by its sides.   Before it, the offerings are green emeralds, their smooth surfaces reminiscent of the deep forests, alongside wooden tokens carved with intricate patterns, perhaps once symbols of the land’s bounty. There are several dried herbs, some of which remain identifiable—mint, thyme, and sage—now withered but still holding a sense of their fresh, fragrant past. A few moss-covered stones rest on the dais, and the remnants of incense—perhaps.
The sixth shrine is devoted to a Dragon Goddess of Water. The statue is tranquil, with the dragon curled into a gentle spiral, its form flowing as though it were submerged in water. The details of the scales are smooth, almost fluid, giving the impression of movement, while its eyes, half-closed, seem to gaze serenely into an eternal, flowing stream. A slight smile rests on the dragon’s lips, evoking a sense of calm.   Around the shrine are offerings of aquamarine gemstones, their cool blue shades shimmering in the dim light. Small pearls lie scattered around the base, along with a few dried seaweed strands, fragile and crisp, curled at the edges. Water lilies, their petals long since faded but still recognizable, are carefully placed in a small ceramic bowl, while an incense holder stands nearby, the fragrance of salt and the sea now lost in time.
The final shrine stands before you, dedicated to a Great Cat Goddess of the Moon. The statue of the goddess is elegant, carved in a crouching pose, her body slender and lithe, the long tail wrapped delicately around her paws. Her face, though calm, holds a certain wistful grace, with eyes closed as though in deep contemplation. Her ears are perked, listening to the whispers of the night, and the moonlight seems to linger in the carved details of her form, casting long shadows across her features.   At her feet, offerings lie in careful arrangement: silver coins, their sheen tarnished but still visible, scattered across the dais. The goddess is surrounded by delicate moonstones, their soft, pale light seeming to radiate from within, like a gentle reflection of the night sky. Dried lavender and moonflowers, now withered and curled, are arranged in a faded, once-beautiful bouquet, the scent now long gone. Incense still sits at the base of the shrine, though its fragrance is now but a faint memory of nights long passed.
As you step forward, the last rays of light dimming behind you, you notice that behind the center shrine there is a small, almost imperceptible seam in the stone wall. It appears to be a secret door, cleverly hidden within the intricate carvings of the shrine. Upon closer inspection, the door swings open easily with a soft, almost inaudible creak, revealing a narrow passageway that leads deeper into the temple.   The hallway is dimly lit, the air cool and still, the faint smell of old stone and dust filling your nostrils. The walls are lined with smooth stone, worn down by centuries of time. You step into the corridor, the sound of your footsteps muffled by the thick, worn carpets that cover the stone floor. The hallway stretches before you, at the end of which you can make out faint doorways leading to different rooms. It feels eerily quiet, as if the hallways have been forgotten by time, waiting for someone to uncover them once more.   To your left, you see a heavy wooden door, slightly ajar. Inside, the storage room is filled with dusty shelves, upon which stacks of old scrolls and books sit in neat piles. The tomes are mostly religious texts and ancient records, many of them bound in worn leather, their pages brittle with age. A few of the books are illuminated with delicate, colorful designs, and as you scan the shelves, you can make out ancient scripts in languages that may or may not be familiar to you. There are also small chests and pouches scattered across the room containing coins—likely offerings left by the faithful throughout the years. A few of the gemstones catch the dim light as they sparkle from within their wooden boxes, casting small, glimmering reflections across the room.   The next room, across from the storage room, leads into what appears to be a private quarters. The small space is sparsely furnished with simple, though well-maintained, pieces of furniture. A modest wooden bed is covered in a faded quilt, the patterns on it long worn by time. A small writing desk sits against one wall, cluttered with old papers and inkpots. There’s a delicate wooden chair beside the desk, as though the occupant had spent many hours reading or writing in solitude.   Another room lies adjacent, a sleeping quarters, though it is similar in simplicity. The bed here is neatly made, a pile of books and scrolls stacked beside it on a small nightstand. The walls are bare, save for a single tapestry that hangs near the bed, its fabric faded and frayed with age, depicting a once-vibrant scene of nature and life. It seems that the occupant of this room sought quiet and peace in their surroundings.   The third door leads into a small bathroom, though it’s unlike any you’ve seen before. The stone walls are damp with age, the water basin carved into the stone itself, with a single bronze faucet that has long since rusted over. The mirror above the basin is cracked but still reflects a dim light. Stone shelves along the walls hold various dried herbs and ointments, the remnants of old rituals or healing practices.   The final two rooms at the end of the hall are also private quarters, though they mirror the simplicity of the others. These rooms are untouched by time in many ways—still sealed and seemingly preserved, as if someone had lived in them not long ago. The beds are neatly made, and the walls are adorned with more faded tapestries.
Discovered By:
Party
Report Date
22 Mar 2025

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