The Necropolis

About the adventure

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. The sky never changes. It is always the color of ash at dusk. The air smells of salt, myrrh, and something sweeter—like fruit left too long in the sun. There are no stars. Only the bells. They toll from nowhere and everywhere, slow and heavy as heartbeats. You’ll hear them soon. They don’t count time. They count memory. Every ring takes something from you—your name, your face, the warmth behind your ribs. You’ll find the Gate of Bone first. Everyone does. The inscription above it is carved in a dozen tongues: ALL WHO REMEMBER SHALL RISE AGAIN. If you speak aloud something precious—a memory, a truth—the gate opens. But when it does, that memory belongs to the city. It will whisper it back to you in another voice. Sometimes, in another body. Inside, you’ll meet them—the Everborn, draped in gold and linen, and the Chorus of Decay, veiled in rot and spore. Both think they’re saving the world. Both think they’re right. One worships remembrance; the other worships forgetting. They’ll ask you which is mercy. Don’t answer quickly. If you see a child with glass eyes, be kind to her. She knows the way out, though she may not know it yet. And if you find the Heart, the thing that beats beneath the city… don’t touch it unless you’re willing to see everything it remembers. When the bells toll backward, close your eyes and hold on to something real—your name, your pain, anything. Otherwise, the loop takes you. You wake again at the gate, clean and unbroken, but hollow where something once lived. I came here seeking to end my grief. Now grief is all that keeps me human. If you’re reading this, it’s too late to leave, but not too late to choose. Remember that: you still have a choice. — The One Who Forgot Her Own Name