Well

The relic created from this summons has taken the shape of a well in the Oubliette. It stands for the duality of our mind. It can be our greatest ally when we act in confidence and belief that we will succeed, or it can paralyze us completely when doubt and fear take hold.

It can give life, or take it away.

In parallel, the well can quench our thirst and sustain our existence, or drown us in its depths.

As you approach the well in The Chapel’s bowels—will you cast a coin into the blackness?
On which side will it land for you—favor or harm?

Listen intently, for you may not hear its fall.

You stand on the mountainside and look over the realm that used to be.
A voice whispers in your ear. 

Dead.
Forsaken.
Lost.

Power.

All you see is desolation.
You descend toward a land where the dead rule. Once golden—a shimmering star, the envy of the world. Now forlorn. Swallowed by time.

A horse.
One living thing as far as the eye can see. Pitch-black, malnourished.
Wandering.

It notices you. You expect it to flee instantaneously. It doesn’t. It comes to you, calm, curious—nothing to lose.

A moment passes. You ride through the ashen and grey. Nothing to be seen except an occasional ghost—serene, still, part of the landscape. Never there, yet always present.

The beast stops, patiently waiting for you to dismount.
The moment you do, it continues on.
You stand on the edge of what used to be a settlement. No more than a few houses in ruins and an overgrown well. From the moment you lay eyes upon it, something about it draws you. Calls you closer. An unseen force pulls you. Your feet move towards it, you are walking before you even realize you have the intention to. What seemed as natural instinct at first, now seems wrong. You don’t want to approach. You do not want to look inside—into its fathomless depths. Anything could be lurking there, in this ancient place forlorn.

You try to stop. You have no control. As if your body is no longer your own, and you can only watch as it moves.
By the time you near the edge your mind is filled with pure horror. You watch, screaming inside, in silence, as you tumble down the pitch black hole in the dead earth.

What seems like forever passes. Time no longer matters. Only the feeling of gravity pulling you towards the center of your world. Until somehow, you come to terms with your fate. All other paths wiped away, as your fear and dread dissipate.
Acceptance.

And then, the last thing you see, clawed hands waiting, gaunt arms open, waiting to embrace you as your fall ends. 
Devoured.

You startle awake–

You lie at the edge of a well—sealed by a moss-covered, wooden lid. 
In the rusted bucket beside it, a letter rests. The envelope is brittle, sealed in wax. It bears your name, written in a hand you’ve never seen… yet feels strangely familiar.

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