[Erenthril Mael'tharias]

Fifth Brightening of the Fourth Cycle of Immanis, Winter, Era XV
Candlemark 2300 – Late at Night

Le Cloison de Pleurant.

The infamous Wall of Weeping.

Erenthril hadn’t bothered to visit it in his previous escapades to Jaedaxia, but now, with the sense of accomplishment and intrigue he’d managed to acquire since last visiting the city, it was small superfluous entities like these that enthralled his interests and consumed his curiosity. Why did they call it the Wall of Weeping? When was it built? Why was it built? What purpose does it hold now? Although brief inquiries made to Jaedaxians with ill common resulted in a few hit-and-miss answers – such as the belief the place was haunted, the suspicion it served as an entryway to a secret society of Borthanists, and the ill-rounded rumor that a mass serial killer had stalked the grounds of the Wall of Weeping eras ago, Erenthril was, for the most part, left without satisfaction to his puzzlement.

Which dictated the need to visit.

So he picked a time of the day where nobody else would bother coming, that is, nobody in their right minds, and he arrived. Pitch black darkness hung over the city, not a star in sight as clouds circled above in dreary overcast, not thunderous, but merely suspended with the purpose of blocking the majority of luminescent rays alighting the path he took. He rounded a corner and saw it – standing there, unmoving, just as it had always been, for centuries it seemed. He was adorned in black himself; hugging the walls, he meshed neatly with the shadows. The tail of his jacket glided gently behind him with his brisk steps, leather boots padding along silently for the most part along cobbled paths as he inched closer.

A thorough inspection would be embarked upon, of course. He’d view it under his dual-perception of Astral and Material, see if there was anything arcanic about the object here, before moving closer for a more literal inspection.