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The Archives exist somewhere beyond this door.
 The air is cold and stale, only becoming more so as you descend the hard stone stairs. Your guide pauses at the bottom before a heavy oak door with a rounded top and metal fixtures. He puts a finger to his lips, asking for silence. The door opens slowly, but without a creak.
Amidst the dim flicker of candles and wall mounted torches you see countless gray humans hunched over books and papers of varying size. The only audible sound is the rustling of paper and whispering of words. Their eyes are pale above sunken cheeks. To the individual, all of these gray beings have crooked backs. They seem almost desiccated. You shudder, and are not certain if it was because of the cold.
Welcome, your guide hoarsely whispers, to The Archives. Was there something in particular that you were looking for?
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