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Telinthos slid the barely tarnished key into the aged, yet serviceable, lock. It turned easily and opened with the faintest creak. His nose was assaulted by the scents of death and decay, of incense and perfume. A faint shuffling sound and muttered chanting carried by a chorus of individuals greeted his ears.

They’ve been busy. I always appreciated that about Cultists, determined.. like rats.

Telinthos closed the door and relocked it, leaving as quietly as he’d arrived. His intent was simple, report his findings to his colleagues, they’d be interested to know the Cult of the Damned was still active.