I've spent many marcs down here now, wrapped up in my cloak against the chill air that slips down from the mountain plateau. There is so little we know about the Golden Age. I understand very little more than I did yesterturn, but I see things differently now.

I study the expressions carved into the faces of the ancient Gods and the people--the seven heroes. I study their stances and their gestures. Well, their mid-gestures, I mean. But in my imagination I can see them begin and complete those gestures. And I can feel a hint of their emotions in them and in their faces.

They are so much like our adventurers of today. They seem well-accustomed to their armor, their bodies taut and strong from training and war. They fought to keep evil and destruction at bay, to keep the world and their loved ones safe. Just as we do. And they honored their Gods.

I wonder, did their Gods give of their own powerful Life-forces to create a means of rejuvenation for these as ours did for us?

The thought that they had not is almost overwhelming. How much more courageous must the adventurers of that time have been? How much more determined? How much more strong and skilled to have accomplished the great feats that they did?

I find myself standing, now. My cloak has fallen to the rocky floor of the cenotaph, regardless of the cold. I stand to honor the lost heroes, and the lost Gods.

And I send a silent prayer from deep in my being, to our own Gods. I pray that we may have the strength and skill and determination and courage to enter through that dark door, to find the golden age weapon, and to complete these great heroes' most dreadful quest.