Onlookers gathered at the Gate’s entry one fateful day within the mysterious Keep of the Dyad. A member of the Order, per rumors quickly spread among the quidnunc, approached one in said company and mutely directed them towards the Gate with an extension of a single, gloved digit. A solitary, lithe elf approached the enigmatic Gate. The threshold welcomed this figure, the bas-relief, Twin-adorned doors opening as if under their own violation. The intrepid figure breached the ingress and was swallowed up, doors shuttering behind them as if they were krill in the maw of a leviathan.
Those assembled, gorgonized by the horripilating event, finally entreated the sentried member of the Order, but their inquiries were met with only silence and, presumed, stares from the faceless hood. Soon the keeper withdrew, back to his unknown duties. The company lingered, yet the Gate remained fastened; Nothing stirred from the place beyond those ominous, Twin-embellished doors.
A day, or perhaps days later, the first opening of the Gate since the elf’s entrance was observed by the Keep’s visitors, or “The Lost” as they are referred to by the custodians. Emerging from its depths was a single Dyad cultist, straining with a bulging, burlap sack slung over one shoulder. Each step from the muted and robed one was purposeful as it exited the keep, knelt beside the shore of the still-watered pond, and promptly submerged the writhing sack below the surface. Those present claim observing the effort exerted and the surfacing of bubbles until, minutes later, the bag sunk into the depths. The inscrutable garb prevented awareness of either emotion or identity of the cultist as they returned to the keep, forever in silence.
The Lost infiltrator of the Gate never emerged and, along with whatever mysteries lie beyond that inimical Gate, remains vaulted.
