Recently, an occasional small plume of smoke can be seen rising from the rear of the cemetery, where ancient and long forgotten graves lay.[Before even entering the tomb it is obvious that it is not abandoned. The dust has been viciously attacked by a broom and pan, the cobwebs swept away. The coffins of stone have been stacked, dusted, and their metal hinges and filigree polished. Effort has been made here, great effort.
Someone lives here. The table has a simple set of earthen ware, arranged carefully. Nearby, an easel, the paint on it layered, shows a promising landscape of the graveyard outside. In the corner next to the small round table sits a bucket, fresh clay clinging inside.
Tucked neatly past two polished coffins, a sleeping area. The pad on the floor is rough, and several blankets of varying quality lay folded on top of it; next to it, a fire pit, neatly kept, a small hole in the roof as a vent. Books of art and philosophy are stacked nearby.]