While the troupe makes the short walk to the sinkhole,
Marcus walks stiffly and slowly over the rolling turf and
Daphne hangs back a bit and attempts to probe his past. Marcus is cool and distant
(perhaps not unexpected after more than 1,000 years trapped in the dark in his horrific curst state) but is cordial, and open up a bit, when asked about what life was like and other little questions. His voice is reedy, world-weary and unsettling,
"Hmmmmm . . . it's a long story lady, but I will tell you a bit of it, if you have the ear to listen . . ." He then goes into a bit of detail about his life as a Praetorian, being recruited into the Mithraic Mysteries, and as he ascended grades, recounts learning the true purpose of the Cult; to oppose some ur-god of chaos, that has taken many names and many forms down through millennia:
Set, Ahriman, Nergal, etc. He and his companions came to southern Gaul hunting a heretical sect founded by a sorcerer-priest that, several hundred years before he was born, claimed to be the incarnate avatar of Aita, the dead Etruscan god of the underworld and death. He was believed to have stolen some great and powerful codex or tablet from deep antiquity from the Great Library at Alexandria, thereafter returned to Rome where he spread discord, and divided the priesthoods of Dispater and Orcus, then fled with some of these heretics to Gaul. All of this occuring several hundred years before the Roman Conquest.
Marcus is cut off as you arrive at the site of a great hole in the ground . . .
You come to the spot where it looks as though a mound has collapsed into the earth below. Peering over the edge reveals a very dim chamber only partially illuminated by the mid-afternoon sun -- Fifteen paces in diameter, and perhaps just as deep. There are numerous nooks, alcoves and darkened recesses in the earthen walls of this deep well, and it looks as though there are numerous piles of yellow bones of unnamable creatures littering the rubble strewn floor of dressed flagstone. The five vultures are still circling high overhead.
Marcus leans over and casually remarks,
"Odd . . ."