Forgraves had been visitng the castle, to read and to see nedies of course, but he had rarely seen the rest of it. curiosity got the better of him, and after washing his paws to be polite, he walked around the halls of the palace, observing each door.

the ones he was, he guessed, not allowed to enter, were magically sealed shut. any attempt he made to push these open were met with nothing. oh well!

he walked around, making note of every room that didn't look or feel locked, and at the end of one hallway specifically, he paused.

there was a door, while incredibly well kept on the outside, under it was a layer of... gunk. it seemed to be dripped from the back of the door, but had long since solidified. that must be what kept the door from opening. he assumed the cleaners still had a way to get inside, guessing how, peaking under the door, aside from the gunk the floor looked pristine.

he pushed on the door, and found yeah, the door was stuck but not Locked. it shifted and wiggled, and he heard the cracking of what must be whatever was sealing it shut.

he pushed harder, the door creaking horribly. how long had it been since anybody was in here?

he pushed AGAIN, and with a horrible SNAP, it opened. solidified chunks of a green, foul smelling foam scattered the floor, forgraves cringing at the mess. he hoped the cleaners didn't hate him too much for that.

peering inside, he took in the contents of the room, waiting for what could possible be valuable enough for someone to lock it away so... messily.


"Speech." Thoughts.

Ehh, the cleaners don't have much feeling past MUST EAT DUST NOW, but they'd come through the cluttered room later.

Cluttered was putting it generously, really; the room opening before Forgraves's eyes was rather small compared to some others in Cepheus, but there was enough stuff crammed inside of it to fill the high-vaulted hallway behind him twice. Papers were stacked a mile-high along with books of all kinds—some leather bound, others more like sheaves of spiraled together with thin wire gone brittle with the passage of time. Nearly every piece, upon inspection, would be covered in the chicken-scratch scrawlings of whoever may have once festered in this place (judging from the... empty plates squirreled away in odd places.)

Glass bottles—both clear and brown—lined the shelves that might be out of reach for little old Forgraves, and sat nestled inside of cabinets close to the floor. Only a few seemed to contain strange substances, and others were sealed with seemingly nothing inside—though there were unreadable labels plastered across their surfaces. (At least someone was diligent about safety.) Liquids, metallic solids, powders... all ready to be played with, at anyone's peril.

Clay pots stood in an orderly row against the right-side wall, the mummified remains of plants that might've been doing just fine five thousand years ago settled into oddly wet soil.

... hilariously, there was a humanoid-shaped clear spot on the ground, outlined by the foul-smelling green dust that seemed to have embedded itself into the floor and stained all of it that exact color. Four arms and four legs sprawled out like the Vitruvian Man, with a small circle where a head might've been. A pair of goggles, hardened beyond belief, lay delicately just above the splat mark.

@Forgraves