This was where the cleric spent most of his time, though Merivic could not honestly understand why he would want to. At the landing, Merivic pulled a lit torch out of a wrought-iron sconce on the wall and held it high to light his way down the darkened corridor. It was deathly silent as he began walking but soon heard the distant steady trickle of water running down the cold, stone walls—no doubt a contributing factor to the damp chill in the confined space. The air was so saturated Merivic was almost surprised the fire did not sizzle as he made his way to the door at the end of the long hall. He glanced behind him to ensure his solitude as he slid the torch into an empty sconce, then shoved the thick wooden door open. The moment he stepped into the room, the moisture evaporated. He didn’t know if it was all the lit candles drying out the air or some sort of protection barrier, nor did he particularly care. It was simply something he noticed.
