“Ah, you can see it. You can see it. How special you think you must be.”
You remain silent, hoping he will get to the point.
“It was your kind which doomed this place. But I tire of history. I guess I must be the one to induct you, then, since all others have left.”
You remain silent once more. Not caring about the fact you understand nothing of what is happening before you. You wait for the door to resume speak.
“You are a seer of sorts. And you have an intrinsic link with words. Language and reality bend to you in ways that few other mortals experience; why you have not realized this before now is for you to uncover as you navigate this once-hallowed place. But, for the skills…”
Then, before you, from the ground and oozing up like some twisted flower, emerges a vine, but it is twisted and not natural. Coated in a black, tar-like substance, speckles of sludge pop off of it like phlegm shooting out of a dying’s person’s throat when they cough.
“This vine contains knowledge once lost but now recovered. Touch each and endure.”