Listening to Varrus speak, Keaghan examined the engravings himself. He moved his hand over the letters in the wall, the slime of moss and mildew gleaning over his fingertips. As he moved toward one of the torches he rubbed the substance off his fingers with the side of his pants. "Yes, that makes sense for the second poem to refer to a torch". He then pointed to the fourth and continued, "This one is interesting. The thing being described defies all of the senses, but I can't think of any such thing. Whatever it is, it can't be all that great if it kills laughter". Keaghan crossed his arms and lowered his chin in contemplation, trying to work out the solution but experiencing great difficulty. "What do you all make of it?"