There was a palpable air of excitement as the party headed for the basement. The aches, chills, and exhaustion of the road was washed away as the party headed deeper into the dilapidated mansion. Even Martinus seemed a little more spry and decisive as he lead the way through moldering halls with an ancient sliver of candle on a tarnished silver dish.  The house must once of been very grand indeed, with dozens of room with lush carpets and expensive plaster mouldings. Jocasta wondered how it had fallen into such disrepair in a single generation, or two at the most. Martinus had mentioned ice drakes and she wondered if they had driven off the peasants who had once supported such a grand estate. She belatedly wondered if there was a chance of dragon attack but then dismissed the notion. If the old man had been alone all this time, the likelyhood that some sudden calamity would descend on them seemed small.

"I used to play down here when I was a boy," Martinus mused, moving slowly to the evident frustration of a posse of dwarves eager to complete their quest. Jocasta thought they would bowl the old man over if they had known where they were going, respected for the aged bed damned. They passed down dismal stairways deeper and deeper into the house. The plaster here was moldy and falling away in patches to reveal ancient stonework beneath. Clearly they were beneath the foundation and still moving downwards. At last they reached an ancient crypt its door barred with a rusted metal gate of ornate and baroque design.

"No dwarf made that," Otar grumped. The old man fumbled along a wall and found an ancient stone, he pulled it free and produced a dusty key which had lain hidden for decades. He placed it in the door and turned it with a clink. He tried to push the door open but the corrosion bound it shut still. Beren leaned forward and helpfully shoved with his boot. Creaking and shedding a storm of rust flakes it opened. Otar stepped through, lighting his dwarven trail lantern to properly illuminate the space. Rows of sacophagai stretched down both sides of a long chamber.

"But dwarves laid these stones," he said, running his hand along the wall. True enough the stones were neatly fitted without motar, as solid as the day they were laid.

"We must be getting close..."