NIGHT falls; there is nowhere to rest your weary head, nor to shed your weighty armour but the Ruins of the old guardhouse; the Ruins stand before you, crumbling and careworn.
Do you wish to enter the Ruins?
Yes.
You choose to enter. The interior of the guardhouse is heavy with the weight of time, and time passed. The wooden detailing on the walls has rotted long ago, but their grey stone, while damp and cobwebbed, is shelter enough for your purposes.
Curiously, as you lay down your bedspread, you notice several alcoves set into the back wall, out of place in what ought to have been a purely utilitarian building. Do you wish to inspect them?
"What's this?" They appear to be shrines. Each alcove has been lovingly decorated with trinkets and scraps of paper, gone stale with time, but stil legible. It seems each shrine is dedicated to a different topic. You examine each and take note of your findings in your Commonplace. Here are the shrines you found:
"Best not to pry." You choose not to look. Who knows what curses lie long-sleeping in this wretched forest? Besides, you have tomorrow's journey to plan.