As you walk inside, the torchlight throws a flickering orange illumination over what is probably a foyer of sorts. The walls and ceiling are clearly worked stone, but are old and have a layer of lichen coating them. The floor is slimy and covered by ankle deep (knee deep or so in tan's case) water, which is almost still once past the entrance.

Approximately twenty feet in, the way is barred by a twisted mass of rust, an iron gate that has been reduced to ruin by the passage of time and moisture. There is no discernable lock and the hinges no longer serve their intended function.

All is quiet except for your own splashing footsteps.