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The fourth and final depiction on the left-most side of the room is almost entirely covered by said ‘fog’, with a scattering of figures depicted in various states of panic or activity. The Dragon’s position at the centre has not changed, but only half of the creature is visible. A perfect circle seems to cut through them, and where the dragon should be on the other side of the circle is merely more fog. On the side of the circle that the Dragon can be seen, their claw is extended out and the ‘fog’ of the depiction is pushed back as if retreating from it. Under their single visible wing is huddled a handful of the slim cowering figures. One of the figures, slightly taller and distinguished from the rest by standing upright, is pointing their arm in the same direction as the Dragon’s claw.
Below each of these depictions, which you can only surmise shows a history of the early rise of the Cathagi Empire, is an epitaph of worn markings. These are even more declined with age than the faded figures on the wall and impossible to decipher. If it is a proto-Cathagi language it is one that has been so far removed and modified over time that it bears practically no resemblance to any of the various caste languages you have seen writing about the city above, let alone your own mother tongue.
Brother Rousseau has the idea to make impressions of some of the better preserved sections of writing on a few spare pieces of parchment, although the depictions are too large to receive the same copying. It is not a bad idea, perhaps there is some bookish Aethenaeum scholar that would recognise such things. You doubt your grandsire came across anything remotely like this on his own pilgrimage, and you’ll certainly have some grand old stories to tell when you return home even if you learn nothing more from this place.
But for now you have more pressing matters that require your attention.
[3/5]
