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The metamancer is staring at a wall.
It is not a blank or boring wall in any way. It might actually be the most interesting wall for miles around. There is a complex and slightly spiral-y carving on this wall, with words written around in a long-extinct dialect of a language that has, as far as anyone knows, never been spoken here. And yet, here it is.
This wall is not, in fact, underground, surprisingly. These ruins are in open air, with nothing much visible in any direction other than grass. Lots of that, here, grass. But no people, no other buildings, no forests, no river, no natural resources, and most importantly, absolutely no historical record that there should be anything here. The metamancer found this place by sheer luck, and returned to it after stocking up on enough magic.
The metamancer continues to stare at the wall.
