I've been in Dolviano for a few days now, planning and preparing. The rest of the research crew arrived just this morning - they'll have little time to rest before we begin our delve tomorrow. Certainly, we're all quite seasoned, but this opportunity is grander than any we've tried at before. The Graccea de Dolviano, what a prize! How many moons passed as we sought approval, as I wrote letter after letter to the district administrator. Maybe Trespanza, or Remiliciggio out east, would have been the more straightforward aim. But no matter, we've been granted access, and soon we'll begin our newest expedition into Itherian history. I'll keep my little journal here, as I always do. Notes are critical to the research process. Perhaps my paper will get published this time.
How well understood it is that in Ithero, we build quite literally upon our past. Here in Dolviano, it could not be more obvious. One of the few undercities still kept up for more than infrastructure - and inhabited, no less! A thriving city, beneath the city. Light cascades down from beautiful stained glass portals laid into the streets above, guiding our way deeper. But pathways into the lower levels are not so well marked. What a mercy to have Ango with us, a retired naval Navigator. His satchel filled with copies of maps from the city archives may prove to be half as useful as his seer’s sight. The better preserved an undercity is, such as in Dolviano, the more likely our deeper paths will be walled off by the progressive and the paranoid. Fortunately, our permit comes with a (limited) demolition allowance, so we'll make our way no matter what.
The many layers of Dolviano unfold before us. Rather, beneath us. It's been days since we found our way out of the inhabited levels of the undercity, and now the only light left is our own. History is all around us, though in a telling rather... compressed. We wind our way through the collapsed streets and failed buildings of former incarnations of Dolviano, each buried beneath the other. That we can even traverse this deeply speaks to the ingenuity of Itherians past - and the terrifically loamy soil of the Saltrenziko Valley - as it all sinks ever further. Admittedly, I insist on stopping at nearly every new bit of architecture to catalogue its shapes in my sketchpad. No new discoveries at this depth, certainly, but they are new to my eyes and that is sufficient to captivate me.
It appeared initially as though we had found the limits of the undercity, dating back perhaps only a few thousand years. Traversing the cramped ruins became ever more difficult in preceding days, but Ango has found us an opening deeper. Here, the rubble of ancient Ithero is barely distinguishable from the soil and rock that has buried it, but some signs of civilization remain. Columned archways frame decaying tunnels, and frescoed rooms weave together into a reprieve from the muddy passages. A few days ago, we broke into the main hall of a half-tilted cathedral, with its rough-hewn pews still largely intact despite their incredible age. A testament to the stable environs these deep places are able to maintain. But the accounts of Captain Hanero stick with me, even years later, from her legendary expedition beneath Calastore. Wonders from a stranger time surely await, if only we can delve deeper beneath Dolviano.
The timekeeper ran out of charge some while ago. I can't be sure of how many days have passed since my last entry, let alone our descent from the surface. We've made camp on the edge of a precipice - whatever portion of ancient Dolviano rests below, it has sunk into the earth much faster than its surroundings. We will attempt to sleep, then descend once we have awoken. But my mind races. What sleeps within that pit? What if it were the bottom of Dolviano. Could it be... the ship? Surely not, such things would be long buried, if they are even real. Even Hanero found no trace beneath Calastore, though the capital surely harbors more layers of history than any other Itherian city. Perhaps she did not delve deep enough? I cling to what little hope I have, both for what we might find and for our safe return to the surface. How I long to see the moons again.
It’s down there, the great sleeping thing, and something monstrous guards it. My hand shakes as I write this. Ango, bless him, tried to find his way through but was claimed by it. Framir too, blasted to pieces. I know it saw me, but in my excitement at the discovery I had busied myself in reviewing some ancient etchings nearby - I must have appeared no threat to its charge. To my shame, I ran back up to camp, but I can’t leave their memory alone like that. It was just the three of us… I have to see if I can retrieve something of theirs, to bring to their families. Perhaps if I’m cautious, it won’t attack me, that gleaming creature… like nothing of this world, a vision not meant to curse the minds of today. I’ll go now, while I have the courage of shock to propel me forward. Moons preserve me.
