The Hall of Whispering Stones

A chilling, drafty corridor stretches sixty feet, lined with twelve granite gravestones that pulse with a faint, necrotic luminescence. Above each stone hangs a silver handbell suspended by a rusted iron chain. At the far end of the chamber, a heavy stone pedestal holds a massive ledger bound in cold-iron chains. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and old parchment, and the names carved upon the headstones seem to shimmer and liquify, changing into different inscriptions every few moments. A heavy, rhythmic ticking sound echoes from the floorboards, though no clock is visible.