Something rotten is festering below this ruin, and for once, I don't think it's the Shroud. The stench on the lower levels is abhorrent. The lavatories there exist only to mock me with their dreadful, rising fumes. When facing one, the odor overtook me and commanded my body to turn, sprint up the basement stairs, and gulp down the fresh air outside. I had to relieve myself in the bushes instead. It's curious. I thought I saw something glisten down there, but perhaps my vision was blurred by the haze. I'm tempted to descend once more — Are there canals below? Sewage that allows the mephitis to putrify and molder forth? Hidden treasures, washed up, though never dulled? — But I retch at the thought. The sun is setting. I'll risk staying overnight. Above ground has little cover, but it's far from the smell!