Despondent Ablutions

You return. A surprise. Perhaps there is still hope. In victory or defeat, you bear the weight of this place. It hangs on you like a mantle. I see your struggle to bear it. There is, perhaps, a way to shrug off this burden. An altar, to the northwest. Built by the tidesages, seeking to wash away the corruption. Offer yourself to the idol. It will exact a price, as do all things. But in communion you may claw back from the brink.