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You are in the basement of the Guild Hall. A steep, narrow stair leads upward from the southwest corner. At the far end of the cellar, draped in cobwebs, is a large trunk.

When you attempt to open the chest, the lid won't budge.

A journal lies at the foot of the trunk. Skimming the earlier entries, you find a detailed and somewhat uninteresting discussion of early Christian rites and rituals. In the back of the journal, however, the last few entries are scrawled in a totally different hand.

This is a ruined temple to a forgotten god. Black basalt pillars reach to the ceiling, but some are broken and lie in huge fragments on the ground. The air is stale and filled with the odor of decay. Bats roost in the rafters, the only remaining worshippers.
Formerly a popular tourist attraction, the old Festeron Museum is in a sorry state. Many of the best exhibits have been carted away; the few remaining are sorely in need of renovation. Fortunately, one of your childhood favorites is still intact. It's a pair of enormous fossil mailboxes, their metal bones locked together in a pose of eternal combat.
North of here, the filament ends at a huge featureless wall, presumably the side of some micro-component.
This is one of the storage areas. Exits lie to the east and south.
This is a tiny, narrow, ill-fitting room. It appears to have been a left over space from the joining of two preexisting buildings. It is roughly coffin shaped. The walls are covered by decades of overlaid graffiti, but there is one which is painted in huge fluorescent letters that were apparently impossible for later artists to completely deface.