Above the Floodwater Atrium is a chapel where a chimney once allowed it to be used as a camp for pilgrims. The last “pilgrimage” to rest here was the Necromancer, who used it as a base from whence to hunt ghosts.
He refined his art in binding ghosts into rage-filled conglomerates, slightly, during his stay here. The conglomerate ghosts who linger here are not chained to their binding circles, but are instead re-formed there when put down forcibly; he has also bound them to obey simple commands, such as “guard this place and kill or drive off anyone who enters, except present company”. The variety of standing orders, skills, and discipline necessary for an army on the march still escaped him, however, especially under sunlight, if the scrawled notebooks he left here are to be believed; these conglomerates are only marginally more useful as soldiers than the ones above. Still, he finds them promising.
The camp site itself reeks of fish, and the scent of long-extinguished magical flames. An enchanted fish trap remains, made from what was once an altarbox, along with notebooks and spent magical apparatus, some parts of which could be re-used were it cleansed under sunlight.
Most of the old chapel and camp has been destroyed or repurposed by the necromancer’s band. The old altar was thoroughly desecrated, used as a workbench by the necromancer, wooden pews broken apart and burned for firewood and stone benches carved with arcane sigils to be used as spell components. Rather than bring supplies and furniture from above as needed, the group scavenged, made, or conjured what they needed from the Tomb, or stole or in rare cases bought what they wanted from ghosts; their surface supplies were only the things they had left in caches in preparation for the trip downwards or brought with them to establish the camp.
They missed, however, a cache of wine hidden under a loose flagstone; it is something of a tradition among those who use this chapel on their pilgrimages into the deep to replace what wine is taken, when they can, or even to give more if there is room. Thus there are a variety of vintages, from across the land, some decades old, waiting for pilgrims to take them.
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Ten Leagues Beneath the Earth 