In the earthy darkness of an ancient European forest - one of the first forests - rests this 14th century monument to a forgotten prince. No mourners have prayed for him in centuries, as the forest is no longer a place for men. In the unkempt graveyard, mausoleums and tombstones once decorated with knightly statuary have been worn smooth by time. Some still bear the marks of a hurried, ignoble defacement. Time has caught up with the chapel and its guardian forest. The graves are messily exhumed, the doors flung asunder. Someone, or something, is familiar with its sleeping prince, and they have no care for the sanctity of his rest. The shadows in the trees grow darker, and the smell of earth has turned to smoke and rot. If there is peace left here, it is only in the faint echoing sound of water trickling against rock. The source of the sound is a mystery. The stones are dry, and repeat nothing.