Tomb

This Sinclair family crypt is as gloomy as it is
immense. The true Sinclair legacy lies here, resting
underneath the stones, a parade of distant relations
and forgotten ancestors.

Type: @Blackprint, @DeadEnd, @OuterRoom
Each time you draft a Dead End in your house, @spread 5 gold in the TOMB.

Items

Dig spots: 0-3

Special Features

2 sets of candles

Clues

Note

Each of our journeys come to

This floor plan is the definitive dead end...

Letter

from H. S. Sinclair to Simon P. Jones

open only in the event of my death (Orinda Aries stamp)

Simon,
So here's where it all ends.
At least for me.

estate, I chose this dreary dank dungeon to be laid to
rest... And that same dim somber fate fell upon my
father and his father before him who loved the outdoors
even more than myself. They say there is no stronger
bond of servitute then tradition. And family tradition?
Thrice as strong. These are chains that seldom bend and
never break.

And I do wonder what plans and prospects of yours will
be sacrificed upon the family font of convention. What
biography of your own will you forsake to add another
page to your father's memories, or your mother's or
mine.

In our youth, we are gifted with dreams and
ambitions. At our death, we are left with
realities and regrets.

I think there is no greater sin than to
perpetuate tradition that stagnates growth,
that strangles purpose, that suffocates dreams.
What point is there to live another's life at
the sake of our own?

Oh, how I wish to have been buried underneath
the great oak, overlooking the plains, the
wondrous woods and the worldly mountains. And
the wild holly that surrounds that trunk, a
perpetual token of sympathy laid across my
grave. What dreadful tradition is it that
dumped me in this sunless hollow?

And if by morbid example this dark crypt makes
any impression whatsoever on you. If reading
this letter within these damp halls plants in you
a seed of hope. If these words might grant you
strength to bend if not break these chains....

Then would I cherish this tomb more than oak,
and sycamore and spruce. More than the wondrous
woods and worldly mountains. This cold stone room
would become the most cherished place in all our
domain.

I would have you raise a shrine upon this spot to
commemorate the moment of your liberty. To
treat this sepulcher as hallowed ground. To realize
that grand gestures can be as effective as they
are theatric.

And to, in turn, as recompense for the freedom
thus granted you, commit yourself to be buried
here. Here, within this mausoleum of dreams, and
when the day comes to write your own letter, to
inspire the next generation that follows in our
footsteps.

Flower

on Simon H. Sinclair's sarcophagus, after you called it a day in the Bunk Room

Clara Epsen's Crypt

holds the key to her diary and this letter in Erajan (see Erajan)

penned in violet, Clara's handwriting