You stumbled, drunk, throughout the dead stone hall. At least, you thought you were drunk. Last you remember you were at a bar with your friends, singing and laughing the night away. Wherever they are, you can't tell. And that's assuming you even want to know. Do you want to know? For all you've found this could be a simple fashion of the subconscious, a twisted antithesis of joy formed by memories long distorted. Your heartbeat slow, as if you were drugged, you stumbled on. The cobblestone almost clung to your shoes, your weight biting down on your ability to walk.

Mumbles could he heard in the distance. An illusion, perhaps? But no. Sitting ahead of you on an empty wooden table were six head-sized rocks. They seemed smooth, almost soft, but were as solid as the cobbles beneath you upon touch. Just as your weary eyes blurred and blinked, whispers infected and drilled through your ears as mouths opened up on the rocks, emitting devilish groans and gurgles. No eyes, no other signs of life were visible. Just the screeches of whispers and the sorrowed bellowing from the rocks.

"Human.. who may grace us.. human..?"