The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Silvery crescent moonlight casts an ethereal glow over the weathered, granite stones of a seemingly ancient dolmen, um, surrounded by twisted, century-old yew trees their branches tangled with blackberry vines. The air is heavy with the damp, loamy scent of the forest floor, and the distant call of a whippoorwill echoes through the stillness. Umm... the massive capstone of the dolmen is somehow perfectly balanced on a lone, slender, crystal shard – it's just casually defying gravity, I guess. The air's crisp, and the humidity is dropping as night slowly falls over the forest.