The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, a massive, dilapidated cargo ship is wedged between the rocky outcroppings of a barren, snow-covered mountain range under a pale grey sky. The air is frigid and dry, with an overpowering smell of diesel fuel, and it's eerily silent despite the intense wind visibly whipping through the valley below. The cargo holds of the ship are spilling out what appears to be thousands of shattered, ornate reliquaries, each emblazoned with cryptic symbols from the Picatrix, somehow regrouping themselves into neat piles. A section of the ship's hull is steadily transmuting into a glittering, crystalline substance.