Echoes of a Forgotten Age

    We are lost. We have been wandering for weeks on end, not entirely sure of our location. The map we are following is faded in some places and it is hard to find an easy path through the undergrowth. It has been my job to record our adventures as we explore and plot these previously uncharted regions. There has not been much to write about, though; we are so deep in this jungle that not even the birds have dared to venture here. The sun even hides from this area behind a veil of thick branches and leaves, blocking us from the rest of the world and any method of finding our location. The trees are so dense they even block out the stars, and the first branches are so high up climbing is literally impossible.
    The Captain seems to think we are close, though. We have been stumbling across overgrown ruins every now and again, but everyone is skeptical and tired. Three men in our caravan have already succumbed to sickness and exhaustion, and morale is low. Even supplies are running out, and there is nothing to hunt and no fruit to pick. We have found a place to make camp, which is good because now the cook is feeling ill. It sure would be problematic to lose him. Having nothing better to do, I must now pull the leeches and ticks off my body and make sure no insects can crawl into my bunk tonight.
    The night is just as bad as the day; silent, still, and painfully hot. The humidity has created such a wall of torment I can not tell if I am sweating or just sticky from the moisture. Either way, I sleep on top of my sleeping bag in a pool of liquid. My cot creaks as I try to find some comfort in the dreadful darkness brought on by nature, boding an ill presence watching us, tormenting us. I shut my eyes at long last, but I can already see that the sun has started to rise.
    Three days later, and the chef didn't survive that night. One of our men who claims he can cook made us breakfast, but it wasn't worth it. It was probably because we are trying to conserve as much water as we can at this point, but I honestly don't care; I have already accepted my fate. The only part about knowing what is coming is waiting for it, not knowing if it is going to happen in a day or two or on your next step. Lucky bastard, he doesn’t need to worry about that anymore.
    It is yet another early morning, and we trudge on, stiff and tired. We couldn't even bury the cook, but this far into the jungle I suppose it doesn't matter. The sun is rising swiftly, and although we can't see it, we can feel it. Today is blistering, and despite the amount of shade we have we are still drenched in sweat. This is without a doubt the worst conditions we have ever explored in thus far, and I only hope it should remain that way. The Captain still continues with his fake air of energy and excitement, but we are all prepared to fall to the heat and humidity.
    Suddenly, things start to turn promising and we climb a small knoll with a clearing at the top. We struggle to the top weighed down by our low morale and the ailments that now gnaw at our strength. But what we see from the top of the hill is a gift from the heavens. Below us, in a valley between the mountains and nestled in thick shrubs is a ruined city. We stand triumphant on the hill a moment longer and soon begin the slow trek down, filled with joy and a sense of accomplishment. Out tired legs are suddenly fresh and our exhaustion ceases to hinder us.
We finally arrive at the overgrown city and begin to explore for riches and artifacts. Initially, all the men scamper here and there, their minds bent on one goal: to find all the wealth they can and carry it, but it is only moments later that everyone starts to feel out of place. There is nothing to be found: no gold, no statues, only the worn architecture and faded symbols of a people I do not recognize.
    One man finally snaps and begins to complain about ghostly voices. Some of the others tease him and make fun, pretending to be ghosts and attempt to needle him, but he is determined that we are beset upon by spirits. Slowly, it seems that the mental state of all the men begins to deteriorate because they all begin to complain about an eerie presence, voices, and small gusts of cold wind similar to breathing. I do not hear or feel anything as I walk deeper into the ruins. Behind me I can hear some of the men shouting and yelling as they assume a complete state of panic. I still feel normal and the only fear in my heart is that my companions have lost their minds.
    Deep in the ruins I come to what is clearly a destroyed market. The small size of the buildings along the road makes this evident and I must admit it does have a ghostly feel to it. As I draw nearer I can start to hear the whispers of the people who once walked this way as they bought their food and traded and bartered. I can almost see the children playing in the streets as the sun beat down on their golden bodies and guards standing diligently in the entries, watching for thieves. I can hear the screams of the men and women as their mighty city is laid to ruin by a superior enemy. I can see the fires licking the faces of the frighten people and bodies being flung to the ground. I can hear the drums of war thundering in the deep, signaling the fall of the empire and the end of a forgotten people: THUMP THUMP..... THUMP thump.... Thump thump..... thump thump....