Inktober XV: Legend

Vandor swept his torch overhead, careful to make sure its flames kept to the cobwebs and not the carvings of the ancient walls beside him. It was amazing what the ancient people could do with something as simple as a hammer and chisel against stone brick, he thought. Just to his left, he stood back and relished the pictograph of mothers and children running through the desert. Though their details had steadily grown more crude the further he descended, and thus the further back he went in history, it only excited him more.
Though he couldn't see it as he pushed past another collapsed stone door, the torch's flames shone brightly off his wide smile. He could hardly believe that just a few months ago he had left home in search of a great discovery to show up his mother's work. But as luck would have it, with only a few last drahm to his name before taking a walk of shame back into his home (he could already hear her "I told you so"), the one bar he had stumbled into had a patron drunkenly rambling about nearly falling in a sinkhole and finding a sprawling complex below him.
After lending the bum an ear and sneaking into the local library later that night, Vandor discovered that the details matched up with a set of ruins rumored to be in this part of the Quim Sands. He instantly seized the opportunity before him, as well as some equipment left out in the night at a small storefront (which he of course intended on returning once he was finished) and dove into the ruins without a further thought. It had been a tough journey to get here, but he was sure whatever secret this place held was nearly at hand.
Eventually, the deeper chambers seemed to be clearer of debris and whatever wear-and-tear might've leaked in from near the site's entrance. The reliefs became similarly less marred with random scratches and abrasion, painting a different set of pictures than those in the rooms before. Though the lines were jagged and several etchings were unruly scrawls, many depicted an unmistakable scribble of fire engulfing buildings, people, and in some cases, the landscape altogether.
Vandors continued examining the art, more attentive to the reliefs as he passed each room more than the room's contents. After more scenes of torture and ruin, he had noticed a pattern. In each etching depicting these tragic events there was always a large crater or series of scratches that seemed to, from the direction of various components, lead to the fires and arrows and general bloodshed. But even after running between several rooms and comparing these absences, there only ever seemed to be one single area in each that was selectively destroyed. As Vandors fed the waning flame, he started to feel himself shiver and sweat.
Nevertheless, he kept on. Even if it did chill him to the bone, he had to keep going not only to come home with the discovery of the century, not only to prove his mother wrong, but to see what could possibly be the cause of such widespread sorrow and misery that generations upon generations of people had learned to fear.
Many more reliefs awaited him in the following chambers. Though the methods and depictions of destruction became cruder, they seemed crueler as well. Mass graves set alight and oceans burning plagued his vision as heavy dust dried his mouth further.
The simple design of the open stone passageways stopped. Before Vandors laid a rough door easily twice his figure in both height and width. At the center of the doors was an enormous crater that spanned from one end to the other, but somehow shallow enough to not completely destroy both. Vandors gulped, hands shaking, as he leaned his weight against one and pushed with his entire body.
Vandors pushed the ruined slab and felt his blood freeze. Along every square inch of the square chamber's walls were the same reliefs as before, magnified in excruciating detail. Even against the far wall, several hundred feet away, he could see the individual teeth of each man whose mouth was open, screaming a savage and bestial cry of pain.
Vandors looked down to his feet, trying to hold in his stomach, when he noticed a long series of scrapes etched into the floor. As he traced them spanning from the door to the center of the room, he found several lengths of hefty chain locked sturdily onto several points on the floor and ceiling, each easily as thick as his forearm. But he noticed that each of the incredibly thick links trailed to the epicenter before ending in a fragmented chain. They held down nothing.