“What’s all this then?” thunders a low, guttural voice from the other end of the opening door.A moment later, a tall, broad shouldered boggart with yellow skin and a bulbous, pink nose stomps in. The boggart is wearing poorly fitted chainmail, so tight that his plentiful folds burst from the belly and sleeves. Atop his head the boggart wears a tall, iron helmet that looks to be a repurposed boiling cauldron (probably lifted from the kitchen).“Yikes!” The boggle scampers off into a mouse hole.“Put that toothpick away! You know ain’t supposed to be in here--this silver’s cur---” The Boggart holds his tongue as the torch flickers and a low moan growls from beneath them. “C-cursed,” the boggart finishes sheepishly, gripping his make-shift helmet and bolting back through the door.The moans grow louder. The stone beneath your feet vibrate, and a green light begins to flicker between the stones, almost oozing from the cracks.What do you do?