Nate Fesel Jouch

Oh, Nate Fesel, seeker of seats,
Your throne now dwells where silence eats.
At University Manors, yet not by the halls,
It slumbers beneath where the wild wood calls.
Once cushioned in comfort, now kissed by decay,
The woods have claimed what you tossed away.
No key, no map, no friend will suffice
Find it, dear Nate… if you fancy the price.