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Authors: Dan Ehl
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marker left by Lorenzo. We also found a burned out torch. The dwarf didn't recognize the style and whispered that he believed it was from the assassins. My knees were beginning to ache and I could feel the muscles in my shoulder and neck burning from the awkward way I was forced to walk and crawl.
We were forced to squeeze past more and more partial tunnel collapses. I became wedged between a dislodged bolder and the wall. Snorg grasped my outstretched hand and bracing both his boots against the boulder, pulled until it felt as he were going to be dislocate my shoulder. Just as I was about to say his ministrations were not going to work, I popped through the rent like a cork from a bottle.
I was rubbing my arm and flexing my fingers when Snorg made a startled grunt. I looked up just in time to see his feet disappear into the ceiling before the mine was plunged into darkness. A furious scuffle ensued in the overhead shaft and I heard something shriek in pain. It had not sounded like Snorg, but I couldn't be sure.
Seconds later his torch dropped back into the tunnel and I scrambled to retrieve it then scuttled backwards when I realized I was directly under the shaft into which Snorg had just so quickly been snatched.
I drew my blade and nervously licked my suddenly dry lips. I was not about to stick my head under the opening to see what had become of the dwarf. I imagined a long green tentacle whipping around my head and hoisting me up into some demon's den. Tapping the blade at the edge of hole, I was tensed to leap back if something emerged. The mercurial flame of the torch was the only visible movement.
Behind me was the collapsed tunnel I had just barely squeezed through with Snorg's help. Blocking my advancement was the menacing airshaft and just beyond that another tight spot to squeeze through. Even if I got safely past the airshaft, I would be at the mercy of the creature for several minutes while trying to squirm though the blockage.
I tried thinking if such a situation had been covered during one of my private inquisitor classes at the academy. It is amazing how the academic world never seems to deal with the actual reality of life.
Again edging my sword forward, this time I thrust the torch into the shaft and watched the reflection on my blade. I wished I had polished it more often. I believe my heart actually skipped a beat when for an instant I saw what looked like blood-red eyes burning like coals in the darkness above. I almost dropped the torch and stumbled backwards until I bumped into the rockslide.
A sliding, grating noise began echoing from the shaft and bits of fine rock rained onto the floor. I tightly gripped my sword and crouched as best I could into a fighting posture. I found myself panting and took one deep breath before forcing myself to breathe in a more steady fashion. I can face all manner of scoundrels and villains with a resolute stance, but moaning specters, teeth-laden monsters, jabbering ghouls, giant maggots, and loathsome, bloodsucking creatures of the dark just scare the piss out of me.
The rain of grit slacked off. I found myself holding my breath; the only remaining sound that of some far off water drops plunking into a puddle. Then, as if testing a pond's temperature before taking a dip, a scarred, pointed tip of horn emerged from the ceiling. It was sparsely covered with tufts of coarse hair.
Without thinking, I lunged forward and thrust the torch against what could be only the foot of a giant wolf spider, known to prowl abandoned mines and half-collapsed buildings. The foot was quickly jerked away. I only hoped that it still seeking quarry meant Snorg had somehow escaped. The dwarf appeared formidable enough, despite his lack of height. And he was armed with a short blade.
I looked about my narrow confines for anything that could be of aid. There was no wood for making a fire under the shaft. The boulder behind me was too large to move.
The foot again emerged from the
We were forced to squeeze past more and more partial tunnel collapses. I became wedged between a dislodged bolder and the wall. Snorg grasped my outstretched hand and bracing both his boots against the boulder, pulled until it felt as he were going to be dislocate my shoulder. Just as I was about to say his ministrations were not going to work, I popped through the rent like a cork from a bottle.
I was rubbing my arm and flexing my fingers when Snorg made a startled grunt. I looked up just in time to see his feet disappear into the ceiling before the mine was plunged into darkness. A furious scuffle ensued in the overhead shaft and I heard something shriek in pain. It had not sounded like Snorg, but I couldn't be sure.
Seconds later his torch dropped back into the tunnel and I scrambled to retrieve it then scuttled backwards when I realized I was directly under the shaft into which Snorg had just so quickly been snatched.
I drew my blade and nervously licked my suddenly dry lips. I was not about to stick my head under the opening to see what had become of the dwarf. I imagined a long green tentacle whipping around my head and hoisting me up into some demon's den. Tapping the blade at the edge of hole, I was tensed to leap back if something emerged. The mercurial flame of the torch was the only visible movement.
Behind me was the collapsed tunnel I had just barely squeezed through with Snorg's help. Blocking my advancement was the menacing airshaft and just beyond that another tight spot to squeeze through. Even if I got safely past the airshaft, I would be at the mercy of the creature for several minutes while trying to squirm though the blockage.
I tried thinking if such a situation had been covered during one of my private inquisitor classes at the academy. It is amazing how the academic world never seems to deal with the actual reality of life.
Again edging my sword forward, this time I thrust the torch into the shaft and watched the reflection on my blade. I wished I had polished it more often. I believe my heart actually skipped a beat when for an instant I saw what looked like blood-red eyes burning like coals in the darkness above. I almost dropped the torch and stumbled backwards until I bumped into the rockslide.
A sliding, grating noise began echoing from the shaft and bits of fine rock rained onto the floor. I tightly gripped my sword and crouched as best I could into a fighting posture. I found myself panting and took one deep breath before forcing myself to breathe in a more steady fashion. I can face all manner of scoundrels and villains with a resolute stance, but moaning specters, teeth-laden monsters, jabbering ghouls, giant maggots, and loathsome, bloodsucking creatures of the dark just scare the piss out of me.
The rain of grit slacked off. I found myself holding my breath; the only remaining sound that of some far off water drops plunking into a puddle. Then, as if testing a pond's temperature before taking a dip, a scarred, pointed tip of horn emerged from the ceiling. It was sparsely covered with tufts of coarse hair.
Without thinking, I lunged forward and thrust the torch against what could be only the foot of a giant wolf spider, known to prowl abandoned mines and half-collapsed buildings. The foot was quickly jerked away. I only hoped that it still seeking quarry meant Snorg had somehow escaped. The dwarf appeared formidable enough, despite his lack of height. And he was armed with a short blade.
I looked about my narrow confines for anything that could be of aid. There was no wood for making a fire under the shaft. The boulder behind me was too large to move.
The foot again emerged from the
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