The gatehouse is littered with broken bolts and corpses. A lone dwarf stands huddled by the wall, mumbling to himself. Gemclod was abandoned months ago. But some persist. They do not look well.
I was told a sickness grew here. A plague given birth by a beast of the depths. Not the beasts I search for, but similar. Gemclod's history is known. I have read the books.
When the overseer known as Yeol vanished, the dwarves were unable to elect a proper replacement. The fort crumbled. Met its end to the plague. I do not understand the dwarven disdain of baths. Such a simple device could have been their salvation from a plague transfered by filth. Even an ineffectual drunk could have saved them.
Idle thoughts. No time. The hallways are narrow and the ceilings low. I must crouch.
It is said that the previous overseer did not simply disappear. He locked himself away. His shame was known, even then, but only to himself. He could not bear it. Searching the halls, it is obvious that his chamber is well hidden.
But not hidden enough. I find myself in front of a locked door of note.
It is a trivial matter.
There is no Yeol. There is the lever.
This moment. This is glory. It shall be done.