The books told of the entrance. Hidden, it lies in a forgotten pool. There are many dried pools in this swamp. They are filled with flies and mud. Each must be searched.
The sun is low. I have found it.
The passage seems impossibly long. It burrows a depth that I cannot hold in my mind. The walls are narrow, the ceiling low. I must crouch.
This hatch. This is the one controlled by the lever. It stands open. It waits for me.
Adamantine. Impossible to mine, they say. Impossible to smelt, impossible to shape, impossible to wield. The dwarves. They make it possible. But they ignore the books. To their folly.
This. It is called an adamantine spire. Pierced into by the dwarves. It is known by the books to be hollow. It leads in two directions. I am concerned with one.
There are no stairs. I have no rope. Each ledge is separated by the height of 3 men. Not far enough to kill. Not yet. I drop down to the next ledge.
It is far down now. I can feel the heat. I know the demons await me. But I persist. I move to the edge, peering down into the darkness to the next ledge. I slip. It is a careless action. Grasping, I reach out into the dark to find a hold. My hand finds none. I observed no ledge to drop down to.
One is found.
Death. It finds me quickly. Light turns black, then scarlet, then violet. Thoughts fleeting like startled rabbit. Some persist. Refuse to let go. Fill my fleeing soul with dread.
My mind drifts back to the hatch. It is still open.
