With a look at the others, Hamin follows Alasha'an into the hole ...

"Didn't we just get out of one hole?" the young mage complains.

Though the prospect does not at all appeal to him, nevertheless Ayas does not shirk the necessity, bending low that he might enter with the due care that Alasha'an's warning requires.

Brugar chuckles softly at his funny, long-eared friends, clearly appreciating their jokes. Then he follows them through the narrow opening into the darkness beyond.

Alasha'an's question is soon answered, for the ladder descends only ten feet, though even the Elf's keen sight struggles in the darkness at the base and Hamin takes the lead down the spiral stone stairway that continues down.

The first twenty feet or so is marred by broken stonework, the granite disturbed by thick roots displacing flags and pushing through the walls, though thereafter the way is clear.

At the base is a ten foot wide tunnel with a floor of sand, lit by flickering torches spaced widely enough that they seem but a grudging sop to those few travellers who pass this way that do not possess dark-sight.

A little further on your feet tramp upon wooden boards that give but a little, and not long thereafter the sand gives way to stone as the tunnel widens to fifteen feet as it angles left then opens out into a small chamber.

The press of bodies before and after you that has served to guide you thus far now splits, a roughly equal division between those that continue through the passage to the left and those that head through the passage to the north.

Which way will you choose ?

Left?" Hamin asks the others, but a shrug of his shoulders shows that he doesn't really have a preference.

"Why not," Alasha'an has no better advice to offer Hamin, "one way's as good as another for now."

You follow the line that takes the chambers western exit, trudging alone behind the burned and subdued Drow down the dimly lit corridor.

You pass an opening to your right down which you can see a short flight of stone stairs descending to a pair of huge iron bound doors, before the corridor joins another, turning left then through an opening that once held a door but no longer.

Crossing the southern end of a chamber forty feet wide, you see it stretching over a hundred feet to the north, littered with the debris of what was probably once a grand dining room before it fell to wrack and ruin.  Another body lies slumped here to one side.

The corridor twists and turns and branches as you pass through another opening on the opposite wall, but as each person follows the one in front, you pick your way without hesitation ignoring side chambers and passages as you turn north into another large room, bigger even than the last, if not by much.

You cross the chamber, heading towards the opposite corner, picking your way between two thirty feet wide shallow depressions to the exit, then up a short series of stone steps. At the top there is another corridor, with an alcove opposite the stairway in which stands a statue of a hooded figure, head lowered and face hidden, fashioned from some white stone with a powdery surface.

East now, and up yet more steps as the passage turns north, leading almost two hundred feet past more darkened rooms and side corridors from which further travellers emerge to join the line, most like those that took the northern way at the start of your journey.

At the end, the passage turns to the west and more stone steps leading down, then a final turn to the north and you enter what would be a forty foot square room, save for a chasm which runs almost diagonally across.  The ceiling far above is rough rock with many uneven projections, though you note that the walls are smoothly carved in contrast to the stone blocks that you have seen thus far.

Across the chasm, leading to a ledge on the far side is a stone bridge, obviously fashioned much later and much more crudely, with more effort going into the function than the form.

The bridge proves as sturdy as it seemed, as the swollen line progresses slowly across it, following the now rough stone wall on the far side of the chasm to the south west, as it enters a tunnel that grows dimmer and, as you continue to follow along it, more and more endless ...

Brugar grows more and more restless as they follow the seemingly endless tunnel.

"S'posed to be unner the city, ain't it?" he mutters to himself. "Been walkin' so long we ain't unner the city no more, are we? What be behind them big ol' iron bound doors back there, Ah wonder? Least they be unner the city."

Hamin steps aside, out of the queue of Drow, and looks across at the others.  "You could be right." he says to Brugar.  "Perhaps these drow are just returning to the underdark, now that the sun  is bright in the sky again."

"The city we seek was supposed to be far beneath the surface," Alasha'an muses. "And many of those ten thousand blades that were undoubtedly employed in the subjugation of the Urthe above now return to their home."

"At least we've got company," the elf shakes her head at the tide of travellers flowing down the tunnel with her. "This time we'll have an audience to our heroics!"

The walk down the tunnel seems more and more endless as time passes.  The light is, if anything, worse than before for those to whom the darkness is not home, for the torches that light the way are placed at far intervals, and the path twists and turns, so most of the time you find yourself marching through blackness, those that cannot see relying on their hearing or the guidance of their companions in the main, though the frequent grunts of pain suggest regular contact with the rough stone walls.

You lose all sense of time down here, for the line of travellers does not stop for rest, though you assume that all are as tired as yourselves, the journey made so much worse by the increasing warmth as the path delves ever deeper into the bowels of the Urthe, your bodies dripping with sweat from your exertions.

Until at last the tunnel opens out into a huge cavern, the path now a dangerous, narrow ledge that is at least marginally better lit, which descends to the lights of what must be a city below.

Ahead there is what you assume was a guard post, though an attempt to check the flow of travellers has long been abandoned, for the line moves slowly past without challenge as the outer buildings of this city beneath the ground rise up.

"I've never seen a place where even a fraction of ten thousand souls congregated," the young elf looks about him, though a hand at the collar of his cloak keeps his hood tightly in place. "Do you think that number a reality or just a myth?"

"Ten thousand blades. There be no mention of souls an' Ah'd not be surprised if'n many who dwell 'ere 'ad foresaken their souls centuries ago," Brugar mutters. "But no, Ah wouldna doubt the number."

Hamin half smiles, as he hears Alasaa'an's comment about an audience.  "An audience that won't be cheering and applauding at the show." he responds dourly as he pulls his cloak tighter around himself and tries to merge with the other travellers around him, so that nothing looks out of place as they cross the guard point.

There's a snort as one of those in the line behind you overhears Ayas's remark.

"Ten thousand there once was," a gravelly voice corrects your young companion. "Then but a fraction of that number as they left for the world above."

"But now ?  Perhaps two or three times that, maybe more.  At least for a short time till food becomes scarce.  Nothing like an empty belly to keep the crowds down, and most of this lot need no urging."

Hamin ignores the comment from behind, and keeps moving forwards.

Brugar glances back to see who the speaker is.

The speaker is a Dwarf by height if naught else, for he is emaciated and nasty-looking with grey skin and thin patchy strands of hair, his clothing shabby and dirty.  He smiles evilly back at Brugar, revealing a mouth of broken teeth.

Twenty thousand blades? Thirty?! Setting aside his fears as best he can, and forebearing to comment further, the elf copies Hamin, ensuring his hood conceals his face and keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead.

"Not that the place was worth a damn anyway," the grey Dwarf continues to speak. "Drow blades perhaps would be something to fear," he admits grudgingly, "but this city was home to Orcs."

"If lack of food doesn't start the killing then old hatreds will suffice."

Hamin considers the grey dwarf's comments, and a grim smile crosses his face as he considers 10,000 orcs.  Yes, somewhat better than 10,000 drow ... but not by much.  However, the words imply that the speaker knows his way around this underground city, and perhaps the way further down.  Or perhaps the stream will continue on down.  After all, beneath the city is the direction they need.

However, prudence says that another dwarf might get more for this one so, for the time being, he leaves it to Brugar.

 Brugar grins at the grey dwarf’s comment about the inevitable conflict to come.

”That’ll be quite a sight to see, if ye be not caught inna middle of it. So what’s yer plan, matey? Ye got somewhere safe to ‘ole up an’ watch from or are ye gonna be there inna thick of it? There be opportunities either way, if ye be still alive at the end of it.”

"I'm just passing through," the grey dwarf snorts. "Nothing here for me.  I aim to be far away and long gone before the killing starts in earnest !"

"Not many paths out of here to the lower reaches, and no chance they'd let such as me cross their precious river ... besides there's no love lost between the orcs here and the hobgoblins on the other side, so that'll be where it'll begin."

"No, I've another route in mind," he taps his long nose, showing his broken teeth as he grins at his own cleverness.  "I know a secret way, though you have to tread carefully."

"That is a lot of orcs," Alasha'an notes. "What about all these dark elves? They 'just passing through' too? Sounds like your secret way is going to be well-trodden."

Hamin continues quietly, waiting for the Grey Dwarf's response.