Na escuridão do túnel, você faz o que seus pais lhe ensinaram a fazer: você faz o inventário. Em uma mão, uma espada de bronze simples. Na outra, uma pequena lamparina de barro, meio cheia de óleo, lançando uma luz fraca. Sua túnica de dormir. Seu manto. (Agradeça a Yune que mesmo sonâmbulo, você se lembra disso!) E nada mais. Seus pés descalços estão frios no chão de terra do túnel.

Há uma pressão em sua mente, diferente do peso da terra. Parece quando Urmish faz o sinal de Yune, mas há poder por trás disso. Você se lembra dos ídolos salpicados de sal sob o templo inacabado. Mas então a sensação estranha desaparece e as preocupações práticas mais uma vez o assaltam.

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The tunnel is roughly circular, made of mixed earth and stone, and slopes slightly downward in one direction. It's tall enough that you must reach up to touch the ceiling, and you're grateful you do not have to crouch. A faint cool wind blows up from downslope. Concentrating, you hear an arrhythmic sound upslope, perhaps the drip of water.

You head up the tunnel, your little clay lamp leading the way, until hard stone replaces the dirt beneath your feet. In moments you encounter your first serious obstacle: a scramble up broken rocks that leads to a water-streaked vertical wall twice your height. Even under better circumstances, that climb might daunt you, but with a sword in one hand and a lamp in the other, it looks impossible. You find a niche in the rock face that can hold your lamp and wedge it in there, then start to climb one-handed. You haul yourself halfway up, wedge your sword in the crook of your elbow, and reach for the ledge above. You can…almost reach.

And then your lamp falls out of its niche and breaks, plunging you instantly into darkness. You haul yourself up the ledge, but you can see nothing, not even the sword in front of your face.

A few moments later, you hear the trolls.

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