The holding cell was small, cleanly-swept, and dim, lit only by a single torch hanging from the ceiling some ten or so yards outside the cell itself. Lacking both windows and furnishings, the dark stone of which the cell was built and the and starkness of the view bred a certain monotony that bore down heavily upon you. It may have been this pressure that created the impression that you'd been imprisoned for hours rather than minutes, then later for days, rather than hours.
Trying to counter the steadily growing ennui as you rested upon a wide ledge carved from the stone of the cell, you struggled to overhear sounds from the city, snippets of conversation from your guardians, or even the simple and steady song of crickets. But the cell that held you as thick, your guardians far removed, and the night quiet. Straining you ears to the point of fatigue, you were finally rewarded with the faint sound of scuffling somewhere outside your cell. A quick and eager scope of the area soon revealed the source of the sound. A trio of rats were arguing over a stale crust of bread that had found its way into a far corner of the vestibule. Measured againsthe bleakness of your current surroundings, you found their antics amusing, and you toyed briefly with the idea of luring them into your cell for the sheer diversionary value of the task.
You plans, however, were thwarted even in their inception as the rats suddenly left their disputed treasure and scurried off into the inky shadows of the vestibule. Curious, you thought, and raised an eyebrow in consideration. Clearly, something had startled them. Was it something they had seen? You didn't think so, but you looked about anyway, casting your eyes across the shadow-wrapped walls and staring hard into the darker pockets that draped languidly across them. There was nothing, however, nothing but the same empty stillness that had thus far been your cellmate. No, not nothing. There was something. Not a sight, but rather a sound .... a soft scraping sound, barely perceptible within the stony silence of your prison. So faint it was that you could determine neither its source nor its nature, and so you were forced to simply wait . . . wait and listen.
Your efforts were rewarded as the sound grew steadily louder. It was coming from the stone floor beneath you. Was that possible? You didn't wait to decide, but instead dropped to ground and pressed an ear against the cold stone floor. Possible or not, the sound was definitely coming from below, and whatever it was, it was getting louder. Pale with a sudden wash of panic, you leapt back to your feet. You'd heard tales of creatures that burrowed beneath the earth, consuming all within their path in a blind hunger that knew no satisfaction. Could this be one? They didn't usually live beneath cities, but it had been rumored to have happened before. Swallowing hard and breathing quicker, you looked about your cell for something ... anything ... you could use as a weapon. But the rangers had taken everything save your clothing and the amulet given you by the elven shoppekeeper, and neither of them seemed a sufficient defense against whatever lurked below. Your only choice thus appeared to be shouting for help and praying that the rangers who stood guard somewhere beyond the sight your cell would hear your cries and come to your aid. You were about to employ this option when one of the dull grey stones that formed the floor of you cell rose from its place and was slid over onto the remainder of the floor by a pair of gnarled hands weathered hands. An equally weathered voice soon rose from the dark hollow below, accompanied by a waft of cold, dank air. "Follow me if you want to get out. I've been sent to help."
After a moment of silent debate, you decided to follow your curious rescuer; and so, taking a deep breath to steel your resolve, you dropped down into the darkness below.
