The darkness in the mausoleum seethed. Life was born in the absence of light, and lingered silently until it could linger no more. With every heartbeat breaking through the blanket of nothingness, a new speck of light came into being. Bit, by bit, by bit, the hallowed tomb beneath the ancient mountains became whole again. No dusty nook remained hidden from view. No decrepit epitaph remained unread. In the shadows that formed between torch light and tentative first steps, new wonders were revealed.
Grungni grumbled every step of his advance deeper into the mountain. He passed great statues of his ancestors, kings of kings, and all their kin. He trundled through catacombs of graves, each one dedicated to a minor, smith, or warrior who had served the court in ages long since passed. He remained ignorant of the history that surrounded him.
"Are you still there, Arygle?" he enquired, his coarse voice snapping his companion alert.
"Where else would I be, you old coot..." he replied, twiddling his beard with every step. "I've been behind you for nearly two days."
"Look over there," Grungni said, ignoring his brother's bitter resentment.
Argyle sighed, stepped forwards, and peered into the darkness. At the end of the corridor there was something moving and pulsating. It instantly set the dwarf's teeth on edge. A crescendo of noise, a drum beat within a drum beat erupted into earshot. Whatever dwelt beyond the vast stone archway that divided the here and the there was very much aware of their presence. It did not sound best pleased.
"That is not a good sign..." said both brothers in unison. Their accent faltered beneath a torrent of fear and loathing. Though young by dwarven standards, they had travelled the surface, and explored the depths of the Below enough to know The Dark when it came crawling.
Both their torches, which had been dancing prongs of salvation in the Abyss, went out in unison.
A soft breath ran down armoured napes.
"Ar...gyle?" said a meek voice.