Red skies and grey soil, part 1
Oily drops came down from the badly mended pipes above. The dark hall was too great for his greasy candle to reach its furthest depths, and revealed piping as far as the light carried. A wretched sludge of grease and gritty mud coated the otherwise flat floor, and his bare feet found no cheer in walking through it. The sulfuric stench of industrial oils and decay filled his sensitive nostrils, making his journey all the less enjoyable. These were the endless tunnels below the world. The Ettins that posed to maintain them were like mice in a cheese, or worms in an apple. By his estimate, he would be below the receding sea, the unbelievable mudflats where witchery was as common as labour, and the water came and disappeared twice a day. He heard the sucking and washing of a deluge of filth through the pipes, and knew the water must have been rising then. His guess at the land's nature was stronger now, presumably these pipes transported waste water from everywhere for th...
