Half-timbered buildings, crooked with age, stand huddled under the battlementedwalls of Eastlynn, rain-drops dripping from their eaves onto the cobbles of theEast Yard. Overhead, silhouetted against a misty blue sky, an Inn-sign swingsin the sea-breeze, creaking. From a porticoed hallway east of the Yard comesthe clamour of voices raised in argument. Merchandise is stacked from the bare wooden floor to the rafters. Packing-casesbear the labels of far-away ports, and the air is rich with the aroma of spice.Behind a counter of solid mountain pine stands Elsie the shop-girl, smiling herwell-practised smile as she polishes her nails. On the floor, an antique chestbears the label 'This way Down'. No fire burns in the fireplace; no bottles stand behind the bar. Gone are thedays when ale flowed like water, when deals would be struck, stories told, andsongs sung all through the long winter nights; but, even now, footprints in thesawdust betray the passage of recent customers, and a table bears the debris ofunfinished meals. A balustraded staircase leads upward, and a hatchway down. A grey light glimmers through a dirty window over stables dusty and hay-strewn.The horses have long since been slaughtered for food; but they are rememberedhere in the appalling odour that rises from their empty stalls. Beneath a vaulted echoing dome sit Eastlynn's councillors in oaken pews, wavingtheir arms, shouting, and flapping their black robes; towns-folk stand aroundthe walls, bewildered. The Mayor, clad in a robe of scarlet and with a whitewig perched atop his bulbous head, sits alone and bemused on a high dais underan arching window. On either side, garish flags emblazoned with the heraldicdevices of Eastway clans droop mournfully. Manuscripts, papers, files, and folders, encrusted with the grime of centuries,all illegible, litter this stone-walled archive; some on shelves, most on thefloor. Cobwebs give the light from a lozenge-shaped window a grey tinge. In a dingy nicotine-yellowed office, amid stacks of festering almanacs, reportsand pink newspapers, the old Banker waddles about in a haze of malodourous bluesmoke, puffing languidly on his long-stemmed briar pipe. Behind him, nailed tothe wall, a sign reads 'Give me a good deal - Nothing here is free'. He pats aleather-bound ledger chained to his waist with almost fatherly affection. Weapons of every sort are securely padlocked in glass cases; swords, pikes, anarquebus, brass-tipped cudgels - even something that looks like a bazooka - allrelics of foreign wars, or confiscated by the Constable. A sign reads 'How arethe mighty fallen, and the weapons of war perished.' In a corner stands a greenbaize table. Between the dripping black walls of the portcullis arch, a road leads out intothe fields of Eastway, and in towards the East Yard. Steps hewn into the archlead upward to the battlements. The portcullis winch stands nearby in a niche.At the top of the creaking stairs, a corridor leads east-west from the landing.Steps lead down to a dark and damp cellar, its walls slime-encrusted, drippingwith what smells like beer. Circles in the dust of the floor suggest that kegshave recently been removed. An immense four-poster bed, its hangings of a rich purple damask, dominates theroom, lit by an arrow-slit, through which you glimpse the north-easterly cornerof Eastway, where the mighty River Wend gushes eastward. Ashes smoulder in thegrate of a fireplace of veined marble, curiously engraved. Lightless, airless, this secret cubicle buried in the rock wall reeks of dampand decay. Scratches of fingernails on the walls imply that someone once mayhave failed to get out. A round tunnel of black stone, reeking of drains, runs within the town's northwall, lit from overhead through the cracks in its roof. A rusty iron chain onthe wall betrays the unpleasant history of this echoing chamber. A leaded-glass window looks out over the East Yard. In a dark corner, beneaththe portrait of an old Abbot of Eastway - who, in his robe of a Martial Monk, acrucifix in his hand, appears to be studying you with distaste - stands a dustycot of yellow pine-wood, bare and un-inviting. A walkway of grey stone slabs leads around the walls of the fortified town, itssurface slippery, cracks weed-filled. Between the battlements, you glimpse thefields of Eastway stretching away below westward, where the Abbey stands on itsgreat rock of sandstone. A flight of steps leads down. At the south-west corner, the view is of fields to the west, and to the south abeach that stretches to a headland. Seagulls peer from the arrow-slits. The wind gusts bitterly from the East Sea, that crashes against the black rocksfar below in clouds of salt-spray. Below these massive, moss-laden walls, the foaming waters of the East Sea crashagainst the promontory of Eastlynn. Northward, sheer cliffs rise from the sea,their crevices white with seagulls. Mountains loom to the north, beyond the canyon of the great River Wend, and tothe west, beyond the Abbey and the fields of Eastway. The edge of the walkwayis unsafe here; one of its slabs is missing. Steps lead up to a watchtower. The chill breeze sighs eerily through the wooden slats of this creaking tower'swalls. From this vantage point, the land of Eastway, the East Sea, all appearsas if laid out on a map, from the far forbidding crags of Northway, the mightyriver Wend, the fishing-village, the Mine and the Castle, to the gleaming spireof the Abbey by a sinister marsh, the woods and the forest, fields, farms, andthe distant port; beyond which rises the grim range of mountains that leads tounknown lands. Odd little figures appear to be scuttling about below on roadsand lanes. Up to no good, no doubt. A cobbled road runs between low stone parapets down under the walls of Eastlynntowards the fields of Eastway. The odours of the town - drains, cooking, andexotic spices - come drifting on the wind. The road leads up between moss-covered crags towards the town of Eastlynn, anddown towards a junction of roads and lanes. Tracks meet in a sandy bowl encircled by dunes, over which long grasses sway inthe wind. North and South, the tracks are broad enough to be roads. North-west,the spire and roof of the Abbey rise above the dunes. A lane leads between a bridge and a junction of roads. On one side, sand-dunesrear up above your head, shifting in the breeze; on the other, a grassy slopedescends to a stream, beyond which the Abbey fields extend southward. The road leads between sand-dunes and barren heathland where seagulls wheel andswoop in the gusting sea-breeze. Westward, the Abbey fields extend beyond a broad stream. Eastward, sand-dunesstretch towards a black crag that rises up like an inland cliff. A sandy lane curves around the base of Eastlynn's promontory, between toweringcrags of black rain-wet rock. The stream passes under this mossy stone bridge with a gentle sigh. Westwards,the ancient Abbey rears from its sandstone rock; its majestic ivy-laden walls,the Gothic tracery of its arching windows, its black slate roofs, its spire andbell-tower, all glistening with the recent rain. North, the stream meanders inand out of the border of an unsavoury marsh. The road peters out by a grassy hillock at a junction of lanes, by which standsan ancient wooden gibbet, eerily creaking in the sea-breeze. A muddy track leads up between hedgerows onto Marsh Hill, with a view westwardsover the tangled trees and slimy pools of the marsh itself. Crows circle over-head, cackling ominously. A grove of whispering elm-trees stands upon this wind-swept hill-top, above theswirling yellow haze that hangs over the marsh like steam over a simmering pot.The Town, the cliffs of the East Sea, the River Wend, the Abbey; everything isclearly visible from this vantage-point, like toys on a carpet. The wide stream whispers by, swollen with the recent rain. West, the vines andgardens of the Abbey fields extend to the water's edge. Eastward, a lane leadsover heathland in the shadow of a black crag. The track narrows to a sandy and pebble-strewn path between overhanging crags. The Abbey's sandstone rock rises sheer to the south, and to the north falls toa stream, whose further shore - barely visible through the drifting clouds ofa yellow mist - merges into the pools and inlets of a dark and sinister marsh. A lane, veiled in a grey mist, winds between hillocks and bubbling marsh-pools,that have overflowed onto the lane in a river of mud. The branches of skeletalmarsh-trees interlock overhead. The lane leads over a wind-swept headland, a barren heath stretching on eitherside. Tufts of grass wave in the sea-breeze. High sandstone walls flank the road, mossy and ivy-laden. Eastward, two brickarchways lead into cottages whose windows overlook the road. A lane leads between the black crag and an expanse of barren heathland; in thedistance, the fields of a farm. Tracks lead in several directions. South-east a path leads steeply down to thebeach; beyond an open five-bar gate, a farm's fields extend southward. A path cut into the sandstone rock winds up precariously under the Abbey wall. A fine view here, from under the Abbey wall. Below, the Abbey fields, a patch-work of vineyards, allotments, hedges and paths, extend down to a wide stream,beyond which the town of Eastlynn rises from its rain-wet black rock. A rutted path leads between luxuriant hedgerows down into the fields and upwardto the Abbey. Vineyard. Vines dangle overhead from a trellis of interwoven poles. The air,though fresh, bears a faint whiff of manure. Vineyard. Clusters of dark-blue grapes hang overhead, way out of reach in thisarchway of vines. The splashing of water comes from somewhere north. Vineyard. Vines straggle out over the high stone wall from their trellis-workof stout poles. Abbot's garden. Hedges extend to a high stone wall; the perfume of climbingroses and honeysuckle fills the air. From somewhere eastward comes the soundof gushing water. Abbot's garden. The rectangular lawn beneath the wall is so exquisitely levelthat it could serve as a bowling-green. There is a fountain to the west. Allotments. The rich black soil has been carefully dug over, and large squareplots now await the planting of vegetables for the Monks' stew. Allotments. Vegetables grow in neat rows beneath a high ivy-laden wall, and asign that reads, 'Hands Off! Under the magical protection of the Abbot! Stewsour speciality!' Abbot's garden. Encircled by thick hedges and a close-cropped lawn, a fountainplays into a square pool, moss growing around three of its corners: the fourthcorner is unusually scuffed and bears muddy footprints. Water gushes from thestone figure of a naked goblin, droplets hanging mistily in the air, creating abarrier impenetrable to magic. The statue of a goblin towers above your head, water gushing in a tortured foamfrom between his cracked lips down into the pool. He appears to be studying ascroll with considerable gloom. The path winds around the Abbey's rock, above a sheer drop down to the rollingfields below. Below, woods, perched along a steep ridge, stretch to a distant road. In thefar distance, the East Sea curves along the southern coast of Eastway. Thick banks of conifers block the view on either side - which is just as well,for the stony and leaf-laden ground slopes so steeply that you might be walkingalong the edge of a precipice. Thick banks of conifers block the view on either side - which is just as well,for the stony and leaf-laden ground slopes so steeply that you might be walkingalong the edge of a precipice. Thick banks of conifers block the view on either side - which is just as well,for the stony and leaf-laden ground slopes so steeply that you might be walkingalong the edge of a precipice. Thick banks of conifers block the view on either side - which is just as well,for the stony and leaf-laden ground slopes so steeply that you might be walkingalong the edge of a precipice. Thick banks of conifers block the view on either side - which is just as well,for the stony and leaf-laden ground slopes so steeply that you might be walkingalong the edge of a precipice. Thick banks of conifers block the view on either side - which is just as well,for the stony and leaf-laden ground slopes so steeply that you might be walkingalong the edge of a precipice. Thick banks of conifers block the view on either side - which is just as well,for the stony and leaf-laden ground slopes so steeply that you might be walkingalong the edge of a precipice. Thick banks of conifers block the view on either side - which is just as well,for the stony and leaf-laden ground slopes so steeply that you might be walkingalong the edge of a precipice. Thick banks of conifers block the view on either side - which is just as well,for the stony and leaf-laden ground slopes so steeply that you might be walkingalong the edge of a precipice. Thick banks of conifers block the view on either side - which is just as well,for the stony and leaf-laden ground slopes so steeply that you might be walkingalong the edge of a precipice. Thick banks of conifers block the view on either side - which is just as well,for the stony and leaf-laden ground slopes so steeply that you might be walkingalong the edge of a precipice. Thick banks of conifers block the view on either side - which is just as well,for the stony and leaf-laden ground slopes so steeply that you might be walkingalong the edge of a precipice. The pine-forest looms to the west, seemingly impenetrable; a path leads northinto dark woods. From the south, across the heathland, comes the crash of thesea against cliffs. The path winds around the Abbey's rock under the bleak stone wall. Northward,beyond a distant road, a forest stretches up to a range of colossal mountains. The Abbey rears up against the sky, a tangled mass of bleak prison-like walls,buttresses, windows elaborate with Gothic tracery. From high above, a gargoyledrips rain-drops on your head. The lane winds east towards the Abbey, and west through fields of corn towardsthe distant forest. North, a stream flows sluggishly through an impenetrablemarsh buried in a ghastly yellow haze. The lane passes over a ridge that drops sheer into dark woods to the south, andto the north slopes down into an impenetrable marsh. Just south of the lane,the gate of a graveyard creaks in the fitful breeze. Barely visible through the grey and gathering mist, ranks of tombstones extendon every side, overgrown with brambles and coarse marsh-grass. Rooks flap andcackle on the skeletal branches of wizened oaks. In the distance, mausolea ofAbbots and Mayors rear up like the abandoned teeth of a giant. South, fields of corn stretch as far as the eye can see, featureless. North,a stream flows sluggishly from the marsh towards a bridge. The lane leads westtowards the forest, and east to the Abbey. The wind whistles over this exposed heath, featureless but for tufts of coarsesea-grass and a solitary lightning-stricken oak-tree, that stands as black as astick of charcoal against the sky, the roost of strutting crows. An abandonedfarmhouse lies at the end of a southward track. Your feet sink into the damp earth of these ploughed fields, raising the odourof manure. Your feet sink into the damp earth of these ploughed fields, raising the odourof manure. Your feet sink into the damp earth of these ploughed fields, raising the odourof manure. An open five-bar gate leads northward to a junction of paths. The farmyard is desolate; the animals all slaughtered to provide food for thebeleagured town of Eastlynn. The buildings too are abandoned, their roofs mereskeletons of timber. Everywhere is the odour of decay. Rotting timbers and swathes of white plaster litter the floor of this abandonedfarmhouse, between walls that are barely upright. Overhead, the rafters creak,and a crow eyes you with distaste. What was a barn is now no better than a collapsed tangle of joists and rafters.Rotting straw fills every crevice, steaming. Beneath the cliffs, your feet sink into the soft sand of the Beach. The watersof the East Sea are calm here, their fury abated by the promontory on which thetown stands, and by the headland to the south. Beneath the cliffs, your feet sink into the soft sand of the Beach. The watersof the East Sea are calm here, their fury abated by the promontory on which thetown stands, and by the headland to the south. Beneath the cliffs, your feet sink into the soft sand of the Beach. The watersof the East Sea are calm here, their fury abated by the promontory on which thetown stands, and by the headland to the south. Beneath the cliffs, your feet sink into the soft sand of the Beach. The watersof the East Sea are calm here, their fury abated by the promontory on which thetown stands, and by the headland to the south. Some kind of tumbled-down shackmore or less stands to the south. Light filters down onto the sandy floor of the old wooden hut, through a windowspotted with salt-spray. The steep sandy path leads up over a wind-swept headland overgrown with gorse.Southward, the East Sea curves in a majestic sweep around Eastway's coast. Waves crash against the rocks below. To the north stands a desolate farmhouse.Cliffs drop sheer down into the foaming pools of the stony south shore. The road leads towards the cliffs of the southern shore, and north towards theTown. A lane leads up over the cliff-top. The waves of the East Sea break in great plumes of spray against the grey rocksof Eastway's southern shore. On a bleak and wind-swept crag, high above the tortured waters of the East Sea,stands a pyramid of driftwood. Far below, a stream cascades towards the East Sea, through a canyon strewn withbroken black rocks. The canyon's walls are sheer and glassy, and you feel nonetoo safe on this quivering chain-bridge. The road curves around the cliff-top. Seagulls circle overhead, examining youquizzically for fish. Inland from the cliffs, the wind still courses through the gorse as if enticingyou over the edge. At your feet, the ground falls sheer down into a canyon, through which a streamruns over broken boulders to the sea. The canyon's edge is muddy, and the mudcontinues down over the rocks, as if someone had tipped it over the edge. From below comes the crashing of waves on rocks. The road - surprisingly broadand well-made - leads through wind-swept heathland. The road bends around the cliff-top, with a view over the southern shore of theEast Sea and the distant misty coast of Southway. A tall pyre of driftwood stands on a crag above a sheer drop into the East Sea,a beacon. South-west, a brown haze envelops the low coast of Southway, fromwhich, at odd intervals, a strange orange light flashes. The road leads inland over a wind-swept heath, and south towards the cliff-top.The road winds through the barren heathland by the cliffs' edge. Westward, the Forest rises into the mountains. The splash of waves on rocks isborne on the sea-breeze; on either side is heathland, over which plovers dartbetween grassy knolls. A lane pases over a steep ridge above corn-fields. The breeze brings the aromaof wood-smoke. In a valley between two grassy hillocks, the lane passes by a sailors' shrine,its white walls decorated with intertwined anchors. A pronounced odour of fishwafts from within. On the bare earth floor stands a simple altar of grey stone, engraved with thelegend 'Behemoth'. There was once a crucifix, but the hole in the altar's topreveals that not all sailors are honest. The lane leads between a grassy hillock and a wall of grey stone, beyond whichrise the distant spire and the slate roofs of the Abbey. The air is fragrantwith the perfume of roses and honeysuckle. Across the chuckling stream leads an old bridge of yellow stone, overgrown withivy. South, the stream cascades down towards a canyon and the sea. Northward,vines straggle over the walls of the Abbey fields. Whoever built this highway knew what he was doing, for although the stream hasoverflowed onto the stone slabs of the road, the road is dry; the muddy waterdrawn away scientifically through the gaps between the slabs, to seep away intohedges at the road-side. What is the worse smell you know? Here is an odour so foul that any other isperfume. Pictures on the wall are of black rats with whiskers; the furnitureis rustic; a simple country cot, a heavy table and chairs of iron painted grey;a stove with ashes still crackling; but above all the noxious odour of decay,a vile miasma that chills you to the bone. This cottage is empty, but the wall-paintings reveal its history in garish redand purple; a saga of fleshly indulgence, of nymphs and satyrs, and of unusualcontortions and unnatural consequences. Some fellow with a white paint-brushhas wisely attempted to conceal the peculiar talents of the characters in thesewall-paintings, and has failed. Paths lead in several directions, but most dissolve within yards into a morassof sticky slime, all of a ghastly yellow-brown colour. Inside this malodourousbog, strange gangling trees peer through the glowing haze, their roots reachingdown into pools of slime, which bubble and froth. You hear odd 'plop's, therustling of lizards, and the burping of frogs. Spindly marsh-trees lock their branches overhead dome-like above a pool of vilebrown slime, around whose mysterious eddies drift spectral ribbons of a yellowgas that reeks of bad eggs. Marsh-plants, sickly and slime-encrusted, are thehome of beetles, snails, and other creeping things. A sticky pathway leads between the marsh's bubbling pools; hesitantly, you peerthrough the nauseating yellow fog. A sticky pathway leads between the marsh's bubbling pools; hesitantly, you peerthrough the nauseating yellow fog. A sticky pathway leads between the marsh's bubbling pools; hesitantly, you peerthrough the nauseating yellow fog. Steep tracks lead in and out of the marsh. Above the fog-line, coastal cliffsrise to the north and east. A track leads steeply down from the heathland of the coastal cliffs, towards asunken marsh, whose dismal odours you smell even from here, and over which vilemarsh-birds hover, crying lugubriously. The wind blows fresh from the East Sea over open heathland, rippling the tuftsof coarse grass. To the north loom the great mountains of Northway, beyond thecanyon of the river Wend. North-eastward, an immense pile of driftwood standson the cliff-edge. Seagulls wheel and flutter above this junction of lanes along the cliff-top, atwhich stands a sturdy signpost from which the directions have been removed. In the shelter of the towering rock of Eastlynn, a tiny cove gives out onto theEast Sea. The waters lap with a gentle plosh over the sand and shingle. Steepcrags, the haunt of seabirds, rise on either side. Footsteps in the sand leadtoward the southern crag, into the rock of the town itself. The walls are wet with slime and streaked with bat-guano. A rusty iron ladderis affixed securely to one wall, and bears the sandy traces of previous feet. A pile of driftwood stands here, a conical beacon. Far below, the great riverWend meets the East Sea in a turbulent maelstrom of spray and froth. The grimmountains of Northway stretch infinitely north: on one peak a red light flashessporadically. In a gully between two great crags stands a bronze statue, of Neptune. Wearingan elaborate crown and swathed in a voluminous cloak, he is shaking his tridentangrily at the distant mountains of Northway. Unhappily, seagulls have made amess of his beard. There is a jetty to the north. A rickety jetty pokes out into an inlet of the great river Wend, which thundersturbulently towards the sea, seemingly uncrossable. To the north, the mighty river Wend rushes eastwards to the sea at the foot ofthe grim mountains of Northway. Here, on a grassy knoll, stands the statue ofa young fisherman, his bronze net intricately wrought. He gazes up-river withan expression of deep gloom. Slime oozes from the marsh out over the cobbled street that runs along the bankof the great river Wend, gushing eastwards to the sea. Between the marsh and the river Wend, a cobbled street runs along a ridge. Thecries of marsh-birds echo back eerily from the dark crags across the river. The cobbled street runs east by the river, and west into a fishing village. This is the simple cottage of a fisherman; the floor of bare earth, the wallsrough-plastered. A back window gives out onto a marsh, beyond which rises theAbbey on its sandstone rock. Words cannot describe the appalling filth of this decrepit cottage. Lightless,airless, the odour of festering drains is overpowering. In the middle of a square of well-trod earth stands a Maypole, tattered threadsof May's celebrations still dangling from its crown, fluttering fitfully in theriver-breeze. On either side, the village's buildings stand in various stagesof decrepitude. North, a jetty pokes out into the river. The waters of the great river Wend boil under the jetty's timbers. Across theriver loom dark cliffs, overgrown with hardy shrubs. Up-river, westward, thereseems to be some kind of castle, rising up amongst the northern crags as if itwere a crag itself, jagged, mysterious. Crows circle above its towers throughthe clouds of a grey malevolent mist. This is a jolly place, simple - the floor of bare earth, and the bar no betterthan a block of pinewood - but the walls are painted with colourful scenes of afisherman's life, and the aroma is of good rich beer. There are no seats. Itseems that, here, they drink standing up till they fall down. An immense caskstands by the wall, its tap dripping into the dust. The lane winds around the fringes of the marsh, muddy with the slime that oozestowards the river. The lane winds along on ridge between the marsh and the great river Wend, thatgushes eastward to the sea. This is no more that a curving white wall, on which various scenes of a wood-cutter's life are painted with colourful simplicity. A cross is engraved on arough-cut block of white stone, and around this altar various objects have beenreverentially dedicated; flowers in a jam-jar, pine-cones, none worth taking,which is why no-one has taken them. Overhead, the great arch of the Abbey's gateway drips with the recent rain; onits walls, statues of old Abbots and of the Martial Monks of Eastway regard youwith curiosity and distaste. Through the tunnel that penetrates the solid greywalls of the Abbey you hear the rhythmic chanting of Monks at their devotions. The roads skirting the Forest meet with a road leading east over the cliffs. The road leads along under the tangled pine-trees of the Forest. East, beyondcornfields and woods, the Abbey rears up from a sandstone crag. The road leads along under the tangled pine-trees of the Forest. East, beyondcornfields and woods, the Abbey rears up from a sandstone crag. The road leads along under the tangled pine-trees of the Forest. East, beyondcornfields and woods, the Abbey rears up from a sandstone crag. A woodcutter'sshrine stands by the side of the road to the east. The road leads along under the tangled pine-trees of the Forest. East, beyondcornfields and woods, the Abbey rears up from a sandstone crag. The road leads along under the tangled pine-trees of the Forest. East, beyondcornfields and woods, the Abbey rears up from a sandstone crag. The road leads along under the tangled pine-trees of the Forest. East, beyondcornfields and woods, the Abbey rears up from a sandstone crag. The road leads along under the tangled pine-trees of the Forest. East, beyondcornfields and woods, the Abbey rears up from a sandstone crag. Forest roads meet at a junction with a road from the east and a lane that leadsnorth towards a bridge. The lane leads along a ridge that slopes on either side into grim, impenetrablemarshland. The lane leads along a ridge that slopes on either side into grim, impenetrablemarshland. The stream meanders thick with mud eastwards under this moss-laden bridge, intoa sinister marsh, over which hangs an appalling yellow fog. From the north, youhear the gushing of the mighty river Wend. The lane leads along a ridge that slopes on either side into grim, impenetrablemarshland. Here, the great river Wend floods swollen with the recent rain eastwards to thesea. A stream runs just west of this promontory, southward towards a bridge.Across the river loom the crags of the north bank, the roost of cackling crowsand seagulls. Up-river, on the far shore, a castle rises from a nest of pine-trees, crows circling its lofty stone towers. The road leads along under the tangled pine-trees of the Forest. North-east,beyond cornfields and woods, the Abbey rears up from a sandstone crag. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. The road skirts the forest, rising gradually into a range of mountains loomingto the west. North, beyond marshland, woods lead down to the River Wend. The road bends around a crumbling cliff-edge, northward to the Forest, and westabove a sheer drop towards the port, nestling under the mountains. North, the Forest rises up to a mountain-range. South, the road leads towardsthe cliffs. Jagged crags rear up on either side. The road rises gradually west by the side of the forest, steep crags along itssouthern edge, and falls east down towards the heartland of Eastway. A windingroad leads south between the crags towards the sea. The road rises gradually west by the side of the forest, steep crags along itssouthern edge, and falls east down towards the heartland of Eastway. The road rises gradually west by the side of the forest, steep crags along itssouthern edge, and falls east down towards the heartland of Eastway. The road rises gradually west by the side of the forest, steep crags along itssouthern edge, and falls east down towards the heartland of Eastway. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. The road skirts the forest, rising gradually into a range of mountains loomingto the west. North, beyond marshland, woods lead down to the River Wend. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. The road leads gradually into the mountains between the Forest and dense woods.The road leads gradually into the mountains between the Forest and dense woods.The road leads gradually into the mountains between the Forest and dense woods.The road leads gradually into the mountains between the Forest and dense woods.A narrow path overgrown with brambles leads through these dense and dark woods.Rustlings in the bushes betray that you may not be alone. The ground falls tothe east into marshland. A narrow path overgrown with brambles leads through these dense and dark woods.Rustlings in the bushes betray that you may not be alone. The ground falls tothe east into marshland. A narrow path overgrown with brambles leads through these dense and dark woods.Rustlings in the bushes betray that you may not be alone. The ground falls tothe east into marshland. A narrow path overgrown with brambles leads through these dense and dark woods.Rustlings in the bushes betray that you may not be alone. The ground falls tothe east into marshland. A narrow path overgrown with brambles leads through these dense and dark woods.Rustlings in the bushes betray that you may not be alone. The ground falls tothe east into marshland. The track bends around by the side of the great river Wend, flooding eastwardsto the sea. Across the river, a sinister castle rises on a black crag, crowsfluttering around its towers. The track leads between dense woods and the River Wend. The castle on the farbank is hidden in great spouts of river-spray. The track leads between dense woods and the River Wend. On the far bank, grimwalls of a castle rise steeply from a black crag, dripping with spray from thegushing river. Crows, evilly cackling, wheel around its towers in and out ofclouds of a sinister grey mist. The track leads between dense woods and the River Wend. The castle on the farbank is hidden in great spouts of river-spray. You stand on the bank of the mighty river Wend, facing, beyond the foaming greywaters, the grim walls of a sinister castle, that rises among the crags of thefar bank as if it were a crag itself. There is a jetty to the west. The waters of the River Wend swirl into this inlet, enclosed by sheer cliffs, ajetty withstanding the tremendous flood only because its pillars are of a solidmountain granite. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. A steep track overgrown with brambles leads through these dense and dark woods.Rustlings in the bushes betray that you may not be alone. A steep track overgrown with brambles leads through these dense and dark woods.Rustlings in the bushes betray that you may not be alone. A steep track overgrown with brambles leads through these dense and dark woods.Rustlings in the bushes betray that you may not be alone. A steep track overgrown with brambles leads through these dense and dark woods.Rustlings in the bushes betray that you may not be alone. A steep track overgrown with brambles leads through these dense and dark woods.Rustlings in the bushes betray that you may not be alone. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. A steep track overgrown with brambles leads through these dense and dark woods.Rustlings in the bushes betray that you may not be alone. A steep track overgrown with brambles leads through these dense and dark woods.Rustlings in the bushes betray that you may not be alone. A steep track overgrown with brambles leads through these dense and dark woods.Rustlings in the bushes betray that you may not be alone. A steep track overgrown with brambles leads through these dense and dark woods.Rustlings in the bushes betray that you may not be alone. A steep track overgrown with brambles leads through these dense and dark woods.Rustlings in the bushes betray that you may not be alone. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. The road winds between ranks of tall and leafy conifers. The air is fragrantwith pine and the aroma of wood-smoke. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine trees cover the mountain-side, a breeze ruffling their leafy tops. Maybe,the rustlings in the undergrowth suggest you are not alone. Pine trees cover the mountain-side, a breeze ruffling their leafy tops. Maybe,the rustlings in the undergrowth suggest you are not alone. Pine trees cover the mountain-side, a breeze ruffling their leafy tops. Maybe,the rustlings in the undergrowth suggest you are not alone. Pine trees cover the mountain-side, a breeze ruffling their leafy tops. Maybe,the rustlings in the undergrowth suggest you are not alone. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. A steep track overgrown with brambles leads through these dense and dark woods.Rustlings in the bushes betray that you may not be alone. A steep track overgrown with brambles leads through these dense and dark woods.Rustlings in the bushes betray that you may not be alone. A pleasant mountain lane leads between the dense mass of foliage. The air isfragrant with wood-smoke. A pleasant mountain lane leads between the dense mass of foliage. The air isfragrant with wood-smoke. A steep track overgrown with brambles leads through these dense and dark woods.Rustlings in the bushes betray that you may not be alone. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine trees cover the mountain-side, a breeze ruffling their leafy tops. Fromthis height, the view over the forest to the fields of Eastlynn and the distantEast Sea is breathtaking. Pine trees cover the mountain-side, a breeze ruffling their leafy tops. Fromthis height, the view over the forest to the fields of Eastlynn and the distantEast Sea is breathtaking. Pine trees cover the mountain-side, a breeze ruffling their leafy tops. Fromthis height, the view over the forest to the fields of Eastlynn and the distantEast Sea is breathtaking. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. An unusual monument stands in shadow to the west. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine trees cover the mountain-side, a breeze ruffling their leafy tops. Fromthis height, the view over the forest to the fields of Eastlynn and the distantEast Sea is breathtaking. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. A steep track overgrown with brambles leads through these dense and dark woods.Rustlings in the bushes betray that you may not be alone. A steep track overgrown with brambles leads through these dense and dark woods.Rustlings in the bushes betray that you may not be alone. A winding mountain lane leads between an outcrop of the mountains and the densewoods. The view eastwards over the woods is spectacular. A winding mountain lane leads between an outcrop of the mountains and the densewoods. The view eastwards over the woods is spectacular. A steep track overgrown with brambles leads through these dense and dark woods.Rustlings in the bushes betray that you may not be alone. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. An unusual monument stands in shadow to the north. Deep in the pine-forest stands this extraordinary monolith, a yards-high spikeof solid black onyx, pointing heavenward, but at an angle, as if it had fallencrookedly from somewhere up the mountain. Fissures in its well-rubbed surface,beneath an exotic inscription, suggest a door. Seemingly suspended somewhere beyond the world, this cavernous blue Globe stillhums with the throb of distant engines, though its creator and inhabitant, thatlegendary Pumcoddle about whom so little is known, has long since departed forsome other land. The Globe's walls are of a luminous blue material, rubbery tothe touch, and enclose a bare wooden bed that hovers in mid-air. Here it was,long years ago, that the great Architect pondered his creations; and the air -exotically perfumed - is still bright with the rays of his Pure Thought. Stepslead down. Pumcoddle's Globe casts its blue light upon a grotto hewn into the living rock,its walls dripping, blue-sparkling. Five stone steps lead up to an altar whichshimmers in the half-light, curiously violin-shaped and engraved with crucifixpatterns, and which emits a continuous stream of pure flute-like tones, softly,high and low, that combine into a melody of immortal sweetness. The five stepsare marked E, G, B, D, and F. A stairwell leads down. A broad, brass-clad cylinder, like the bell of some wind instrument, leads downinto the bowels of the world, a winding staircase clinging precariously to itswall. Letters yards high are engraved on the brass - - 'Take or drop my notes by letter On my ladder careful tread Two you carry, and be strong, Leave them where they must belong For the sweetness of my song Move too often, and you're dead' - The brassy cylinder emits a high note that you recognize to be the note of D. The staircase vibrates with a note that you recognize to be the note of B. The brassy cylinder emits a low note that you recognize to be the note of G. The staircase vibrates with a note that you feel to be a low E. A door of coldsteel is set into the cylinder's wall. Here it is, in this cave padded with old mattresses and dead pigeons, that Evilvisits the world in Bad Sound. Here it is that demons come to learn their vilebusiness, and to play their cacophonous tunes on clarinets of human bone and onguitars of coffin-wood. No mortal lingers here... A narrow sandy track leads between flat rock walls that rear up into darkness. Squeezed between a low ceiling and flat floor, a broad path runs east and west.A sulphurous breeze breathes around clusters of stalagmites that rear up from arocky floor like a giant's teeth. Surrounded by a low parapet of twinkling redcrystal, a hole leads down into the darkness; and from this hole issue low anddismal moans, speaking with the voice of Hell. You feel an overwhelming desireto put something in this hole, where there is a convenient ledge. From a low ceiling encrusted with sparkling minerals hang stalactites, drippinginto the dust. To the east stands a metal doorway, from which issues a subduedpiping, as of distant flutes. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. An unusual monument stands in shadow to the south. Pine trees cover the mountain-side, a breeze ruffling their leafy tops. Fromthis height, the view over the forest to the fields of Eastlynn and the distantEast Sea is breathtaking. The road runs between a sheer cliff and the pine Forest. The road runs west up a gully and into the mountains. Northward, it appears topeter out. Lofty ridges of black rock flank the road, in which boulders stand as evidenceof the fragility of the crags overhead. The road peters out by a cliff, at the edge of dense woods. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. An unusual monument stands in shadow to the east. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. Pine-twigs crackle underfoot as you tread this forest pathway, scattering pine-cones and raising the dust. Overhead, the black branches lock together into animpenetrable canopy. The road bends around the edge of a precipice, and is all but blocked by fallenboulders. Outcrops of the mountains mask your view to the far north. The precipice falls sheer to the south-west, and the stones your feet dislodgeare a warning. Beyond, to the west, the mountains rise like the jagged towersof some etherial palace. Here the mountain road disappears westwards into a gully. East, the view overthe mountain slopes, the Forest, and the fields of Eastlynn is utterly awesome:in the distance, to east and south, the waves of the East Sea smash against thecrumbling coast; north, the mighty River Wend tumbles towards the East Sea inan abyss between black crags and dense woods. This bridge of heavy chains quivers, in the draught that sweeps up from a rockycanyon several hundred feet below. The cliff-top road leads down to the west, towards the Port, that extends alonga bay encircled by mountains. A gibbet stands inland, creaking in the wind. Seagulls perch along its heavybeams, examining you as if you may be its next customer. Some sort of statuestands to the south. A bronze statue of Baron Behemoth stands, spear in hand, gazing dreamily acrossthe East Sea towards the distant coast of Southway. The road leads through wind-swept heathland, over the promontory that overlooksthe Port. The view from this headland is spectacular. South, the low coast of Southwaystretches away infinitely into a blue mist; west, the road curves and descendssharply into the picturesque Port set in a bay enclosed by mountains. Boats ofall colours bob up and down at their moorings; smoke issues from the chimney ofa Bar; the waters of the East Sea, their force spent upon the harbour wall andthe cliffs of the southern shore, lap gently against the promenade. The road descends sharply into the Port to the west, and bends up to a headlandoverlooking the East Sea. Boats bob up and down at their moorings by a jetty to the south. North standsan imposing Customs-House of white mountain stone, a death's-head emblem of theBehemoth clan over its solid oaken doorway. The wooden jetty pokes out into the gently-lapping waters. Boats are securelymoored on either side; fishing-boats, ferries, and pleasure-craft with leatherawnings and sails of pure white. West, the mountains drop sheer into the sea,their crags and crevices the echoing haunt of seagulls. Portraits line the walls of this lofty chamber, lit by a clerestory window thatsheds a green light. As a result of recent hostilities, there has been no Tradeand the Customs House itself is disused, but foot-prints in the dust lead undera red arch toward a further chamber. A sign over the arch reads 'xoxox PlanetBrewery xoxox'. In this white-washed hall, aromatic with the fragrance of hops and malt, standimmense steel vats, steaming. Pipes yards wide lead between these vats, thefurthest disappearing through the far wall, quite probably into a sluice underthe mountain. At the base of the nearest vat stands a ladder, and a control-panel that sports a large red knob. Sparrows hop gaily around the rafters, theflavour of their droppings no doubt contributing to the taste of Eastway beer. Mountain-water bubbles below in the mashing vat, whose surface is as broad as apond. Here it is that hops are boiled with the syrup-like trickle of malt thatdrips from a further vat, to produce that wort which will become the celebratedEastway XOXOX beer, known for its powerful effect on the knees. Below, a smallboat - used for maintenance - bobs up and down. On all sides, the wort bubbles merrily, enclosed by steel walls that rear up tothe rafters. Through a circular hole, a brown trickle of steaming malt dripsfrom the pipe that runs from the Malting Vat, emitting a rich, cloying, aroma.Steel walls bend overhead in this enclosed capsule, as steamy as a Turkish bathand filled with the rich aroma of malt that rises from the muddy brown fluid oneither side. A square hole in the wall leads to some kind of overflow sluice.A grille of ten slats filters the overflow of the Malting Vat as it gushes downthe sluice, which is so narrow that all of these slats must be removed if youare to progress further. The slats - fixed in a steel groove - are numbered inthe following sequence: 7 4 8 0 6 3 1 9 5 2. Beneath the slats, in the groove,a curious red knob can be moved from side to side: currently, it stands at theleft end of the groove. Through a glass plate in the top of this red knob thenumber zero is visible. A sign on the wall reads 'ZERO TO NINE'. The promenade bends around under the overhanging mountain, affording a view outover the Port toward the cliffs of the southern shore. Sheer cliffs rise behind you to the west. Eastward, a bandstand juts out intothe gently lapping waters of the Port, its ironwork curiously oriental, paintedin a bright blue and white. The ironwork pillars of this circular bandstand support a cupola decorated withmosaic pictures of angels and demons blowing bugles and clarinets. Between thepillars, the view across the Port is charming; boats bobbing at anchor, cliffsrising sheer along the southern shore; the promenade stretching before the oldCustoms House. Unfortunately, the bandstand's floor could give way at any time.The promenade meets the harbour wall beneath overhanging cliffs, boulders fromwhich have fallen on the seaward side, and contribute to the wall's resistanceto the East Sea, whose waves send showers of spray high above the wall and intoyour face. The wall extends eastward to a lighthouse. Solid blocks of mountain granite lead between the calm waters of the Port and atorrent of spray from the East Sea, toward the lighthouse that guards the mouthof the harbour. It towers above your head, the lighthouse, painted with broadblack and white stripes, bearing the death's-head emblem of Behemoth. Steps lead up from this circular rough-stone chamber to the Light platform. Nolighthouse-keeper has been in residence for some years; cobwebs dangle like anet from the exposed beams. Panoramic views extend on every side; out over the boiling sea towards the farshore of Southway; west, where mountains overhang the Port; and inland, whereboats bob up and down at their moorings along the promenade. A brazier standsneglected in the centre of this platform. Written along the platform's parapetis the legend - 'In case of ASMODEUS light all four of Behemoth's beacons'. South, the promenade bends around under the mountain. North stands a Bar, acrumbling edifice of grey plaster and black beams, smoke issuing from its brickchimney. Ashes smoulder in the fireplace of this warm, welcoming bar. Behind a counterof polished mountain pine stands the tattooed Barman. The ceiling is high, andfrom its rafters dangle souvenirs of the Barman's voyages, exotic gin-bottles,miniature anchors, petrified vegetables, postcards, and shrunken human heads.A monkey spits at you and misses. The waste-products of the Planet Brewery drip from a sluice high overhead downover the sheer walls of this malodorous cave, and sink into the sandy floor. Atunnel leads north into the mountain. The tunnel leads north-south, its walls dripping. You wonder - considering therecent rain - whether it ever floods. The tunnel bends eastwards, where a pale light glows, and leads south into deepdarkness. Cliffs rise perpendicularly on all sides but north. The circular entrance to atunnel stands half-hidden in bushes to the west. Far below lies the boulder-strewn canyon floor. Cliffs rise perpendicularly on all sides but south. The circular entrance to atunnel stands half-hidden by boulders to the west. The tunnel bends eastwards, where a pale light glows, and leads north into deepdarkness. The tunnel leads south-north into the roots of the mountain. The tunnel leads north-south under the mountain, a deep pit in its floor. The pit's walls are sheer, of glassy volcanic rock scored by the fingers of theunfortunates who failed to escape. Human bones, picked clean, are strewn overthe slimy floor, and piled up in one corner into something like a nest. A greycobweb, its strands stronger than steel, spans a tunnel-entrance to the west. The air is thick with a noxious yellow gas, that issues in jets from the glassywalls of this cylindrical tunnel. It burns the tissues of your nose; your eyeswater; you feel a strange paralysis creeping through your limbs. Up from a bottomless pit sweep clouds of dust and debris mingled with a yellowfoul-smelling gas. Your feet slide; you feel yourself falling, then, borne upthrough the gas, rising, rising, till you are flung out, high in the air, anddown, landing with a crash by... Tunnels lead off west and south-east from this cavernous chamber, a narrow andcrumbling ledge clinging to a sheer drop down into a trickling stream of lava. The black walls of this cylindrical tunnel are streaked grey with bat-droppingsand deposits washed down through the mountain by centuries of rain. The odourof sulphur comes from somewhere west. The tunnel's black ceiling curves low over a thin ribbon of bubbling sulphurousmud. You feel the swirling yellow gas sapping your strength. Vaulting crags of black rock enclose an underground lagoon, a pool, whose wateris emerald-green; and in whose depths you spy the tips of ancient stalagmites.On a beach of jet-black volcanic sand lie the remains of a meal of human flesh.Chains dangle from the rock-walls, jingling with the vibration of subterraneanmurmurs. Here lies the Mad Baron Behemoth, foaming at the mouth, still in theunderclothes he was wearing when the demon KRUN kidnapped him. The tunnel leads north-south into the roots of the mountain, a deep pit sunk inits floor. North, the tunnel divides into two smaller tunnels. South, it leads toward theroots of the mountain. A series of rough-cut ledges leads up into a ceiling dripping with slime. Fromabove comes a roar as of some terrible pipe-organ. The tunnel leads north andbends south-east under the mountain. A stone jetty leads out into a cavern as black as night, through which winds ofhurricane force sweep upward with a tumultuous roar. You grasp at the drippingwalls, but are lifted wriggling up into a swirling cloud of dust and sulphurousgas, up, up, bashing against rock walls in some sort of volcanic chimney, untilyou are thrown out, high in the air, landing with a crash at... The tunnel bends into the mountain, its ceiling propped-up by beams of oak. The tunnel bends into the mountain, its walls hacked into unearthly patterns bysomeone's attempt at mining. The tunnel bends into the mountain, its ceiling shored-up with beams of oak. South, the tunnel divides into two smaller tunnels. North, the tunnel leads upthrough an abandoned mine-shaft. From somewhere east comes a musical piping, ahigh tremulous note as of an orchestra of flutes. Around fallen boulders, the road curves up towards a lofty peak. Eastward, theroad leads to a precipice. Roads meet on the exposed, windswept mountain-side. Above, lightning flashesfrom a cocoon of dark clouds around the peak. East, the road divides. Through lightning-blasted scrubland over a rocky slope, the road ascends towardthe peak, and falls towards a junction. Between twin snow-capped ridges, the road ascends to the west, toward the darklightning-crackling clouds which envelop the peak. East, the land of Eastwayis spread out as if on a map; mountains, the forest, the Port, the Abbey, theCastle, the great River Wend, and in the far distance the town of Eastlynn, onthe cliffs of the East Sea. A rough track winds up to the peak. Lightning crackles on all sides from darkclouds that you feel are close enough to touch. East, the track descends to apass. Enveloped in a swirling mass of black cloud, tormented by a bitter wind, heath-land strewn with lightning-blasted boulders and clumps of gorse stretches awayinfinitely on either side. A path leads upward to two gigantic standing stonesof rough granite. The earth is bone-dry between the tall stones, that rear up on either side intoimpenetrable cloud. Here, sheltered from the bitter winds that sweep over thepeak, you stand as if between two worlds, between the black clouds of the east,and an opaque mass of white cloud to the west. Voices from the west, distant,indistinct, male and female all mixed in a crescendo of joy, seem to be urgingyou westward, but there is no path. In the shadow of a towering crag, the road winds through scrubland across themountain-side, descending to the north into a mountain pass. A chimney of somekind stands on the cliff-edge to the east. On the cliff-edge, above a boulder-filled canyon, stands an oval stone chimney.From its mouth billows a foul yellow gas that has scorched away the surroundinggrass. The up-draught is too strong for you to descend. A massive steel doorway in a cave streaked with bat-droppings leads towards theworkings of the Punster Mine. Between snow-capped mountain outcrops, the road ascends to the south, and dropsnorth-eastward to a junction. Roads meet on the mountain-side. North, a track winds around the mountain anddisappears. South, the road climbs to a pass; east, it falls to the Forest. The canyon of the mighty River Wend lies only yards to the north, and even here- so high up - you feel the river's spray on your cheek. A track winds southacross scrubland dotted with boulders, and falls sharply eastward towards theworkings of a Mine. Westward, a pile of driftwood stands on the canyon's edge.Driftwood is piled into a conical beacon, on the canyon's edge. Steel trolley-rails lead west into the mouth of the Mine. Below, a jetty pokesout into the flooding waters of the River Wend. To the east stands an imposingprison-like office, its windows barred. Built of solid stone, the jetty withstands the full force of the river's flood.When the Mine is operational (which it appears not to be today), hoists bringits products from above down through a tower of oaken beams, which rocks gentlyin the river-breeze. Gleaming steel rails lead westwards into a black hole in the mountain-side, upfrom which drifts a plume of smoke and a stench as of burning rubber. A signabove this tunnel reads 'Punster Mine - abandon rope all ye who enter here'. The far wall of this long, low, white-washed office is covered with figures anddiagrams. A mahogany desk with a drawer stands under a window, which looks outover dense woods and the canyon of the River Wend. A solid cube of grey metalstands in one corner. Fitted with a circular knob, it looks like a safe. This worm-eaten old wooden jetty, poking out from the Wend's northern shore, isin danger of collapse. An overgrown path leads north-east under beetling cragsand pine-trees towards an extraordinary monument, a Roman triumphal arch. Cliffs rise sheer to the north of this ugly monument, through which the bramblytrack ascends eastward. It is of a veined white marble, crudely engraved withbarbaric scenes of war and plunder, of battles, gory triumphs and spectaculardisasters, of slaves in chains, of wobbling limbs, and bodies in buckets. Ivycreeps around every crack, up to its lintel, which bears an odd inscription. Looking up would make you giddy. Beneath the sheer crags of the river's northbank stands the ancient castle of Mad Baron Behemoth, on a terraced black rockthat glistens with river-spray. High above, crows flutter around turrets of anaetherial blue, over which hangs a pall of grey mist. The walls, battlemented,are of black stone yards thick, ivy-laden; and no window betrays what goes oninside. The door itself, set in an arching gateway that bears the death's-heademblem of the Behemoth clan, is of solid oak, and bears a polished lion's-headknocker. High walls of grey stone flank the Yard on three sides, penetrated to the westby a gateway, and overgrown with ivy. South lies the Refectory. Through itsleaded-glass windows you see that no-one is eating. A series of rounded Romanesque stone arches, overgrown with ivy, present a viewover the Abbey fields. An archway leads westward to the Refectory. A series of rounded Romanesque stone arches, overgrown with ivy, present a viewover the Abbey fields. A series of rounded Romanesque stone arches, overgrown with ivy, present a viewover the Abbey fields. A series of rounded Romanesque stone arches, overgrown with ivy, present a viewover the Abbey fields. The rhythmic chanting of Monks comes from the south. A series of rounded Romanesque stone arches, overgrown with ivy, present a viewover the Abbey fields. Westward, through a vestibule, you spy the Nave of theAbbey's Chapel. A series of rounded Romanesque stone arches, overgrown with ivy, present a viewover the Abbey fields. The rhythmic chanting of Monks comes from the north. A series of rounded Romanesque stone arches, overgrown with ivy, present a viewover the Abbey fields. A series of rounded Romanesque stone arches, overgrown with ivy, present a viewover the Abbey fields. A spiral staircase leads up and down. West, an archway leads to the Library. Names of Monks are chalked on the walls, each with a list of borrowed books, anantique form of library-ticket. Peering west, you spy the lofty stone walls ofthe Library. Beneath high arching windows, ornate with Gothic tracery, stand oaken desks andtables, piled high with mouldering manuscripts which are labelled in a delicatehand A-Z. Sunlight falls in beams solid with dust onto the cold grey slabs ofthe floor. The Chapel extends to the west. The walls and foundations of the ancient pagantemple from which the Chapel - oldest part of the Abbey - was constructed, havedetermined its plan. The altar, for example, at the end of a nave of graniteslabs, lies to the west. Herring-bone masonry rises to the vaulted timbers ofthe roof, which echoes the hypnotic chanting of the Monks. The Nave leads between pews on either side that are jam-packed with Monks. Tothe north and south stand confessionals. The air is heavy with incense. You wonder what secrets have been whispered inside this oaken confessional withits hanging curtain of purple silk. You wonder what secrets have been whispered inside this oaken confessional withits hanging curtain of blue silk. A statue of Drought, painfully examining an empty bucket, stands in a niche. War stands in a niche, his armour stained with battle. Amid draperies of yellow silk emblazoned with the heraldic devices of the clansof Eastway, stands a huge gold crucifix, silhouetted against a curious stainedglass window. In a vaulted chamber hewn from the living rock stands a coffin of white marble,on a floor of bare sand that bears footprints, many not the work of human feet.Spiders have woven festoons of webs that hang from the ceiling in a grey, dustycurtain. A deathly quiet reigns. The Nave leads between pews jam-packed with chanting Monks. Pestilence, bat-wings on his back, clings wanly to a pillar of his niche. A statue of Famine - locust-wings on his back - peers wretchedly from a niche. The Nave leads between pews jam-packed with Monks, who are applying themselveswith great zeal to their devotions, chanting as if hypnotized, enthusiasticallywaggling their rosaries. Most wear the plain brown habit of the novice Monk,but some the black gown of an Exorcist, or the scarlet robe of an Inquisitor. Peering through the archway, you make out the mullion windows of the Refectory.Your footsteps echo around the bare whitewashed walls of this lofty hall, whosearoma is a mixture of incense and yesterday's stew. Mullion windows give outover a tangle of ivy onto the Abbey Yard. A portrait of the incumbent Abbot isreflected in the polished surface of the long oaken refectory table. A spiral staircase leads down from a corridor. Your footsteps echo in this tunnel-like corridor of polished grey stone. Your footsteps echo in this tunnel-like corridor of polished grey stone. Your footsteps echo in this tunnel-like corridor of polished grey stone. Your footsteps echo in this tunnel-like corridor of polished grey stone. Your footsteps echo in this tunnel-like corridor of polished grey stone. Your footsteps echo in this tunnel-like corridor of polished grey stone. Your footsteps echo in this tunnel-like corridor of polished grey stone. A spiral staircase leads up from a corridor. A passage leads between the corridor and the Monks' cells. Cramped, airless, verminous, windowless, a barren cell in which to contemplatelife's inequalities. A barred window looks out over the Abbey Yard. Perhaps the cell of a superior Monk, the walls are freshly whitewashed, and themullion window has a pleasant view out over the Abbey Yard towards the distantfishing-village. A cot, writing-desk, everything the civilized Monk requires. A tiny, windowless bare-stone room, furnished only with a stone slab to serveas a bed, and smelling of drains. A red crucifix decorates the white wall of this tiny hospital. As there is butone bed and one cot, woe betide the third Monk to fall ill. No drugs are to beseen; rather, this little room is imbued with the sanctity of Prayer, and youcan feel your spirits rise by just breathing in its air, tinged with the odourof drains though it may be. A stone passage leads between a corridor and the Hospital. A spiral staircase leads down from a corridor. This cramped corridor is made airy by a row of mullion windows, which look outtowards the south coast over woods and the Abbey fields. This cramped corridor is made airy by a row of mullion windows, which look outtowards the south coast over woods and the Abbey fields. This cramped corridor is made airy by a row of mullion windows, which look outtowards the south coast over woods and the Abbey fields. This cramped corridor is made airy by a row of mullion windows, which look outtowards the south coast over woods and the Abbey fields. This cramped corridor is made airy by a row of mullion windows, which look outtowards the south coast over woods and the Abbey fields. This cramped corridor is made airy by a row of mullion windows, which look outtowards the south coast over woods and the Abbey fields. A spiral staircase leads up from a corridor. This tiny room, built inside a buttress of the west wall, seems to be no betterthan a junk-room, piled high with damp Monks' habits - which appear to steam inthe dusty light - and with broken gardening tools and cracked flower-pots. A spiral staircase leads down from a corridor. Square windows look out over slate roofs down to the Abbey yard. Square windows look out over slate roofs down to the Abbey yard. Square windows look out over slate roofs down to the Abbey yard. Square windows look out over slate roofs down to the Abbey yard. Square windows look out over slate roofs down to the Abbey yard. A spiral staircase leads up from a corridor. A Chaplain's life is one of selfless duty and penance, as can be inferred fromthe spartan furnishings of this windowless room. An iron crucifix nailed uponthe wall, a rickety cot with no mattress; here is a place to catch pneumonia. In a room built into a buttress whose window overlooks the Abbey Yard, toys ofall sorts overflow from open trunks and chests; teddy-bears, tin soldiers, eventhe occasional doll, mementoes of what the Monks have left behind. The bath stands in the centre of the room, a heavy iron tub with no taps; butno-one bathes here. Monks carry the bath down to the Abbey Yard every Easter,where they fill it with stream-water and take their annual dips. A spiral staircase leads down from a corridor. A cobbled tunnel, perfectly round but for the slabs of the floor, worms its wayinside the Abbey wall. A cobbled tunnel, perfectly round but for the slabs of the floor, worms its wayinside the Abbey wall. A cobbled tunnel, perfectly round but for the slabs of the floor, worms its wayinside the Abbey wall. A cobbled tunnel, perfectly round but for the slabs of the floor, worms its wayinside the Abbey wall. A spiral staircase leads up from a corridor. The Abbey's walls have slipped at this point, perhaps because of the tremendousvibration from the Great Bell. What was once a splendid arch has sunk, and nowits crown is only inches from your head. The Museum is a dusty, airless chamber lit only by a tiny lozenge-shaped windowthat looks out over woods to a distant mountain-range. Here, in a glass case,lie the robes of the legendary Martial Monks of Eastway, black and gold, eachspotted with the blood of the unfortunate monsters its owner overcame. A portrait of Luxmendly, most famous of the Martial Monks of Eastway, hangs onthe stone wall. Clad in his robe of black with gold hood, with a saintly halofloating above his head, he is examining the severed head of a dragon with someenthusiasm. A spiral staircase leads down from a corridor. Your footsteps echo along this hallway of polished mountain pine, pierced withpicture windows that look east over the Abbey fields towards Eastlynn. Your footsteps echo along this hallway of polished mountain pine, pierced withpicture windows that look east over the Abbey fields towards Eastlynn. Your footsteps echo along this hallway of polished mountain pine, pierced withpicture windows that look east over the Abbey fields towards Eastlynn. Rich curtains of black velvet hang from the walls of this tiny chamber, no morethan a cubby-hole in the Abbey's west wall. Here, the deep gloom is penetratedby a shaft of bright white light, that is projected from a giant lens down ontoa table. This is the Abbot's favourite toy, an optical device known as a CameraObscura; and he uses it for Surveillance, for the images that it projects areof the outside world. Currently on view is a projection of... A spiral staircase leads up from a corridor. To the west, a tiny doorway leadsinto a dark chamber. The Inquisitor occupies an unusually luxurious apartment under the eaves of theAbbey, with a pleasant view out over slate roofs towards the Marsh. The wallsare papered with hessian and studded with gold; the floor is carpeted with thehides of Great Boars; his pillow is of goose-down, his bed comfy; portraits ofhis predecessors, clad in scarlet robes, hang in gilt frames. In olden days,as seen in explicit scenes of mechanical persuasion, they resorted to tediouslyphysical means of Examination. Today's Inquisitor knows better. Perhaps thecabinet on the wall contains some of his secrets. Arcane spells are chalked all over the bare stone walls of the Exorcist's cell,demonic invocations, biblical quotations turned inside-out in Hebrew. The roofis low and the atmosphere oppresive, as if some devil is stalking the room. Aniron cot stands in one corner, rusted. A spiral staircase leads down from a corridor. A stiff breeze blows through the mullion windows of this cobbled passage. A stiff breeze blows through the mullion windows of this cobbled passage. A spiral staircase leads up from a corridor. The Abbot is obliged to relieve himself through a hole in the floor of this lowwindy room built into a buttress of the east wall. Fortunately, his naturalproducts will fall - wind-direction permitting - down into the Abbey fields, soenriching the soil. A tiny chapel is built into the pinnacle of a buttress on the west wall. Herea simple iron altar stands, to which a silver crucifix is securely welded. Onthe wall hangs a portrait of Baron Behemoth, his eyes staring from under bushyeyebrows with an unnatural ferocity, to remind the Abbot whose cash it was thatbuilt the Great Bell-tower. A spiral staircase leads down from the Abbot's cell. Convenient pegs line this pine-panelled lobby, for the robes of those visitorssufficiently distinguished to meet the Abbot. Tucked up under the Abbey's eaves, the Abbot's cell is a rather spartan loft,white-washed, the bare beams of the Abbey's roof exposed. Like a ship at sea,it creaks; so high up. Behind a desk of solid red mahogany the Abbot sits, awindow's light twinkling on his bald pate. He is polishing his spectacles, andmuttering. Though he appears kindly, his robe of black with a gold hood is amemento of Eastway's Martial Monks whose power he has inherited - and who werenot known for their tolerance of fools. A spiral staircase leads upward. Wooden steps lead down to the Abbot's cell, and south to another set of steps. Steps lead upward inside the Abbey's tower towards the bell-chamber. Anotherset of steps lies to the north. Beyond the Gothic tracery of the ancient bell-tower's windows, Eastway's fieldsstretch out on all sides. The Great Bell of Behemoth swings gently, buffetedby the wind. As a result of the bell's continual vibration, the floor has sunkso low that the Bell is unreachable; but the Abbot has devised a system wherebycertain weights - if arranged correctly - will raise a part of the floor to theBell. These weights stand here, themselves bell-shaped, on the angles and thepoints of a pentagram hewn into the stone slabs of the floor. As each weighsat least 100 lbs, they cannot be easily lifted, but any weight can be exchangedfor a neighbour. Immense wine-casks of pinewood line the grey stone wall, resinated wine - madefrom the Abbey's grapes - being the favourite tipple of the Monks and gentry ofEastway. The Abbey's best vintages are stored here; in massive pinewood casks labelled'Hands off'. An antique iron stove steams furiously, its hot-plate awaiting yet another potfor yet another stew. A ghastly odour of old socks fills the air. On a nearbycupboard, a sign reads 'Monks's Stew. Magic ingredient, one...' Unfortunatelythe rest of the sign is illegible. A spiral staircase leads up. Steaming cartons and broken-down bags overflow with an undesirable accumulationof rubbish, all impossibly entangled with oily string and sticky tape, emittingan odour best left undescribed. So thick is the veil of dust throughout this long pine-panelled hallway, and soprofusely have the spiders woven their cobwebs over the walls and along everybeam, that a deathly quiet reigns. Suits of armour stand along the south wall,all rusted, none fit to wear; some bearing the marks of battle, revealing wheretheir unlucky owners were fatally pierced. A stairwell ascends and descends. A long red carpet leads between high walls entirely covered in plates of mirrorglass. A motto is embroidered on the carpet, - Hail Behemothes fame, all mighty, Shining through the ages like the Sun sewn in Wendes dew. - Curious shadows lurk in every corner of this long pine-panelled hall, and seemto move, as the branches of a tree outside flicker past its single window. Footprints in the dust of this round brick tower lead in all directions. Dark and airless, its windows boarded-up and furniture swathed in ghostly greysheets, this tiny chamber seems itself to be asleep. A mullion window looks out over the boiling spray of the river Wend. Beneath aportrait of the Baron stands an ancient mahogany desk. Some wag has written inthe dust, - Turn, turn, and turn again, Behemoth's magic turns your brain. Lost I am, escape I must, Before I too am come to dust. - A circular gallery of tall pillars encloses bare floorboards. Footprints leadaimlessly in all directions through the dust. A sign above each of the pillarsreads 'Exit' in various languages, 'Salida', 'Ausgang', and so on. A thick-piled red carpet leads between walls decorated with that Oriental themeof the Willow-pattern, the lovers on the bridge, the weeping willows, sparrowsin joyful flight overhead. No window's light directs your feet through this empty and soundless chamber. Lord knows what heathen rites have been performed in this shadow-filled chapel,buried in the belly of the castle, its window only yards from the black crag ofthe Wend's north shore. A crucifix hangs upside-down on a wall curiously pock-marked and stained with blood. Murmurs as of souls in pain ascend from betweenthe floorboards, encouraging you to get out of here just as quickly as you can.A walkway of stone slabs leads through an echoing and lightless chamber, whoseodour is of dust and decay. A ledge of crumbling stone clings to an ancient black wall, above a sheer dropinto what seems to be - miles below - a river of fire. The heat is tremendous,furnace-like, the sulphurous fumes sweeping up into some sort of pipe overhead,through which you can vaguely make out a patch of sky. So reads a sign beneath a portrait hanging on the only wall of this malodorouschamber that is not festooned with cobwebs. Hands of Hell must have fashionedthis portrait, for it is of a grinning devil, the bodies of Monks impaled uponhis horns. No light shines to direct your feet through this empty and soundless hall. Wooden walls enclose a tiny cupboard-sized chamber, that seems to be revolving,on castors, which squeak as if you were treading on mice. Walls of bright yellow, carpet the same, the window of yellow glass. The headyaroma of exotic spices fills the air, numbing the brain like a narcotic. Mirrored walls curve above and below, creating a disorientating tunnel, curvingback into itself as if inside a doughnut. Perhaps this chamber is genuinely egg-shaped, its white walls cunningly curved,its leaded-glass windows cleverly set at a tangent, its ceiling a yellow dome;or maybe the saturating fragrance of spice has induced this hallucination. Walls of rough stone enclose this room, where the servants of the Behemoth clanwere once obliged to tread the local grapes barefoot. Since the opening of theAbyss, and the failure of all crops, no wine has been made: all that remains isa line of empty casks labelled 'x Chateau B x', and a rack for bottles, allof which have disappeared. A metal engine stands in the north corner, consisting of two winches at eitherend of a rusty iron bed. Yes, it is a rack, not in working order. Slime dripsdown the roof's supporting pillars, into noxious puddles across the black stoneslabs of the floor. Huge iron vessels stand cold on a brick stove. Shelves and cupboards are empty;spiders crawling over the cracked tiles of the floor. Stairs lead up and down.A series of tall arching windows pierce the south wall. Outside, river-sprayleaps in white plumes over black rocks; inside, a long table extends westward,laden with silver plate, candlesticks, goblets, all impossibly enmeshed in thenet of cobwebs that dangles from the dusty chandelier overhead. Stairs lead upand down. The west wall is pierced by a majestic fireplace of black stone, engraved withthe intertwined figures of nymphs and satyrs. Above it, a portrait of the MadBaron Behemoth hangs in a frame of solid silver. Armour-clad, he sits atop hisfavourite mare, Grisby, waving his broadsword angrily towards the mountains ofdistant Northway. A stairwell ascends and descends. Here stands the Baron's bed, a grotesquely huge pine-wood four-poster, columnstwisting up to a canopy of red velvet, with yellow tassles encrusted with greycobwebs. Over the bed hangs a plaque bearing the heraldic device of the Baron'sclan, a death's head between gryphons rampant. Stairs lead up and down. The castle's walls stand here exposed - black stones as solid as the rock fromwhich the castle rises. Sparrows hop around the rafters. They came in throughthe broken ivy-covered window. A stairwell ascends and descends. The wind sweeps up from the river, bringing gobbets of spray that splash intothe battlements. Up-river, a chain of precipitous black crags leads westwardtowards the mountains and - across the river - to the workings of a Mine. Fromabove, an insidious blue mist seeps from the western turret. Ivy, in great swathes, overhangs the battlements. A ghastly yellow mist seepsfrom the northern turret above. Inside the battlements, the roof of the castle is of stone slabs, wet with therecent rain; beyond the walls, slate roofs slope, overgrown with moss and ivy.At each corner stand turrets, exhuding from their conical roofs a noxious smokeof many colours, combining to form a grey pall that rises upwards and throughwhich crows wheel and flutter with manic cries. A stairwell leads down. The river boils below, eastward to the sea; downriver stand the cottages of afishing village, and beyond them, the Abbey rises on its rock of sandstone. Afoul-smelling red mist seeps from the turret above. Walls of rough stone - to which a rusty ladder is securely fixed - lead up intoa conical roof where a window is open. Here stands a brazier, old and rusted,A ladder, fixed to the rough stone wall, leads up into a conical roof, where awindow is open to the sky. By the wall stands a brazier, curiously fashioned,Curving walls of rough stone, to which a ladder is fixed, lead up to a conicalroof pierced by an open window. Here stands a brazier, iron, curiously wrought,A conical roof, pierced by an open window, tops this chamber of rough mountainstone. A ladder leads upward. Here stands a brazier, of iron, old and rusted,A sandy passageway leads through a tunnel under the Abbey. The sandy track leads through a tunnel hewn into the rock under the Abbey. Oneither side, human bones, gnawed clean and neatly arranged in tottering piles,suggest that some ghoul has made this his dwelling. The passage meets a dead end. Light filters down through an iron grille in thetunnel's roof. There is some sort of plaque on the wall. Best-known among the Martial Monks for his prowess against monsters, Luxmendlystands under a cupola, carrying the head of the Great Boar who ravaged Eastwayso many centuries ago. The statue is outstandingly life-like, its robes tintedblack and gold, the Boar's knobbly tongue poking out gruesomely red. A plaqueon the wall behind the statue haloes the Monk's saintly head. On either side of a muddy track, ancient tombs of Martial Monks rise up throughthe swirling mists of the graveyard. Some bear ornate Gothic crucifixes, somestatues of the Monks, bearing the heads of the monsters they slew. Gravestones of common folk flank the path, leaning at all angles between clumpsof marsh-grass. Rustlings in the undergrowth suggest you are not alone. Shadows flicker over this echoing chamber's rock walls; that rise into a loftydome, carved by ancient miners into an uncanny representation of the night sky,its stars - diamonds of rare quality - twinkling in the half-light, arranged inpatterns that recall the signs of the Zodiac. A sign warns, 'Visitors fiddlingabout with the Mine's property will be severely tortured by the Supervisor'. In this gallery, running between rock walls long ago stripped of their metals,stand obsolete items of machinery. A huge battering-ram made of wood and ironcreaks in the draught that sweeps down the tunnel. The rock walls, veins of yellow metal glistening in their crevices, curve overa floor paved with the marble filched from ancient temples. You nearly trip onwhat looks like the moulding from a column's base. The high walls on either side glow with rich veins of gold, that is being minedso systematically that walls, ceiling, and floor, are twins of each other. On either side, the rock has been carved into vast ledges, that curve overheadlike the claws of some demonic sea-monster. A great slab of black rock is curiously engraved, with the portrait of a littleman wearing a beret and striped jersey. He is carrying a string of onions overone shoulder, and his mouth is round with surprise. Here stand walls of virgin rock, broad bands of gold suggesting the Mine mightbe a good investment. An unfortunate portrait adorns one wall, of a curiously slant-eyed young madamwearing only her undergarments. Her torso is immensely wide. One rock wall has the number 22 chalked on it, the other 7. In the dust of thefloor someone has written 'I can't make anything of that'. The walls, long ago stripped of their metals, are decorated with numerous smalldogs, which seem of a vicious breed, for they are pursuing rats and such verminwith great gusto. Unfortunately, so successful have they been that they appearto be hampered by their sagging stomachs. Some miner's hand has transformed one wall's globule of gold into the sensitivefigure of a small gold fish; while, on the other wall, some less delicate handhas drawn an oak-tree in autumn surrounded by its acorns. A sign reads 'Lost your ears? Acquire them here.' The walls have been carved with some tool that has gouged out immense Cs in theliving rock. A date is chalked on the wall. 22nd July. At this underground extremity of the Mine stands the Supervisor, a beefy fellowwith forearms the size and hairiness of young badgers. Behind him, a doorwayleads towards further tunnels in the mountain. Suspended by some aetherial power, you hover above the castle's roof inside acocoon of grey swirling mist, through which crows wheel and flap, crying likelost souls; on either side, fog, thick grey fog, as if the insides of your eyeshad misted-up. You stand on a set of gigantic creamy-white molars, above a swirling maelstromof grey cloud. Above your head, an immense blue tongue darts here and there,sucking and slurping around this cavernous red mouth. Beyond the tongue, likea chimney, a throat ringed with bone leads upwards into what appears to be somesort of balloon. On every side stretches a lake of fire. There is no down. Above, as if insidean antique submarine, iron ribs of terrible size rear up into a sky of charcoalblack, without stars. Dismal cries echo everywhere, of torment, of neglect, ofhopeless pain. Flames, boiling orange and purple, seethe around diamond-sharprocks of blue crystal, upon which the wretched corpses of sinners are eternallyimpaled. This is the home of demons. You stand within what looks like a translucent yellow balloon, but ribbed andvaulted cathedral-like. With mounting dread, you recognize that you stand inthe very belly of that arch-fiend ASMODEUS whose demon-children haunt this landof Eastway. A whirpool of nauseous slime eddies around your feet from his bonythroat, emitting a ghastly stench of decay. Globules of fat, gas-filled, swoopup and down as if possessed of Life, digesting swords, skeletons, severed limbsand wobbling intestines, all that remains of previous Adventurers. A grille of an unearthly blue metal lies over the mouth of this circular blackhole in the castle's roof. Below, a brick chimney leads down into unfathomabledarkness, from where come the echoes of unnatural cries, dismal and lugubriousmoans of souls in torment. Oily fumes rise, bearing the stench of Hell itself.
