The tiny stream ran through the underground passage, the echo of it's movement magnifying to a roar as it bounced off the dark stone walls. Rocks poked up here and there above the water, providing a trail of "steps" for the dwarf to use as he made his way forward. The rocks were as much a hindrance as a help as his short legs had to stretch out to reach each one. The slimy green moss growing on them forced him to slip more than once. It reminded him somewhat of the snotty growth of hair that grew out of troll's nostrils when they reached old age. Nasty to say the least.
Dror Doomcutter was not happy. Not happy at all. Having to walk in the blasted sun for three days was bad enough, but he expected that once he reached the Tunnel of Tombs, being below the surface again would a pleasure. Dwarves were in their element underground, making their homes in large dug out caverns, some so large they held entire cities. But most caverns were dry, even a bit dusty. They were not moist and wet like this one, which had become a breeding ground for lichen and moss. Bleh.
The dwarf had to admit that he had only himself to blame for the discomfort. No one had sent him on this journey, he had come on his own accord. But after hearing that his great great grandfather had been buried here with a magical battleaxe, he had to make the trek. The weapon was once passed down from one generation to the next as a symbol of royal lineage. Since the time of it's disappearance, the dwarf clans were at odds over who ruled their lands. In Dror's mind the time had come for all the infighting to end, and as a direct descendant he took it upon himself to find this symbol of leadership.
Dror had slipped again and this time his right foot went directly under the surface of the stream, filling his boot with icy cold water. His face contorted somewhere between a grimace from the chill and anger that he now had one soaking wet foot. There was nothing left to do but move on so he refocused himself. Just as he was regaining his footing he felt a soft sensation of being touched on his left arm. Looking at his sleeve he saw what looked like silk covering his sleeve. He touched it with a finger from his right hand and found it to be an extremely sticky substance.
"Phhht" came the sound of something being shot at him, hitting the wall beside him. He had not heard it the first time, but this time it got his attention. Looking up he immediately saw eight glowing, bulbous eyes peering down at him with a mouth that held two razor sharp pincers directly below them. He quickly pulled his mace from his side and raised his shield. This was no ordinary house spider he was facing but the largest arachnid he had ever seen.