Gael was right. 

I did not enjoy this part. The sack had only been moments on my face and I could feel my ears, face and neck itching under the scratchy rough material. 

And that was ignoring the near complete loss of vision. I mean it was hessian, a rough loose weave material, light still penetrated the gaps between coarse threads allowing me a rough idea of my surroundings based on the presence or lack of light, blurred colour and objects very close to my face.

Like the hand of one of our abductors waving in my face to get my attention before roughly pulling me through an opening in the side of the tunnel and guiding me down a dozen or so steps to wait for the others. 

Waiting blindfolded down in the dark, my world closed in on me and was transformed into a realm of disorientation. Soft echoes of footsteps, the sounds of breathing, water trickling and dripping down stone walls, soft whispers of air moving through tunnels on currents of its own making.

The screech of unoiled metal hinges of a metal grate closing behind us sang out over the soft thumps of uncoordinated feet descending the stairs.

“Easy goes it. Be good lasses and be’ave yourselves. Do wot we say and let us direct yer without a struggle and everythin’ will be alright.”

The light of a torch being lit at the front of our party dazzled me, before I found myself being herded forward to follow the torchbearer. Guided by shoves, nudges, roughly yanking pulls we were directed shuffling, slipping and stumbling through a maze of echoing stone passages. Occasionally stepping into puddles with a soft splash. A left, a right, a right, a right, a left, a right, a left, a left, a left, a right, a left… 

Eventually I lost track of the turns as we were pushed and pulled around corners, which was likely the point, and my lefts and rights turned to focusing on each step instead of remembering our passage.

Left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right… The words seeming to echo in my head alongside the echoes of our steps and stumbles.

Something had changed.

A soft susurration on the tunnel’s air currents. Voices? Distant speech faded and blurred on its echoed journey from somewhere ahead.

Another turn. Ahead the darkness seemed less… 

Lone words began to stand out from amongst the echoed murmur. Ahead through hessian the tunnel appeared to be lightening. 

Light and sound grew.

Then the light expanded to surround us on three sides. We’d exited the tunnel to a bright space. Outside? No, the light around us was not coming from or brighter above us. A chamber maybe?

Footsteps approached from the front. 

Pinpricks of pain as caught hair was tugged by the sack as it was pulled free from my head. No longer filtered by the coarse weave light pricked at my eyes, bringing tears to my eyes as I blinked to clear them. My hands busy scratching at my face, hidden ears, scalp and neck, sating a too long ignored need to relieve the itching caused by the sack.

Opening my eyes as the irritation subsided, I took in my surroundings.

We were standing within a large underground chamber that could have likely fit the village of Spot within. The chamber was obviously manmade going by the slime covered floors, walls and thick pillars constructed from stone blocks similar to those used in the ruined lighthouse, as well as the many vaulted ceiling composed of unnumbered red fired bricks set in mortar. 

Around the chamber were small groups of people standing or sitting around tents and stockpiles of crates and barrels that were set upon makeshift wooden platforms that raised them above the slime and puddles that littered the floor.

Finally my wandering attention drifted back to the front as one of our escorts stepped back from quietly talking with our welcoming party to again stand menacingly behind us. There in front of us backed by a new pair of cudgel and dagger wielding roughs was a gray eyed, raven haired woman whose bearing and clothes screamed that she was in charge from the boots up. 

Black polished boots that openly defied the slime and grime of the tunnels and ended in folded tops just under the knee. Tucked into the boots were tight fitting cream coloured wool breeches, and tucked into those was a finely cut black silk collared blouse with pearl buttons. Over the blouse she wore an expensive looking high collared jacket made of dark gray dyed stiff wool with gold buttons and embroidery. 

All of which on their own painted the picture of someone of wealth and action, perhaps a sea captain or wealthy merchant, if you ignored the sword hanging from her belt or the few odd pieces of blue painted plate strapped over her jacket and breeches.

“Well what do we have here?” she asked in a playful yet threatening manner. “Your escort says you had a coin and my eyes in the Redfall say you requested a meet using the proper pass phrase.”

“And yet… I don’t recognise any of you?” she pondered, the playfulness dropping away as her voice turned cold and her hand glided to rest on her sword's hilt. 

All across the cavernous chamber, eyes locked onto us and hands moved to draw weapons.

“So tell me; who are you, how did you come by our protocols and why shouldn’t I throw you to the nearest nest of abyssal crawlers?”