GRIMWATER SWAMP, DELVENMOOR EMPIRE
The lamp had been burning low for three days.
He hadn't replaced the oil because the supply cart hadn't come. The supply cart hadn't come in nineteen days. He had stopped counting after that.
Outside, the swamp made its usual noises — the deep croaking of things that lived in the black water, the settling of ancient trees into soft ground, the occasional sound of something large moving through the reeds at a distance. He had learned to distinguish these sounds over eleven years. He knew which ones were ordinary.
He was hearing more that weren't.
He sat at the desk in the outpost's single room and wrote by what light remained. His hand was steady. It had always been steady, even after everything that had taken the steadiness out of other men. The scar that ran from his left temple to the corner of his mouth pulled slightly when he concentrated, an old habit of old damage. He concentrated now.
"To the Dungeon Janitor's Guild, Moorhaven Central Office,
This is my fifth letter. I do not know if the previous four were received. I am sending this one the same way as the others and hoping.
I have reported the facts each time. I will report them again.
Something is wrong with the Grimwater Dungeon.
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It began six weeks ago. Small things. The respawn cycle running slightly ahead of schedule. Monsters behaving differently near the entrance — not aggressively, not yet, but differently. Watching. I have cleaned this dungeon for eleven years. I know what watching looks like.
Three weeks ago the supply cart stopped coming. Two weeks ago I lost contact with the nearest relay post. I have no way of knowing if this is administrative or something else. I am choosing to believe it is administrative.
I am finding it harder to believe that.
The dungeon sounds different at night. I cannot describe it more precisely than that. Different. Lower. Like something has changed in the core and the change has a voice.
I am a retired foreman. I have seen things that would stop younger men's hearts. I am not given to fear without cause.
I am writing this letter because I have cause.
Please send someone."
He folded the letter. Pressed his thumb to the seal. Spoke the sending word quietly into the damp air of the outpost.
The letter vanished.
He sat for a moment in the near-dark and listened.
The swamp had gone quiet. It did that sometimes now, in the hour before midnight. Everything that lived in the black water and the deep reeds going still at once, as though something had told them to.
He knew what that meant. He had known for two weeks.
He picked up the lamp and turned the oil down further to preserve what remained. In the near-dark he could see the outpost window, and past his own reflection, the tree line beyond.
Something at the tree line was still.
It had been still for a very long time.
He did not look at it directly. He had learned not to.
He left the lights on, despite his oil running low.