The Eye of Chaos

         The shallowness of Broidin’s breath thrummed rhythmically in his
ears. He would have moved his head slightly if he had space, but the
tight confines of the shaft he found himself in did not allow for the
luxury. As it was he needed his body to stay rigid to keep him from
falling further. His soft-shod feet were all that were holding him in
place, dangling upside down in this narrow tunnel. Broidin knew he
shouldn’t have come this way, but his curiosity had gotten the better
of him. He needed to move; he couldn't stay like this forever.
Besides, his legs were beginning to quake from the strain. He began
small, calculated movements to work his right hand between his torso
and the rock wall, down to his hip where his pick was attached to his
belt. It was a wet, slow process that any younger belly-crawler would
have second-guessed himself or even panicked over, but Broidin did
this close-space climbing all the time. It wasn’t the best work in the
mine, but smaller frames like his were ideal for it.
         The pick was large compared to a standard climber's pick, but
Broidin had asked specifically for it to be made abnormal. “That
pick's too large, too clumsy,” he remembered the toolmaker grumble, as
he ordered it. Little did the craftsman know why Broidin needed it so
big; In the deepest reaches of unexplored shafts one sometimes
encountered beasts which had never seen the light of Pelor's face, and
rarely did one have the time to switch from tool to weapon. Finally
reaching his target with his right hand, he realized he had far more
room behind his back to move.
         "This will have to do," he thought, as he began the slow process of
wriggling his left hand back behind him while shifting his pick to his
back. The clang of his pick hitting the ceiling of his tunnel was loud
in the solitude of his confines.
         "Be more careful, fool," He told himself. His left hand reached
for the rope which was fastened to the back of his belt. It was a bad
place for it in most climbing situations, but convenient this time.
Broidin began tying the rope securely to the pick. Slowly bring his
newly fixed device to his face, he checked the security of the rope,
moved his left hand back to his head, and searched for the mouth of
the tunnel he narrowly evaded sliding through. Meanwhile, his right
hand pushed the other end of the rope through the front of his belt.
         “Here goes nothing... may the 'great lords' protect me,” Broidin
breathed, more as slander than a prayer. Sliding the pick down to his
left hand and lifting it as high as the cavern would allow him, he
slammed one end into the shaft wall. His foot hold shuttered above his
head, forcing Broidin to slide slightly down the tunnel. Quickly
maneuvering his feet, he gripped tighter on the rock, stopping his
unwanted descent. The movement took a great toll on his strength, and
he felt a burn scream from his thighs. Urgently but methodically he
checked the hold of his pick to the wall. It was good, but he heard
his father's voice warning him to check again. A slight growl escaped
Broidin’s lips. It was good.
         With that, Broidin let go with his feet. The downward pull slid
his body, head first, quickly out of the shaft. With the same speed of
the fall, He grabbed the rope with his calloused hand and thrust it
firmly behind his back. The rope hissed as it slid on his belt, but
his hand, braced behind his back, used his body weight to stop the
impending free-fall with a sharp jolt. He was left dangling in the air,
below the confining shaft and above a vast open darkness. Despite his
precarious situation, Broidin's heart pounded in anticipation. He had
found the chamber; the Eye of Chaos lay somewhere beneath him.