Chapter 1:
In the depths of the underdark, where light struggled to penetrate the thick veils of shadow, a cavern languished, ensnared in the tendrils of perpetual dusk. Luminescent fungi clung to the slick walls, casting feeble glimmers upon the waters of the subterranean river, shrouding all in a pallid glow that danced with eerie grace.
A ship advanced amidst the clammy embrace of the cavern's bowels, and below deck, a figure brooded, cocooned within the embrace of surprisingly expensive blankets that did not match his surroundings. His countenance was a tapestry of disdain and bitterness. His visage, etched with the cruel caress of time, bore witness to a life steeped in darkness, a testament to the relentless march of years spent in the shadows.
The first mate's call, “Prepare for port entry!” brought movement in the stifling confines below deck and stirred the restless slumber of the ship's denizens. Yet, for the wizened figure shrouded in blankets, the summons brought naught but a begrudging shift from torpor to begrimed wakefulness.
The old man withdrew a pipe from beneath his blankets, and slid it loosely between his lips. He then waved his hand over it, and the ember began to smoke slightly. Under the protest of his arthritic limbs, he rose and slowly, yet silently, ascended the weathered stairs. The air above deck enveloped him in its embrace, and, to his trained and experienced senses, told a story of slavery, dark magic, and death.
Leaning against the weathered railing, he gazed out across the murky expanse of the underground river, where shadows danced in macabre revelry upon its ebony surface. To him, the scent of impending demise was sweet, a seductive whisper beckoning him towards the unknown.
A sardonic smirk etched its way across his weathered features, a grim acknowledgement of his chosen path. "A fitting place to meet my end," he muttered while smoke puffed slightly from his nostrils.