Lay of Kushta, Quartozain 45

With torches suspend’d like orbs of light, as on spinnerets,

The roped Embassy descended into the abyss,

A chthonic void that no mortal light seems able to pierce,

Until from on high they spied the cone tips of minarets

A sure proof of Dwarven habitation that none could miss

Then as eyes adjusted to the murk, the father’s faces fierce

Appeared from the gloom with surly disapproving frown

Lit by radiant fungi that never knew the fair sky

And with lightened hearts with jumars they their descent made

Inching through sturdy ropes they all softly swung their way down

Until to the palace grand terrace they did with care fly

And to inner throne chamber by his guards they were soon bade

Mindful as always of their dignity and decorum

Ignoring the twelve archers poised ready to score them.