He felt his lip curl as he delved deeper, his boots crusted with what he hoped was mud, but knew to be the accumulation of years of detritus and excrement. The slimes and jellies seemed to revel in it. Again the old man grimaced as he reflected on how soft he had become. In his days wearing the Black and Red he would not have stepped as hesitantly with thoughts of getting the smell out. Cursing himself he pushed deeper, through the tunnels and towards the natural caverns which the Fort had exploited. He unfurled his map and made a few notes of interesting pathways, some leading back into the natural caverns and no doubt to the series of cave networks he had begun to chart.
Onward still. Through the ankle-deep slush. He noted the state of the pipes...some leaking, some rusted through, but others in good working order. And then he found it. A series of beds and storage spaces that indicated what he had long suspected. The tunnels were once masterworks, the remnants of office spaces and living spaces; dining halls and slums. There was certainly hope and likely once there was an unsavory element that made this place their home. He stepped more cautiously, pausing at a near invisible tripwire. Clever bastards, he thought as he looked at the reverse tension wire. He quickly disarmed the series as he delved deeper still.
Then he found what it was he was looking for. A major leak, a window, and what he thought might be the solution. It looked like he was going to have to buy that foreman a drink and figure out a way to finance the endeavor...or do it himself if the Fort had any hope of staying Torment and plague-free. New pipes, routing the water, fixing the wall...this was doable.
