"It couldn't have been," Ilúvatar told her calmly.
"Stand back," Eibhear added sharply. "Please."
Ilúvatar took the lead with a wry glance in Eibhear's direction - a glance that was returned, for some reason, with a flat stare. Certainly the chevalier had done nothing to embolden his priestess. Eibhear was probably just on edge. All of them should be on edge, but aside from masking your movements to avoid detection there was little you could do to prevent one hundred drow from descending upon you in a wrathful wave. At least here their numbers would count for nothing - at least, not at first. Eibhear was right and wrong simultaneously to be worried. What could possibly come up that would require them to -
- only a quick backward staggered saved him from falling to his death.
The tunnel gave way to a pit of boiling black, empty as an abyss should be, spread out before him. Only when his eyes adjusted did he see it. Those blue veins continued, but the tunnel had grown considerably wider - it was at least thirty feet across, now - and it morphed from a sideways climb to a steep drop. Ilúvatar was certain he'd heard something falling into the tunnel, now he had a look at it. The worst part was also the most obvious. Their progress was done. With no way of knowing how far the chasm went and no way of controlling how far they could descend, they would have to find another way down. Eibhear stood beside him silent for a long moment, before clapping a hand on his shoulder.
"The Drow make the climb with driders," Eibhear told him - and then in a slightly louder voice, he spoke over his shoulder. "There is no turning back, now. Whoever goes here is committed to this journey. You cannot flee and hope the dwarves will save you."
Men shifted their feet uncomfortably.
"So how are we meant to go down?" Ilúvatar asked crossly. "With our hopes and dreams?"
"We wait," Eibhear's voice was stern. "I'm sure you could stare into Aeotha's eyes while we do."