"The west path... Let me tell you about the west path" recalled Azizi to the scabrous and profulsely sweating stone tablet chisseling reporter.
"The path led down, in a long slow spiral. The contents of your stomach would sink, as the walls drew in, the light dimmed and the stench of rockpile faeces filled your nasal passage."
After pausing for the hastily tapping reporter, she continued. "We passed a deep pit, which gave us little indication of it's depth or an adventurers fate in it's bowels. Stamm thought he heard a whooshing emanating from within, but it was in fact someone reloading from a saved game..."
"We moved down and on, to a slightly steeped room with a cart that had wedges under each of it's four wheels to stop it from rolling away. I noted the dodgy workmanship of the wheels and the pile of skeletal horse bones on the floor still almost attached to the ring on the wall by a rope"
"It was then, as we say in the trade, 'shit happened' and down the end of the corridor a large quantity of grunting, snorting trolin approached out of the shadows."
"The rest of the story, as they say, is history by numbers."