Another wave of them enter and the screams continue; horrible, pitiful screams echoing off of every wall. And yet more of those freebooters go in, chasing the promise of treasure that Kuda dangles in front of them. What greed could power them through it? The lucky ones are killed instantly, impaled on spikes or atomized by ancient magic. The unlucky die slowly over hours, wailing in the dark, begging for rescue that will never come, praying for death, while it toys with them like a cat. We do our best to ignore the sounds, knowing that if the freebooters fail, it will undoubtedly be us crying helplessly into the uncaring void. Alchemy, what am I doing here? I just wanted to be able to pursue my research without the council and the colleges impeding me at every step. And even now, in the mouth of the abyss, I hate them still. In my first year with the Inquest, I accomplished more than a decade working within their system. So yes, I hate them all the more for not leaving me any choice, for making the Inquest the better option. I cling to one foolish hope: the director doesn't approve of Kuda's methods, and her krewe speak of it often. Maybe he doesn't know the conditions we're being subjected to. Perhaps if I can find some way to inform him, something can still be done. But, more likely, my time will soon be up.