The guard resealed the hidden entrance behind them, its heavy stone door closing with an echoing boom. Malcolm stared ahead at the tunnel before him. Perfectly circular and smooth, the stone walls reflected the dim torch light like mirrors, bouncing it around the group.

Despite his best effort, Malcolm couldn't even see the end of the path. It continued for an infinitude, perfectly level, and seemingly never-ending. Every so often dim torches protruded from the walls, their wooden handles and iron brackets breaking up the monotony.

"I trust yer knowin' of the ways?" the guard asked Sven, gesturing to the tunnel ahead.

"Very much so," Sven simply responded. "We must be goin'. Its gettin' late, and I want to reach the hall before the meetin's over."

"Yer really takin' him to the meetin'?" the guard said, glancing at Malcolm disapprovingly. "The Almighty Toe is a gracious leader, but this might be pushin' it."

Sven sighed, "I ain't got a choice. He owes me some servitude."

"Alrighty then," the guard exclaimed. "It be yer life."

Sven motioned to the group, and they set off. Before long, the hidden entrance was a mere speck in the distance, replaced with the uniformity of the walls. The tunnel was tall enough for Malcolm to walk unobstructed, but he sometimes had to bow his head under low hanging torches.

Malcolm looked around, running his fingers along the stone.Unnatural. He felt nothing but cold rock, somehow drilled smoother than polished steel, yet bearing no sign of how it was accomplished. As far as he knew, not even the legendary Dwarves or Gnomes could construct such a tunnel.

It took a while to get used to walking, as the smooth and rounded floor made it hard to find balance. Malcolm often stumbled and lost his footing, leaning against the wall for support. The Goblins however, with their small bare feet seemed to have no trouble staying upright.

"Where are we?" Malcolm asked Sven, breaking the silence.

"The outer tunnels of Toehalla. I chose an entrance far from the common areas, so we don't be drawin' too much attention to ourselves before we reach the meetin' hall."

"How were these tunnels created? Surely not by hand?"

"Toe Worms," the Goblin simply replied. "They bored these tunnels millennia ago, long before we Goblins took Toehalla as our own."

Malcolm laughed, his voice echoing back through the passageway. "TOE WORMS! Do you Goblins just add 'Toe' before everything?"

Sven stared at him. "Mock them if you wish human. But you won't be laughin' if you ever have the misfortune of meetin' one."

After an hour or so of traveling, natural caves began to intersect with the tunnels, the jagged rocks clashing with the smooth passage. Goblins began to appear in the distance, their little green bodies darting around in the dim light.

Like Sven and the rest of the Foot, those Goblins wore simple cloth robes, sewn together crudely. Many of them also wore pouched belts, and sheaths for their daggers. At the sight of Malcolm, they fled into the darkness, whispering among themselves.

Other smooth tunnels also began to intersect with the passage and cut through the caves, a kind of spider's web of routes. The number of intersections increased steadily, until there was one every few hundred feet. The floor began to gradually grow less rounded, worn away by travel.

At last, the travelers arrived at what Malcolm could only presume was their destination. A room stretched out before them, its lofty ceiling supported by large stone pillars that seamlessly melded with the rest of the room. Vaguely rectangular, the walls were as smooth as the tunnel, even in the rounded corners.

The path, now raised slightly above the floor, continued through the hall, stone pillars looming on either side. Large banners hung on the walls, proudly displaying their emblem; a solid black toe over a molted green background. Tan ribbons fringed the bottom of the fabric, laying lifeless in the stale cave air.

Inset in the far wall, two enormous wooden doors rose, crafted of rough hewn logs bolted together with steel beams. On the path before them, a few dozen Toe Goblins stood in perfect lines. Donned in light leather armor, they wielded large spears and short swords, crude, but incredibly functional. Still as statues, the dim torch light made them seem as hard as the stone walls.

"Halt!" one of them ordered, stepping forward. In addition to the leather armor of his compatriots, he wore a green toe emblem upon his chest. He motioned to the group to stop. "Sven! Why are you bringin' a human into Toehalla? You know the rules! If he goes off tellin' his brethren'..."

"I ain't got time for this Svith!" Sven replied, producing one of Malcolm's severed toes from his pouch. "I've made sure he's trustworthy."

Svith drew his sword, pointing it at the Sven. "It's my job to be makin' sure Toehalla is safe, and this human ain't safe."

"Oh... get out of the way you wretched fool," Sven snapped back. "I'm late as it is, and yer ramblin' ain't going to make me any less so. You may be a guard, but I'm a Big Toe, and I say the human's safe. Now, are you goin' to let me in? Or do you want to explain to Council why I wasn't at the meetin'?"

"Alright then..." Svith grumbled, sheathing his blade. "But I don't like it, and the council aint goin' to like it either." He turned to the other guards. "OPEN THE DOORS!" Like clockwork, four guards stepped forwards, unlocked the doors with metal keys, and pulled them open. The hinges creaked, and a rush of air hit Malcolm, fluttering his tunic, as wells as some of the closest banners.

"Salutations Sven!" a deep voice shouted from beyond the entrance, "The Council of Toes welcomes you!"