At first the glow of her icon barely cut the darkness, its light dim and cold. Perhaps the darkness refused her divine intrusion, or else Layna had wandered so far from grace that her prayers barely reached her protector. But slowly, in time with her own beating heart, the icon pulsed with an increasingly bright warmth that chased away the shadows like a frightened hive of scavengers scurrying from the dawn. Some of Layna's heat and tingle between her legs also eased, if not from the holy light then from relief that nothing living was around to attack her. Nothing living, at least. Instead the cleric was assaulted by grotesque and vulgar frescoes that lined the tunnel walls.<br/><br/>What her fingers had touched - groped - were indeed erect stone penises jutting out flaccid from the loins of beastly giants, and crowded around their feet was a mob of nude women. Though each phallus was only as long and thick as her own long finger, contrasted with the women at the feet of each beast they were massive. The further down the tunnel Layna went, the further away she was from her own world. Such obscene art would never have been allowed anyplace familiar to her, yet here the motif was more than heretical, even titillating. Here it was almost religious, though to utter such an observation aloud would be blasphemous.<br/><br/>Soon the tunnel began to thin, the cocks on each fresco turning from flaccid to erect and moving closer to Layna until they brushed against her arms and caught the hem of her skirt every few feet. Before she could be crushed, however, the tunnel made a sharp right down a flight of stairs. But before that a goblin hole, big enough for Cock and a tight squeeze for Layna. Cock's trail clearly led through it, silvery, aromatic beads dotting the entrance. This is how he got in then, but from where? To Layna's right down the staircase echoed the distant sloshing of water - not the ravaging sea but the lonely, gentle trickle of an underground river or cistern.