The Iron Culvert

A pipe runs the length of it at knee height, and you step over its brackets every few paces. You count 3 paces of it, low and unbroken. A rod of iron runs along the wall in brackets, polished where it once slid to and fro. Water trickles behind the brick, loud, then quiet, like a tap turned by an unsteady hand. A faint ticking comes through the rock from somewhere close.

Depth 48.

First charted by Wanderer #1.

You are reading the dungeon, not walking it. Rooms are only created by people, and only from inside the maze.