Francis slipped through the large, oak door, using all his might to insure that he wasn't crushed between the door and its immoble half. On the other side, he counted to three, and then pushed himself off the door, pulling his right foot through the closing gap just in time to avoid a serious injury. Francis slowly turned around, glancing between the three corridors before him--one to the left, one straight ahead, and one to the right. "So, what now?" he thought out loud, noticing the strange writing that adorned the tan, soft-stone walls, Latin for the left corridor, an Elvish script to the right, and a Dwarven-derrived language in the middle. He roughly translated the Latin, reading it as something analogous to "The darkest path holds the mysteries--and the answers". With this in mind, he set of into the middle path, his feet clapping the ground as he transcended from the candle-lit cell of the entrance into the pitch-black path of the dwarves ahead.

"It's been over an hour," Francis complained out loud, "I'm not even sure if I'm making progress. I could be going in circles for all I know." After Francis had entered the corridor, it had taken him ten minutes to notice that first, he was the ONLY person in this area, and second, travelling in pitch black was not as fun as he had hoped. He had bumped into the walls of the corridor several times, and had even tripped over his own feet in the darkness. He had even tried to return to the entrance of the path, but to no avail. He was utterly lost in the darkness.
"Don't worry, you're not going in circles." Francis froze in his tracks, fingering the eight-inch blade holstered on his chest. The voice spoke again, "if you were I would've told you". Francis could tell that English was definitely not the speaker's first language. He pronounced the language with a floppy, thick tongue. Francis, drawing his blade, asked, "Where are you? Why don't you show yourself?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot that humans can't see in the dark." A torch-light emerged from the darkness, as if produced out of thin air. "Is that better?"
Francis stared in awe at the creature before him. Barely two and a half feet tall, the man in front of him had a stout stature, and a braided beard that wrapped several times around both shoulders and neck before dragging on the ground behind him. His fire-orange hair gleamed from the torch he held in his right hand, and in his left, a jewel-studded hammer was grasped at the top of the neck. Francis stared, jaw agape, at the creature before him.
"I don't believe it." Francis swallowed, "a DWARF!"