[Intro] [A thick, rumbling sub-bass line creeps in, coated in heavy vinyl hiss] [A slow, echoing strike of an iron pickaxe establishes a dragging 82 bpm groove] [Male Vocal - Hushed, languid, muttered close to the microphone] ...Trapped. Deep. The stone is sick. The mountain breathes. Listen to the rock. [Verse 1] [A gritty, slow breakbeat drops in beneath the pickaxe strikes] [Male Vocal - Verbose, deeply rhythmic, almost conversational] Dulcimer pushing through the bedrock and dust. Building an empire of iron and trust. The Halls of Charr echoing with hammer and strike. Uncovering a darkness that the miners didn't like. A fungal anomaly, a sickness in the lung. Leaving every warning in the cavern unsung. The workers are dropping in the shadow of the bloom. Coughing up the aggregate inside a rocky tomb. But the mad king demands they continue to drill. Dictating the slaughter from a throne on the hill. He ignores the collapse and ignores the decay. Washing the lives of his people away. ...Trapped. Deep. [Chorus] [The bassline thickens into a cavernous, overwhelming hum] [Female Vocal - Soaring, ethereal, and deeply mournful, drenched in reverb] Breathe in the dust, swallow the spore. There is no escaping the cavernous floor. The shadows are creeping, the air is too thick. The roots of the mountain are violently sick. (Don't breathe) The vapor is rising. (Don't breathe) The darkness is finalizing. [Verse 2] [Beat strips back to just the kick drum, bass, and echoing water drips] [Male Vocal - Flow speeds up slightly, slick and paranoid] Queen Perisha slipping down the corridor of stone. Plotting how to make King Dulcimer rot upon his throne. She finds the alchemist hiding in the lab. Trading her seduction for a microscopic stab. She wants the extraction of the fungal disease. A weaponized fluid bringing giants to their knees. He tells her the dosage, a miserable threat. One drop and King's brain is a compliant and yet. Two drops will render him entirely deceased. A quiet execution for the belly of the beast. She takes the vial with a sinister grin. Ready for the end of the reign to begin. ...Trapped. Deep. [Chorus] [Full atmospheric density returns, sweeping and vast] [Female Vocal - Soaring, ethereal, pushing the upper register] Breathe in the dust, swallow the spore. There is no escaping the cavernous floor. The shadows are creeping, the air is too thick. The roots of the mountain are violently sick. (Don't breathe) The vapor is rising. (Don't breathe) The darkness is finalizing. [Bridge] [Male and Female voices alternate and overlap] [Male] The royal guard turns. The blades come down. [Female] (A bloody rebellion for a subterranean crown) [Male] The king is slain. She runs from the horde. [Female] (Escaping the justice of a heavy iron sword) [Male] Down the secret stairwell, hiding in the black. [Female] (But she forgot the key and she is never going back) [Both] Sealed in the dark. The dwarves shut the grate. Leaving the queen to a suffocating fate. [Music breaks down into chaotic, swirling analog delay and vinyl hiss] [Verse 3] [The beat slams back in, harsher and more industrial] [Male Vocal - Rapid, urgent, whispering intensity] The excavation shatters, the foundation gives way. A massive collapsing of the subterranean day. A cloud of the sickness pushes straight into the hall. A suffocating blanket covering it all. It seeps through the cracks of the stairwell door. Finding Queen Perisha dying slowly on the floor. She gasps for the oxygen, breathing in the rot. A desperate survivor taking everything she got. But the spore takes a hold of the marrow and the spine. Twisting her biology into a dark design. Undead and breathing in the center of the deep. Waking from an agonizing, unrelenting sleep. ...Trapped. Deep. [Chorus] [Maximum instrumental density, the female vocal wails over the chaos] [Female Vocal - Belting with absolute, unrestrained sorrow] Breathe in the dust, swallow the spore. There is no escaping the cavernous floor. The shadows are creeping, the air is too thick. The roots of the mountain are violently sick. [Outro] [Instruments drop out one by one until only the heavy vinyl crackle remains] [Male Vocal - Muttered, dry] The dwarves abandoned the halls. The fungus took the room. But if you stand by the throne... [A rhythmic, unsettling scratching sound effect starts panning left and right] Listen to the stairs. She wants out. ...Trapped. Deep. [Scratching stops abruptly] [Silence]
