This description is for a story i'm making, and i'm going for dark and sinister, so I need a bit of constructive criticism, for more darkness and "Sinisteria" Ok, here goes The mines. Those deep, huge, dark ugly places. No man ever came out from the darkened tunnels. No light did shed in the cavernous, filthy vein chambers. Incessant hammering, it's all one ever heard. There were no shifts, only work till you dropped, carried off by the armpits by two Overseers. And the accidents. What they mined, a dark, opaque material, was no creation of the Earth. It was volatile, but not only that, it caused greed. Suffering. Death. Men who carried it secretly were lucky if they got whipped and had it taken from them. But they did whatever they could to keep it. It was the material's fault. It made them keep it. They kept it close to them, and after a while, the man changed. He stopped talking to those closest to them. His eyes, no matter what color they were or how bright, darkened to a deep, deep shade of red. Their faces became sallow, and their bones showed through their clothing. In the final stages, the man might be working, chipping at rock or lugging something, when he'd cry out. He'd drop to the ground, screaming, his hands at his face, clawing. After a short time, he'd collapse, breathing rapidly, spasming. Then he'd rear up again, retch and retch and retch, and some miners swear to have seen something dark come from the mouth, and then the man would drop, dead. He'd be thrown into one of the dangerous tunnels, and his corpse would never be seen again. After a period of ten years, a worker would be allowed out of the mines, his pockets full. As if anyone ever survived the first two years.