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- From whence this dungeon, this chthonic realm most inviolate? What encroaching might fashioned its fastness, what sacred tentacles designed its whole? Rumors hold that the Muse of Claws did desire a bastion within which to brood, and so ordained the creation of this subterranean expanse, but none know for sure. Conjecture, after all, is but one step from lies.
Regardless. This is what is known:
Thirty seven days ago a lizardperson led its dog-people in through the secret entrance long hidden within the home of the Catchpoll of The River of Sorrow (that infamous medusa long dead now, though that fact is known to few), quickly conquering the first three chambers of Desolation, though it is said it lost over half its men when it failed to answer the Aurorum fox's riddle. Even now its creatures despoil the granite halls, and bless the teardrop shape inscribed above every portal, tearing up the Magically Treated Gold mosaics depicting a grinning imp face.
It thinks itself the master of this cavern, but unbeknownst to it the Man-at-Arms of The Burning has resided on a secret twilight level to the Southwest for the last nine seasons. Driven into hiding there after consuming far, far too much Pilsner Ale, it has licked its wounds and passed the crumbling hours plotting its revenge, and over time come to think of the entirety of the dungeon as its demesne.
Direct conflict draws nigh. - From whence this dungeon, this labyrinth most pure? What sacramental yearnings fashioned its fastness, what debauched might designed its whole? Rumors hold that the Prefect of Succulent Pets did desire a bastion within which to brood, and so ordained the creation of these caverns, but none know for sure. Conjecture, after all, is but one step from lies.
Regardless. This is what is known:
Two months ago a hobgoblin led its orcs in through the secret entrance behind the thundering Connah Lardreson Falls that cascade down the Southeastern cliff face, quickly conquering the first three levels, though the boundaries between each is as palpable as the divisions between dreams. Even now its creatures despoil the soapstone halls, and violate the eight-pointed star in a shield inscribed above every portal, tearing up the Mithril mosaics depicting a skull encased in flame.
It thinks itself the master of this chthonic realm, but unbeknownst to it the Beggar of Skinbag has resided on a secret imaginary level to the Northeast for the last three degenerations. Driven into hiding there following its inability to conquer the Ruby Diplomat, it has licked its wounds and passed the crumbling hours plotting its revenge, and over time come to think of the entirety of the dungeon as its demesne.
Direct conflict draws nigh. - From whence this dungeon, these caverns most abject? What delirious desires fashioned its fastness, what shameful yearnings designed its whole? Rumors hold that an insightful necromancer did force his forsaken mistress to work through her unlife to carve forth this chthonic realm, but none know for sure. Conjecture, after all, is but one step from lies.
Regardless. This is what is known:
A month ago a witch led its stork-like humanoids in through the secret entrance that appears when you march backwards down the gullet of a yellow musk creeper zombie, (or so it is said), quickly conquering the slate area between the Chamber of The Verminous Stables and the Hall of Fear. Even now its creatures despoil the onyx halls, and deify the banner (as emblem) inscribed above every portal, tearing up the Adamantium mosaics depicting an umber hulk head.
It thinks itself the master of this warren, but unbeknownst to it the Virgin of One Thousand Mutilations has resided on a secret twilight level to the Southeast for the last seven years. Driven into hiding there when it could no longer tolerate the excrable foolishness and tepidity of the creatures about it, it has licked its wounds and passed the crumbling hours plotting its revenge, and over time come to think of the entirety of the dungeon as its demesne.
Direct conflict draws nigh. - From whence this dungeon, this complex most sacramental? What numinous minds fashioned its fastness, what cherished conjurings designed its whole? Rumors hold that the Factotum of The Desert Waste did desire a bastion within which to brood, and so ordained the creation of these halls , but none know for sure. Conjecture, after all, is but one step from lies.
Regardless. This is what is known:
Seventeen days ago a gibbering mouther led its cannibal halflings in through the secret entrance located beneath the ruined vivisection chamber, paying no heed to the legend of the shark wraith said to guard its lower levels. Instead, resolute it delved deeper, quickly conquering the Tripartite Hall and its subsidiary slate chambers, each a perfect sphere. Even now its creatures despoil the onyx halls, and deify the star in a square inscribed above every portal, tearing up the Magically Treated Copper mosaics depicting a tempting succubus.
It thinks itself the master of this chthonic realm, but unbeknownst to it the Daimyo of The Desert Waste has resided on a secret eighth level to the North for the last five upheavals. Driven into hiding there after its shocking defeat at the hands of St. Amo the Divine, it has licked its wounds and passed the crumbling hours plotting its revenge, and over time come to think of the entirety of the dungeon as its demesne.
Direct conflict draws nigh. - From whence this dungeon, this nightmare most cherished? What vile might fashioned its fastness, what debauched claws designed its whole? Rumors hold that an effusive necromancer did force his forsaken mistress to work through her unlife to carve forth this chasm, but none know for sure. Conjecture, after all, is but one step from lies.
Regardless. This is what is known:
Two months ago a hobgoblin led its goat-headed warriors in through the secret entrance long hidden within the home of the Taleteller of Gore Ghosts (that infamous medusa long dead now, though that fact is known to few), quickly conquering the the interstices between the main chambers, such that it is now said to be one with the shadows and cracks, a master of two dimensions that now seeks ownership of all four. Even now its creatures despoil the slate halls, and enrage the set of concentric circles inscribed above every portal, tearing up the Mithral mosaics depicting a stylized dragon design.
It thinks itself the master of this chasm, but unbeknownst to it the Palatine of Jackals has resided on a secret interstitial level to the Southeast for the last nine seasons. Driven into hiding there after its shocking defeat at the hands of St. Daniel the Most Solemn, it has licked its wounds and passed the crumbling hours plotting its revenge, and over time come to think of the entirety of the dungeon as its demesne.
Direct conflict draws nigh.