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- From whence this dungeon, this collection of tunnels and chambers most desolate? What miserable courts fashioned its fastness, what delving hopes designed its whole? Rumors hold that the Shepherd of One Thousand Lunacies did desire a bastion within which to brood, and so ordained the creation of this complex, but none know for sure. Conjecture, after all, is but one step from lies.
Regardless. This is what is known:
Two months ago a group of disturbing ravens led its huge humanoids in through the secret entrance that is itself hidden within another dungeon (that infamous chthonic realm where the Runemaster of Starvation did once hold his reign of terror), 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 obsidian halls, and beatify the octagon inscribed above every portal, tearing up the Darksteel mosaics depicting an illithid head.
It thinks itself the master of this hole, but unbeknownst to it the Councilor of Starvation has resided on a secret sixth level to the Northwest for the last decade. Driven into hiding there after consuming far, far too much Malt 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 chasm most inchoate? What debauched yearnings fashioned its fastness, what degenerate tentacles designed its whole? Rumors hold that a drifting god, driven half mad by eternity, did dream forth this interconnected dream, but none know for sure. Conjecture, after all, is but one step from lies.
Regardless. This is what is known:
Three days ago a goblinoid female barbarian led its ratmen in through the secret entrance behind the thundering Keenthane Criserla Falls that cascade down the Western cliff face, quickly conquering the obsidian area between the Chamber of Circus and the Hall of The Maggots. Even now its creatures despoil the slate halls, and beatify the set of concentric circles inscribed above every portal, tearing up the Magically Treated Copper mosaics depicting a floating orb with eyestalks.
It thinks itself the master of this hole, but unbeknownst to it the Lorekeeper of Eye Plucked has resided on a secret imaginary level to the Northeast for the last seventeen months. Driven into hiding there after a catastrophic collapse of its belief systems, 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 chthonic realm most convoluted? What debauched powers fashioned its fastness, what sacramental dreams designed its whole? Rumors hold that the Foreman of Claws did desire a bastion within which to brood, and so ordained the creation of this interconnected dream, but none know for sure. Conjecture, after all, is but one step from lies.
Regardless. This is what is known:
Seventeen days ago a wraith led its orcs in through the secret entrance within the fractal web of the Emerald St. Amaswinthus the Heroic, 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 granite halls, and desecrate the eight-pointed star in a shield inscribed above every portal, tearing up the Magically Treated Gold mosaics depicting a griffon.
It thinks itself the master of this complex, but unbeknownst to it the Initiate of All Maladies has resided on a secret eighth level to the Southeast for the last blink of the a frost worm (or purple worm)'s eye. Driven into hiding there following the Battle of the sixth wool Graves, 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 halls most sacramental? What convoluted desires fashioned its fastness, what wretched magics designed its whole? Rumors hold that a drifting god, driven half mad by eternity, did dream forth this collection of tunnels and chambers, but none know for sure. Conjecture, after all, is but one step from lies.
Regardless. This is what is known:
Two moons ago a leopardman led its goblinoids in through the secret entrance behind the thundering Leodegus Kellos Falls that cascade down the Western cliff face, 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 white marble halls, and enrage the set of concentric circles inscribed above every portal, tearing up the Mithril mosaics depicting a skeleton.
It thinks itself the master of this chthonic realm, but unbeknownst to it the Wizard of Hateful has resided on a secret eighth level to the Northwest for the last decade. Driven into hiding there following the Battle of the overlapping wool Boneyard, 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 interconnected dream most filthy? What despairing dreams fashioned its fastness, what shameful might designed its whole? Rumors hold that the Preparator of Gore Ghosts did desire a bastion within which to brood, and so ordained the creation of this nightmare, but none know for sure. Conjecture, after all, is but one step from lies.
Regardless. This is what is known:
A week ago a lamia led its giant crocodilemen in through the secret entrance located beneath the ruined temple, paying no heed to the legend of the sheep cthuloid demon said to guard its lower levels. Instead, resolute it delved deeper, quickly conquering the Provost's Principle of The Damned, though five sadistic Principles defy it still. Even now its creatures despoil the granite halls, and desecrate the five-pointed star inscribed above every portal, tearing up the Mithral mosaics depicting a skull encased in flame.
It thinks itself the master of this pit, but unbeknownst to it the Architect of The Long Cold has resided on a secret eighth 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.