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- From whence this dungeon, this thousand chambered heart most venerable? What vicious tentacles fashioned its fastness, what sordid courts designed its whole? Rumors hold that a dedicated corps of militant ratmen labored furiously under the lash of the Student of Drowning to create these caverns, but none know for sure. Conjecture, after all, is but one step from lies.
Regardless. This is what is known:
A month ago a hand centaur led its dog-people in through the secret entrance located midway down the cliff that beetles out over the town of Skipwater, quickly conquering the First Descent, driving before him the crow-headed creaturess that had called those indifferent declevities their home. Even now its creatures despoil the limestone halls, and beatify the banner (as emblem) in a circle inscribed above every portal, tearing up the Magically Treated Platinum mosaics depicting crossed bones.
It thinks itself the master of this chasm, but unbeknownst to it the Monk of Nine Shadows has resided on a secret twilight level to the Southwest for the last virginal raptures. Driven into hiding there following its inability to conquer the Star Sapphire Judge, 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 consecrated? What despairing tentacles fashioned its fastness, what vicious dreams designed its whole? Rumors hold that an insightful necromancer did force his forsaken mistress to work through her unlife to carve forth this pit, but none know for sure. Conjecture, after all, is but one step from lies.
Regardless. This is what is known:
Three days ago a half-orc female fighter led its newtmen in through the secret entrance that is itself hidden within another dungeon (that infamous chthonic realm where the Catchpoll of Bile did once hold his reign of terror), quickly conquering the Tsar's Principle of Sorrow, though five pedantic Principles defy it still. Even now its creatures despoil the soapstone halls, and deify the sun shape (spiked circle) inscribed above every portal, tearing up the Adamantine mosaics depicting an illithid head.
It thinks itself the master of this labyrinth, but unbeknownst to it the Warlock of The Desert Waste has resided on a secret overlapping level to the North for the last nine seasons. 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 hole most delving? What base forces fashioned its fastness, what inchoate souls designed its whole? Rumors hold that a dedicated corps of militant lizardfolk labored furiously under the lash of the Missionary of Hateful to create 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 troll led its cannibal halflings in through the secret entrance located beneath the ruined sinister farm, paying no heed to the legend of the horse witch said to guard its lower levels. Instead, resolute it delved deeper, 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 curse the triangle inscribed above every portal, tearing up the Magically Treated Gold mosaics depicting a screaming man.
It thinks itself the master of this complex, but unbeknownst to it the Installator of Fear has resided on a secret imaginary level to the Northwest for the last seventeen months. Driven into hiding there after its shocking defeat at the hands of St. Melanius the Matchless, 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 shameful? What abject epochs fashioned its fastness, what delving hopes designed its whole? Rumors hold that an generous heresiarch did bend the rules of night to fashion these halls , but none know for sure. Conjecture, after all, is but one step from lies.
Regardless. This is what is known:
A week ago a hyena-like humanoid led its goblinoids in through the secret entrance hidden within the ocular cavity of the titanic statue of a cat, quickly conquering the Ornithologist's Heartless, braving the myriad flights of bone that did assay it even as it struck them down, indifferent to their miserable age. Even now its creatures despoil the granite halls, and deify the six-pointed star inscribed above every portal, tearing up the Darksteel mosaics depicting a floating orb with eyestalks.
It thinks itself the master of this hole, but unbeknownst to it the Inquisitor of Claws has resided on a secret sixth level to the East for the last seventeen months. 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 warren most wretched? What inviolate claws fashioned its fastness, what delirious might designed its whole? Rumors hold that the Pentarch of The Unholy did desire a bastion within which to brood, and so ordained the creation of this pit, but none know for sure. Conjecture, after all, is but one step from lies.
Regardless. This is what is known:
Three days ago a stone golem led its goblinoids in through the secret entrance that appears when you march backwards down the gullet of a crawling claw, (or so it is said), quickly conquering the slate area between the Chamber of Whispered Omens and the Hall of All Diseases. Even now its creatures despoil the granite halls, and bless the shield shape inscribed above every portal, tearing up the Blended Quartz mosaics depicting a tempting succubus.
It thinks itself the master of this labyrinth, but unbeknownst to it the Chosen One of The Lunacies has resided on a secret imaginary level to the North for the last five upheavals. 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.