Arrival

Through the opening and into the darkness beyond, the PCs go. Blackness and heat are all that fill the doorway, a vast yawning emptiness, frightening in its immensity. The smell of sulfur fills their nostrils.

Suddenly there is solid ground beneath their feet. They can’t say whether they’d landed or that they’ve hit bottom. The ground is just there beneath them. They do not collapse from impact. There is no jolt or shock to the knees or spine. It is as if the ground had always been there all the time, and they had only just become aware of it. The darkness is so thick that the PCs can barely see their own hands, let alone their feet beneath them.

They appear to be in a cavern on the edge of a vast underground lake, its distant rock walls gleaming with a black sheen like coal or wet obsidian. The ceiling is far enough above that it dissolves into a murky haze—not quite clouds, nor mists either—a veil over a weak source of light that casts this world into perpetual gloom. A large quiet lake would be reason for peace, but peace is far from them ever since they entered the Dungeon.

When was the last time you heard the gentle song of birds and swaying trees in the wind? All you’ve seen now is the silence and the stench of evil and death.

Sweat begins to trickle into their eyes, eyes that only see blackness. The source of the heat is in the far distance, a green glow and the barest hint of flames. Their footsteps make no sound, yet the ground seems completely solid.

Slowly in the distance the green light begins to grow. It is reassuring at first, but the faint

green glow with a tinge of orange gives the already sinister environment an even deeper feeling of dread. If they call out, the light seems to pulse as if in response, but still the silence remains.

As they walk, the orange glow slowly stretches out towards them across the vast dark expanse. Plainly now they can see the flames that leap soaring and crackling into the air. A hot wind that stinks of sulfur blows upon their faces and whips their garments.

It stings their eyes and rushes into their noses, and then a terrible din drifts to them in the distance.

It is like the noise of a crowd in an auditorium, a thousand voices, a thousand different pitches and tones of agony. Sardonic laughter comes from the darkness. They are human voices, but they also sound as if they are coming from animals also in some of those exclamations: wordless expressions of desperation, pathetic whines of anxiety and tortured snarls of anger that isn’t mere animal rage but expresses a bitter, brooding resentment suggestive of emotions that come only with intelligence.

It is the sound of many voices, bellowing, shrieking, wailing, begging, moaning, sobbing. The noises go on and on. At each moment a thousand voices fall silent or shout themselves hoarse, and a thousand new voices, shrill and deep, break from soft weeping into loud screams. The sheer number of those crying out is overwhelming.