They marched onwards, their pace determined and unafraid as the dungeon's darkness enveloped around them. Born here, there was no need for lanterns or torchlight. Their eyes had adapted to the darkness, and in the phantasm witnessed the gleam of liquid. Cthuhlu wordlessly followed the gleaming vein that cut through the stone with Daoloth and Istasha in tow. They flanked his hinds, marching not unlike soldiers. At their hooves the dark liquid slithered through passages, leading them down windi...

"You're awfully chipper today, Hastur..." Istasha's voice was saccharine and husky as she inched into the King of Yellow's space. While she preferred the Dread One, there was something about this deranged creature that she also found appealing. It was simple really. They both showcased different executions of power, authority, and danger. Whereas Cthuhlu in her experience often left her toeing the lines of an eternal blackness, Hastur tempted her with images of pure gold. A kingdom completely...

          Why Istasha had actually come down into these depths at the rumor of another dungeon born was beyond her. Though, Cthuhlu hadn't made an effort to return to the upper levels. Rather, when she found them here with that Fetch, they were determined to remain and locate the spawn of a ritual circle.           "Ritual circle?" She had asked, dark eyes squinting towards her fellow dungeonborne before they panned toward the other figure dusted in silver. They seemed just a...

Cthuhlu stared at Istasha, their chartreuse eyes dancing along her feminine figure. She knew very well what she was doing, the minx. She always knew. Out of everything that ventured into or was born from the dungeon Istasha was the one other living being they could tolerate. Whether it was the alluring shape of her body, her magnetic charm, or the fact he somehow felt the loneliness plagued on lowborn Coursers, Cthuhlu didn't know - and refused to allow the final to be the answer. His tail of...

If there is anything to know about the particular group of dungeonborne that Istasha hails from, it is that this place is theirs. Any dispute of ownership is met by their own type of indifference. Hers? A laugh in the face, one that is somehow sultry, luring, and mocking. And this belief isn't a hidden one, no. Istasha's very gait through the dungeons showcases her familiarity and fully believed command over them. Each stride is regal, for a creature whose never seen the sun. Every a...

        Vines weaved and whorled around one another, constricting the passage ahead so that Istasha's shoulders were forced to brush against their gnarled exterior. Their invasive leaves slipped and tickled her sides so often that she'd grown numb to the sensations altogether. A stoic expression painted itself across her speckled face, her grey eyes focused on moving forward rather than allowing the roots and vegetation to claim her. She didn't appreciate these higher levels of the depths...