Most dungeon adventurers hope to come back with overflowing chests of gold, ancient artifacts that could sell for castles worth of coin, magic scrolls that could divine foals out of thin air. Riches and fame that come with tales to match the bounty, to make it worth the dents in the armor to make it down that deep. But the hard-found truth of it all, is that it’s really, really…. Messy.  ...

The heat of the Earthen Furnace wrapped around Einarr like a relentless vise, pressing against his dark coat, seeping through the steel and leather of his semi-heavy barding, and suffocating every breath he took. Each inhale was a battle, the thick air coating his lungs in the bitter stench of sulfur, burning his throat like embers scraping along his windpipe. His muscles strained beneath the weight of the heat, a constant oppressive force that seemed to pull at his limbs as if trying to drag...

The heat pressed against Einarr’s flanks, fierce and unrelenting, like the breath of a beast stalking him through the sweltering corridors of the Earthen Furnace. He had long since learned to ignore discomfort, but here, it was impossible to escape it. The air was thick, weighed down by the sharp, choking stench of sulfur, each inhale a struggle. It was as if the dungeon itself was alive, its dark, molten belly gnashing its teeth, waiting for the foolish to stumb...