Without warning pebbles and stalactites begin crashing to the ground, splintering into fractures of shrapnel. Hastur rears from one such spear of stone that lands just before him but rather than a cry of fear he shakes with a loud guffaw. Behind him, the smokey woad Terrence can only stare with a grimace, ears back and bright pink eyes glazed with confusion.

       "The hell is wrong with you?" The Ace asks, lurching from another collapsing bit of ceiling. Hastur simply spins in place, and the shining star celebrity of the guild is left with more questions. "Dude, are you dancing?"

       Hastur erupts with another fit of laughter, this one more controlled and precise so that its dramatics flare with the tremors behind their hooves. Hop to the right, pirouette, hop to the left, a double spin. "The dungeon is singing, how do you deny swinging?"

       Terrence only stares at the weld and madder painted lunatic he'd somehow got stuck with down here. How'd he always get stuck with those who fawned all over him or this? "You've got to be kidding me, man."

       Below their hooves, the rumble continues to grow until even the waltzing King in Yellow is forced to stand splay-hooved like a foal. The hardened shells of magma under their hooves buck and heaves. Both Coursers trip over themselves, stone, and leap out of the splash zone of burping lava. Over their heads the ceiling continues to cry stone and dust, a thin layer of each catching on Terrence's packs and Hastur's back. Even the local volcanic bats fled, all dungeon life either hiding or falling silent as the tremors shook the furnace with unbridled, natural fury. Finally, the shelf they'd been crossing bursts in the center. A massive column of magma leaps from the depths, arching overhead with drippings of searing hot lava akin to raindrops. Hastur is left leaping out of the way, not before a droplet burns his fetlock and a lock of weld hair. Whatever the thing was eventually came to an end, finishing the arch into the bowels of another lava pool to their right. Around them the dungeon begins to steady, the thunderous rumbling quiets, and after several more minutes the Furnace is as it always has been.

       Labored breaths heave from Terrence's lungs as he quickly assesses their situation. He'd managed to avoid any of the lava, obviously, and stood unscathed but shaken. On the other hand, the wild man he'd found wandering the precipice of the Caverns and Furnace was still chuckling despite his terrible wound.

       "We have to get you to the surface," Terrence commented, though made no approach - perhaps this fool's crazy was contagious.

       "A king refuses to leave his realm, as a bit of shake and shudder cannot overwhelm; they choose to stay and admire still, all that is this dungeon's will!" The words rise and fall with sing-song, Hastur, despite a serious favor to his hind, somehow still finds it in himself to bow deeply to Terrence. "The King in Yellow is not blind to bravery, to the man who shows no knavery; take my thanks and make haste, for what is a guild without their ace."

       "How..." A tilt of Terrence's head left him speechless, staring at Hastur who smiled back, unbothered. "Fine. Your funeral."