Lurch is a long-time dungeon dweller, at least as far back as he can remember. Occasionally, when his adventures close to the surface would grant glimmers of daylight projecting through cracks in the walls, he'd find himself curious of what surface life was like. 

His mother was quite superstitious. Their family had grown reliant on the protection these tunnels provided them as they were convinced any danger found here is nothing compared to the wilds above. Home was here; specifically home was a small alcove kept warm and dry by torchlight. Shelves lined with books and maps and gemstones decorate the place from floor to ceiling. 

Relic was no longer with him. She died not too long ago while traveling one of her most trusted routes in the dungeons. A reminder of the dangers of complacency. Lurch left everything exactly as it was. He could still feel her restless energy in this room as if it still expected her return. Disturbing it felt wrong - at least for now.