On Living in a Dungeon

What it is like to live in a dungeon?

You are not a member of men, or creatures like them. You were ostracized for your appearance, behavior or urges. They crawl along the surface, endless in numbers and their hate and their judgement.

You are not a creature of sorcery, a goblin made from mud and sticks and hate, or a flaming horse, bringer of nightmares. You have no tribe or clan.

You have found sanctuary. Beneath the earth there are no men to chase you or judge you with their endless talking. There is calm and peace and quiet.

But you are not alone. There are cowardly tribes of beast-men who fear you because you are strange and different. You fill the ignorance of their minds with terror and fear and they grant you a wide berth. You know further on lair worse creatures, even worse than you, though rarely do they come close to your abode.

You hear the yells, screams, and cries of your neighbors. You hear the sounds of the animals that live in the abandoned northern halls. You hear the screams of a victim as he is tortured by the beastmen. You hear his screams stop, their fun exhausted for the evening.

Your home is your sanctuary, the sounds cannot harm it. You are safe within it. You nod or glare at your neighbor, those who hate you or fear you. You walk by if you meet them in the hall, studiously ignoring or glaring threateningly depending on the one you meet.

And the best part of your sanctuary between the sky and the earth, underground, safe, in the cool, dark?

Your food comes to you.

Hack & Slash 
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