Pog stumbled back into the fort, weary from his long journey. Far had he travelled, much he had seen. He had tred the flagstones of the dreaded Doom dungeon
near the dark city of Umbra. Flitting through the shadows, keeping hidden from sight, he had slid through passages and along the walls witnessing the
cavortings of dead flesh animated and hostile. Safe he was, unseen by undead eyes. Until he stumbled into a dark room. The door locked behind him and a
noxious green gas billowed out into the room. Dark figures appeared and, as if able to see him clearly, stalked him as he choked.
Much that happened after is a mystery to him. Recollections of pain and a grey light are all he has. Except for one thing, his whole experience could have been a dream. But Pog has proof of his trials. He knows he met something more powerful than him.
And they stole his pants. THEY STOLE HIS PANTS!
Much that happened after is a mystery to him. Recollections of pain and a grey light are all he has. Except for one thing, his whole experience could have been a dream. But Pog has proof of his trials. He knows he met something more powerful than him.
And they stole his pants. THEY STOLE HIS PANTS!
