Narrow tunnels snake like rotting veins through the earth, their walls slick with damp and the stench of decay. Crude support beams groan beneath the weight of the city above, while foul water pools in uneven hollows, reflecting the flicker of dim lanterns and half-spent torches. The heavy air is thick with the mingled scents of blood, rot, and old death.
But worse than the decay are the things that dwell here.
Grotesque experiments shuffle through shadowed chambers, abominations of flesh and bone shaped by twisted hands. Butchers' tables stand slick with fresh gore, while crude operating tools lie scattered beside incomplete horrors. Here, the boundaries between life and death blur, and the price of forbidden knowledge is paid in blood and screams.
The Dead Warrens offers Dungeon Masters a nightmarish stage for grisly horror, desperate rescue missions, and deadly confrontations with those who would defy the natural order. In these suffocating tunnels, the living are little more than raw material — and mercy is a foreign word.
