At its heart lies the central hall, a vast chamber dominated by a grotesque mosaic of the jackal-faced goddess herself, laid into the floor with tarnished gold and black stone. Bloodstains, both old and fresh, streak across the tiles — offerings made in desperate devotion. The outer halls crumble into jagged tunnels, leading to chambers of torment and madness: pens filled with half-born abominations, ritual pits slick with gore, and alcoves where the walls seem to pulse like living flesh.
A small sanctum to the east holds a still pool, its water dark as oil, used by cultists to glimpse the nightmares that dwell beyond mortal thought. Bones and broken idols litter the shrine’s outskirts, reminders of those who came seeking favor — and found only transformation.
In Rise of the Runelords, Lamashtu’s Shrine stands as a monument to corruption and chaos — a place where divinity bleeds into monstrosity, and faith demands a terrible price.
