The collar pressed tightly around its neck, much to its irritation. For the creature was facing penance, a crime it did not commit. Accused of defacing the Great Atlas, it was stripped of its name and fettered to some dungeon – left to rot by its kin.

No longer was it known by its previous name, for it is now shunned – the Shunned. And all it could do was wait, wait for its death. It sat down, and entered the nadir of its existence, sullenly. But, its silence was disturbed. 

“Hark, Shunned creature of tarnished renown,” a faint voice echoed louder, and a rough crag rolled into view. From it, emerged two eyes – each glaring, with some form of curiosity. Strange indeed, this creature was no dungeonmaster, the Shunned could not sense the wanton sadism of those foul beasts in the gaze of this peculiar creature. 

And then, like an infant escaping a womb, more flesh bubbled to the surface. This was no golem – it was a mollusc!

“I am an ally to those Shunned creatures,” it continued, its osteopore rumbled with each word, “I can see it in that cavity of yours; a lacking of guilt.” It creeped towards the cage of the Shunned, and climbed atop the bars. 

“My presence is most caustic, name-stripped creature – escape while you can!” The cell’s bars bubbled into a putrescent sludge, and the snail slowly lumbered to the side. The Shunned stepped forth, into the cold and dark sepulcher. 

“I owe you my life,” the Shunned’s oral cavity undulated as it spoke. 

The dark catacombs had exits aplenty, to vomit forth the downpour of carcasses from its twisted halls; One of which, the Shunned seeked to exploit. It removed a torch from its stand and continued. While the ghostflame of this foul oubliette was cold and dim, it served as light nonetheless.  

The dungeon was poorly managed, the daemonic gluttons that sat atop its necrotic spires were far too busy gorging on maggots to bother quelling escapees. The Shunned, once a jailmaster itself, knew well of this place’s flaws. It evaded the decrepit golem-sentinels and used a great deal of strength to push open the flesh-coated hatch. 

Outside, the aerial nationstate of Heimdrome awaited, far above the clouds it floated as a series of rings – each orbiting the Great Atlas. The Shunned gazed for a long moment, and stepped down into the quarters below. 

It slipped past dangling chains, man-filled cages, and grim butcheries as the Shunned entered the district of the Butcher. A place most grim, where the dungeonmasters, skinflayers, and jailors convened after their shifts in the greatdungeon. Soon, the holographic displays showed a face, the face of the Shunned. This depiction demanded righteous execution, unjustly, of course. 

The Shunned hastened its step, or else would miss the metro. The greatdungeon had to get rid of the excess meat somehow, and it did this through exportation through gargantuan trains. One of which, the creature hoped to hitchhike upon. The Shunned clambered into a wagon – but something was wrong. The steel walls began to peel and flake, becoming more sarcous than steel. Jagged fangs erupted from the meaty walls of the wagon, and the cart compressed inwards towards the Shunned. In but an instant, this trap-train had consumed the escapee; for such an act of blasphemy against the Great Atlas was anticipated. Nothing will escape the Dungeon, after all. 

Yet another, beguiled by the Faith.