A punishment, a binding. A deep channel flows through the center of this long, endless chamber. Black liquid floats stagnantly within, but an irregularity interrupts the stream. The channel becomes a pool, a few feet across. The long dead corpse of a wretch stares up at you with its cold gaze. Chains still hold the beast to the one time place of its imprisonment, a captive even in death. It is not wise to cross the Dark Lords, it would seem. The chamber is open, huge; the floor is far below the surface of the land, and the chamber is expansive. The floor is littered with charred remains, flakes of stone, cracked pieces of dull rock. Puddles of sticky film are spotted about, dark splotches on dark rock. The channel, cut into the ground, extends to your east and west. To the southwest, a fiery glow reflects upon the strands of gossamer that cloak the entire chamber. An unsettling feeling takes you as you search the room with your gaze, as if someone, or something, watches you. A chill runs up your spine as a hollow scream of agony, of utmost despair echoes in your mind. Only after you stop shivering do you begin to realize that there had been no sound. A need to leave this place begins to overwhelm you.