Ducksauce & the Venomous Goozes of the Wailing Caverns

The noxious slime that drips from the walls and ceilings is not a natural occurrence of the underground rivers far beneath the entrance to the Wailing Caverns but a warning to all those that dare delve into the darkness within. A warning slathered about by the venomous goozes deep inside. At least so says the old crone babbling to himself in the corner of the Boddington Tavern. Babbles which Ducksauce happened to hear while speed shooting a flagon of the local pub ale. Babbles which any normal barfly might consider crazy and more looney than the toothless bum spewing them. Babbles which Ducksauce took as a challenge...

The titled wails of the caverns are not gusts of trapped wind echoing off the walls but the death rattles of a thousand unlucky travelers finally escaping the mouth of this snaking deathtrap. At least that was the gist of what Ducksauce read from the plethora of signs and warnings staked about the gaping pit that is the doorway to the caverns below. With nay but a battle-worn axe and a hastened leap into the inky blackness he disappeared.

About a year later a young boy claims he saw a man wielding an axe emerge from a waterfall near a farming town about three villages to the east of the Wailing Caverns. A waterfall and water source that many months earlier had turned a viscus green hue and began to spout demonic spiked-bones and skulls. The farmers of the town feared the water lost to foul and evil magicks. However, after the man emerged, the water began to run clear once more and not-so-much as a whimper was heard from the caverns. The man disappeared into the forest and was never seen again.

The goozes of the caverns would consume any who neared their blind halls. Attracted to the heat of one's body these blobs would appear from all corners of the darkness. They would take in flesh, bone, leather, and steel and not a single item would be left behind. The only evidence that they had ever been there were the screams of terror left hanging in the air, trapped in the pitch black mazes of the dark dank earth. He dined on that very same slime and bone dust that would eat and eat all else until the earth shat him out. It is an arduous task to make and eat jello with just the spark of steel to wet stone to light your way. At least so says the old crone babbling to himself in the corner of the Boddington tavern...

Enjoy!