When the biomancer at last regained his consciousness, he found himself sprawled out on the floor of a dank, musty room. On second thought, 'room' was a bit of an overstatement—the place far more closely resembled a giant paper tent stuck to what he guessed was a tree trunk. Despite being decently-sized, this chamber, dominated by alien structures and contraptions that groaned and hissed, felt intensely claustrophobic. In fact, if not for the biomancer's years amid a huge variety of nature's most extraordinary smells, he may have been nauseous. A quick look around confirmed that, for the time being, he was alone in this place. After brushing some muck from his robe, he rose to his feet and, thinking to distract himself from the stomach-churning stench, took a few steps to the nearest large object to examine it. Though the lighting was none too good, made even more so by a thick vapor in the air, he swiftly discovered that the printing press-sized object was no conventional contraption.

It appeared to be a large, sludge-colored gumdrop, anchored to the floor by a net of tendrils. From its upper hemisphere sprouted an array of prongs, like a spiked turtle's shell. When the biomancer ran a hand along its surface, the whole thing shuddered and groaned, prompting him to reel back in equal parts surprise and disgust. As he watched, one of the prongs grew from the main body outward, extending around six feet, making a pole. Stunned by the ordeal, the biomancer's mouth hung open. He was forced to retreat another step when Clotho descended from the foggy darkness near the chamber's ceiling and landed by the producer. As her wings folded into their standard cloak-and-hood position, the biomancer adopted an air of confidence and indifference to the incredible oddity of his surroundings. “Lady -if you don't mind me callin' you that- you gotta stop droppin' in like that. This whole mess already got me on my toes, but this creepy flying business ain't helpin'.”

In response, Clotho gripped the pole and yanked, revealing the outcropping to be an organic spear, ready-made for use. She turned it over in her clawed hands as she advanced forward slowly. The biomancer held his ground. “This is my Living Foundry,” she decreed, ignoring what her guest previously said. “In here we grow and harvest weapons. Just shields and spears so far, but the potential is nearly endless. One day, I envision production of specialized chitins that can be manually remodeled into armor without parallel.” Though the biomancer obviously wanted to chip in his own two cents, Clotho encouraged his silence by flourishing the spear before jamming it into the ground with some force. “Why did you and your comrades come to my home and try to destroy it?”
All the humor vanished from the biomancer's voice. “You snuffed some of ours. Or so we think. But you match Tharisse's description pretty well.”
Clotho shrugged. Her guest continued, emboldened by her lack of aggressive response. He knew she wanted information from him, which made him valuable...at least for now. “I'm also guessin' you know somethin' 'bout the Biosphere Stone.”

The Swarm Keeper tilted her head slightly and held up her left forearm, where the viridian amber she had plucked from the lead biomancer's talisman pulsed with green light. “Guilty. And I think I'll be keeping this one. Gives me a special edge.” To enunciate her point, the Stinger slid out of its hole with a low-pitched click. “Now, tell me things I don't know.”

For this, the biomancer was already mentally prepared. A mocking undertone crept into his voice as he rattled off, “Let's see, my name is Jase and I'm from Virens. 'Stead of winter and summer, Virens goes through wet and dry seasons. There's no way in hell you're messin' with it again...” At this, Clotho smirked, but didn't interrupt, “you're creepy, but hey, maybe you already knew that, and the Biomancer's Guild also does marriages. And divorces. Got everything?”
“What makes you think I won't be able to do what I please with Virens? You lot weren't exactly a challenge.”
Jase folded his arms, bedecked with a deep frown. “That was just a posse, with no popular support or financial backin' and only rumors of a single organization to go off of. You've poked the hornet's nest, sister. Virens has over 200,000 people in the city proper, not the picnic your ant men had with our posse. Take a step toward Virens as anything more than a cat burlar and you're goin' down like a roach under my boot.”

Clotho's brow furrowed in response. “You're a brave one,” she spat. “Confidence in the face of danger can be admired, but you just made a mistake. Hold still...!” Faster than Jase could move to protect himself, Clotho buried her stinger in his chest. “This hasn't been tested a lot. I'm anxious to see what the stuff can do when I'm not meddling with it.” Jase reeled back, in substantial pain, clawing at the gash in his pectoral. Apparently he surmised that he had simply been poisoned, so when his body began to visibly change shape, he was truly horrified. Any dignity he held melted at the sight of his own skin turning into a rigid, crimson, pimpled leather. As his torso swelled up into a shapeless mass, his back erupted into a mess of thorny tendrils that rooted him to the nearest surface, which turned out to be the exposed trunk of the King Tree. Three of his limbs became thick, sinewy tentacles, studded with teeth, that lashed around wildly. His last, the right arm, grew larger, and the fingers hardened and separated into short, insectoid digits. Jase's screaming ceased as his head disfigured into a vertical maw, lined with thorns. Lastly, the center of his torso erupted into a nasty yellow flower with a giant, bloodshot eye at its center.

If Clotho had still been human, she might have vomited. The scene was gruesome and disturbing -even from her own twisted perspective- though fascinating nonetheless. What intrigued her even more was the fact that this abomination was still alive, judging by its lolling eye. In a flash she drew her rapier and punctured the eye, quickly bringing death to the mutant. After turning away from the nightmare-inducing corpse, she carefully retracted her Stinger. Perhaps there were better ways to corrupt a living being than reconstitution at random. Still, more pressing matter existed. Securing the Dungeon for defense against future attacks was a must, and the grisly creature she had created inspired her somewhat. She flew from the Living Foundry to the Heart.

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0/3 security measure
Location: Dungeon
Dungeon: Jungle north of Saploya River, N16°W12° An incomplete and unfurnished yet vast hive spanning the length, width, and height of a massive, ancient tree in the jungle. The hive itself is constructed of a magically-created liquid that expands and hardens into a stiff, paperlike substance upon exposure to air. The main body of the hive is suspended by countless support struts that reach for hundreds of feet in every direction. The Dungeon Heart is situated at the very top of the tree. Currently has: Dungeon Heart, Myrmidon Spawner. Living Foundry, Apothecary
Forces: 24 Drone Imps, 54 Myrmidons, imp construct Scutra
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