The Viscous Labyrinth
Location: Abyss / Layer 7—Kearackinin
The swamp stretches out before me, featureless and shimmering with an unnatural green glow that makes my scales itch. The Viscous Labyrinth—that trial whispered about the stories we are told as hatchlings, whispered in fear and reverence by every petitioner who dreams of Sess’innek’s favour. I have been chosen, marked by the shamans themselves, to prove my worth. The centre of the maze is there plain to see: an island of light, its treasures gleaming in the sickly light. But between me and it lies the shifting mire, a living expanse of quicksand that hungers for the unworthy. My heart pounds in my chest as I step forward, the first tendrils of muck curling around my claws.
The ground beneath me feels solid at first, but I know better than to trust it. The viscous labyrinth is alive—it watches, it waits. Each of my steps must be deliberate, each of my movements meaningful. The sibilant whispers begin almost immediately, rising from the muck like steam: “Turn back,” they hiss, soft and insidious. “You are not ready.” I grit my fangs and press on, ignoring the dark voices even as they grow louder, more personal. “I will fail,” one says in a voice that sounds like my own. “This is not my path.” My tail thrashes behind me as I force myself to move forward, but the ground shifts treacherously beneath me, and for a moment I feel myself sinking. Panic surges through me, but I remember the teachings: hesitation is death. With a snarl, I lunge forward onto firmer ground.
The centre looms closer now, but so does the storm above. The air crackles as green lightning arcs across the sky, striking down a vargouille that dared to take flight over the mire. Its charred head falls into the quicksand and vanishes without a trace. This labyrinth allows no shortcuts, the stories teach us this; there is only one way forward—through suffering and submission. My muscles ache with every step as the whispers grow louder, more insistent. They promise power if I turn back now; they offer safety if I kneel where I stand. But Sess’innek demands strength through suffering, and I will not falter. Not now.
At last, my claws touch solid ground and relief floods through me like cool waters. Before me lie treasures beyond imagining: a blade that flickers with Abyssal flames, an amulet that pulsates with ancient power, a tome that whispers secrets older than the swamp itself. My hand reaches out instinctively toward the sword—but then I stop myself. The words of the stories imprinted upon me as an eggling echo in my mind: “All must be offered to Sess’innek.” To take these treasures for myself would be heresy; to hesitate would be failure. Slowly, reverently, I kneel before the artifacts and bow my head in submission.
And then… nothing.
I wake with a start in a darkened chamber filled with incense and murmuring voices. My heart still races as though I were still in the labyrinth; my hands tremble as though they had just touched its treasures. But as my vision clears, I realise where I am: the Sensorium, in Sigil’s Civic Festhall. Around me are other factioneers lost in their own experiences—dreamers chasing sensations far beyond their reach.
The trial was not real—it was an experience, plucked from the memories of some long-dead petitioner who had walked Sess’innek’s path before me. Yet it felt real—so real that even now I can feel the muck pulling at my claws and hear the whispers at the edge of my mind. My guide approaches with a knowing smile and asks how it felt.
“Terrifying,” I whisper.
But deep down, another word lingers on my tongue: tempting.
The Viscous Labyrinth is a surreal expanse of sentient quicksand that shifts constantly, defying memory, reason, and for most who encounter it, survival. Unlike traditional mazes with walls, the Viscous Labyrinth is a flat, featureless marshland where the centre—an island of treasures—can be seen from any point along its edges. Yet the path to reach it is treacherous beyond imagining. The quicksand is alive, a gargantuan malicious ooze entity that senses hesitation and greed, shifting its currents to lure travellers into false safety before dragging them into watery oblivion. To make matters worse, the skies above are roiling with Abyssal storm clouds that unleash bolts of green lightning upon anyone foolish enough to try flying over the maze. There is no escape for cheaters; only those who walk the path with cunning and resolve may survive.
The labyrinth is not a natural hazard but a trial designed by Sess’innek himself, a test of strength, cunning, and submission for those seeking to prove their worthiness to become Lizard Kings. The dark is the quicksand does not kill indiscriminately—it judges. Those who tread recklessly are swallowed whole without mercy, while those who move with purpose and precision may find the ground beneath them strangely firm. The labyrinth whispers as you traverse it, faint sibilant voices rising from the muck to taunt or tempt you; they are deliberate traps meant to expose weakness or hesitation.
At the heart of the Viscous Labyrinth lies a patch of solid ground glowing with an eerie green light. Upon this island rest ancient relics said to have been left behind by Sess’innek’s first priests. These treasures are tools of power that shape the destiny of those who wield them. Yet claiming them is not the end of the trial but its true beginning. Those who reach the island must kneel before its treasures and offer them up to Sess’innek as proof of their submission. To hesitate or claim these relics for oneself is to invite destruction; the island will sink into the swamp, dragging both treasure and trespasser into oblivion.
Source: Jon Winter-Holt