[ WP ] You are one of the monsters in a dungeon crawler game .

The petal of the sullen rose has no place in our darkened halls. 
 
 The sun that feeds the grotesque greens is nothing more than slavery. 
 
 The chill of winters deathly grip, the smell of mildewed fallen leaves, 
 
 And rotting, bloated, gnawed at corpses. Those are what I long to see. 
 
 *The things that live in unburned trees and daub and wattle, freshly mixed, * 
 
 *Have no concept of the love and beauty in our house of dung. * 
 
 *They come to kill us, one and all, and take our treasures, hoarded close, * 
 
 *But never stop to see the glory in the fragile neck they've wrung. *
