Dimrat was once an acolyte of the Dark Lady. A human. For his servitude, he was given an opportunity to prove his worth with the Bonewheel. A treacherous contraption more likely to curse, to punish, than to gift one with power. His existence for a spin of the wheel, a gamble at greatness. If he had conviction, if he was chosen, or if he was plain lucky, he would gain the undead status and receive the power of his monarch as a necromancer reborn. He failed. Indeed he received the status of undeath, becoming a bonafide faction member, a true undead, but as something unworthy. A Pickled Head.

It seemed the system had chosen to humour the monarch. Rather than receive his lady's dark gifts, he only felt the cold embrace of the drink. The blackest drink. The cursed and dreaded Rilhime River. He was cast into its depths, from which his torture had only just begun.

For years his mind endured madness, powerless to defend against the whispers, the nightmares that lurked within, that delighted in his company and overflowed his senses with misery and despair. No light found his eyes. There was no concept of time, only suffering, only torment, only dread. Until a hook fished him deep from the waters.

[You've absorbed enough cursed energy for a special transformation]

[You transformed from Pickled Head into Cursed Head]

--

[You’ve reached max level(5). Transformation available]

‘Do not jest! I reached max level as a Pickled Head?! Have I truly been given this chance?! Dark lady, devour me! Transformation! Ahhh I’d forgotten this existed! I’d given up hope! Has a Pickled Head ever transformed before? Though I suppose I’m a Cursed Head now. Did I perhaps transform inside the river? Well, hopefully there’s something with legs’

[Cursed Head transformations]

[Dreg]

[Crawling Head]

[Floating Head]

[Tentacle Face](uncommon)

‘..well, crawling head is out of the question. A floating head is hardly better. Oh! An uncommon transformation?’

[Tentacle Face]

Prerequisite: over a millennia underwater.

Transformation potential: Poor

HP: 9

MP: --

Strength: 3

Toughness: 2

Agility: -6

Intelligence: 9

Willpower: 8

Magic Affinity: 0

[Passive: water breathing]

Whiskers of flesh slither abound a squidish face on a barnacled, waterlogged head. Favours water.

‘It’s just another head! And such pitiable stats! Some stats even go down! Water breathing? I’m an undead head. I have no lungs! What a ridiculous passive! Prerequisite, a mille… HOW LONG?! I was in that miserable river for over a thousand years?! An absurdly steep prerequisite for such a worthless transformation. I decline!’

[Dreg]

Transformation potential: abysmal

HP: 7

MP: --

Strength: 5

Toughness: 5

Agility: 5

Intelligence: 5

Willpower: 5

Magic Affinity: 0

(Passive)[Diseased Claws: clawed strikes spread disease]

A lowly, miserable, wretched creature. Feeds on the plump maggots of rotten flesh. Favours stealth. Humanoid transformation.

‘Alright. Atrocious, but balanced stats, and humanoid. I’ve never heard of a Dreg. Such must be the state of things. I can’t let the transformation potential deter me. I must find a way. I must return to the dark lady. I will become this Dreg. Dungeon Master! Hear me!’

The head’s eyes twitched in silence. For a brief time nothing happened.

‘..Dungeon Master! Hear me!’

…

Then, it was as if existence itself pulsed to a standstill. The fire faded. There was no light, no warmth, no noise. The head felt an unnatural stillness resonate within everything. Time seemed to hang in the balance. His vision dipped in and out of focus.

‘Where...am I?’

It was a dark chamber. Fog wisped over the murk of an intricately patterned cobblestone floor, cracked, and faded of its colours save for the occasional red stain. The cold gripped him now. Then, a familiar hymn pricked his ears.

‘Prayer..?’ he thought, then spoke. ‘Is someone there?’

He did not know how, but he could rotate, and he could see, perhaps five or so meters reach around him. Yet nothing could be seen. Complete darkness. The hymn chimed out again, and he spun. His eyes darted about the bleakness with growing concern. Nothing. A distant echo. A cold breeze. Then the hymn again. He turned once more, and found it. At a great distance away, a faint light twinkled in the black. Without noticing, he caught himself singing the hymn, and wished to move towards the light...

Then, deep within, he felt the presence of something overbearing. Something terrible. From the pits of his nonexistent gut to the vast outer reaches of his mind he felt a staggering number of unseen eyes upon him. Each and every presence thundered in resonance: you have been found.

The pressure blasted his mind into chaos. Their dark musings and gripes, he suffered them all and for a moment of bewilderment imagined himself at the bottom of Rilhime river. The hymn echoed away, and with a heartfelt pang, the light was lost. The entities shifted and stirred, then seemed to culminate into a single point. Right behind the head.

‘Oh, bollocks’

The head could not turn to meet it. He could do nothing but wait for his impending end. He felt an inseparable connection to its anger, its frustration - the head could not hide nor escape the entity’s thoughts and emotions nor could his own escape it - In this moment they were one and the same. The head felt judged. Accused. Powerless to protest, to even meet its scorn. Had the head been foolish enough to invoke the wrath of the Dungeon Master himself?

The head’s mind hung on a single thread against the entity’s indomitable will to destroy it, as if anchored against an all powerful, all consuming incorporeal storm that buffeted his consciousness to fracturing. But the head would not let go. In its stubbornness, it clung to a single thought, a single feeling that kept it tethered at the edge of oblivion; a warm fire.

The mental pressure relented, and rather abruptly. By the time the head regained itself, a voice boomed in its mind.

“Curious”

“My liege!”, croaked the head, “spare this one!”

“Oh?”

“I must return to my dark lady!”

“Indeed?”

“Indeed! Rivers run with water not blood! Vile fleshthings walk our lands unbroken! The winds of death do not howl!”

“How would you enact change?”

Without skipping a beat, the head roared “WAR!”

“I see. You have broken my Dungeon. Did you know that?”

“I did not”

“The dungeon has not ended since its creation. This is the first time. You have set me back countless thousands of years”

“I apologise. I am but a Pickled Head. I was tossed into a cursed river, and there I fear I should have perished. Yet I did not. I do not know why”

“Nor do I. So much cursed energy is a conundrum. You may yet break apart”

“I would rather not, if it’s all the same”

“Very well. For resisting my will, and finding a flaw in the system, I will honour your desire”

“You have my sincerest gratitude, my liege lord!”

“You’re a strange one. Know this. The darkest evil resides within you”

The head grinned from ear to ear.

“...you have mistaken my words. I shall clarify. There are many within you. Dangerous ones I could not undo. Those I have abandoned. Those unworthy. Those unfit for the Dungeon. Falter, and they will consume you. I have my suspicions. You may prove useful. I shall rebuild you accordingly”

“As you wish, my liege lord! They shall keep good company until I destroy them”

“I will hold you to that. Farewell”

The head’s consciousness swirled back into a gentle, warm breeze. Inertia and vertigo rolled his eyes around in his sockets, until all was as it should be. The embers waned.

The head felt different. Violated. It could only grin.

[Cursed Head](Uncommon): lvl 5

HP: 6 / 10

MP: --

Strength: 2

Toughness: 6

Agility: -34

Intelligence: 12

Willpower: 6

Magic Affinity: 6

Skills:

[Passive: cursed saliva](lvl2) slowly drains the lifeforce from living creatures.

[Passive: Indomitable]: resisted the Dungeon Master’s will. Negate an otherwise fatal blow. Timer reset based on Willpower.

[Passive: Cursed Existence]: an illicit and inordinate amount of evil energy. All cursed transformations multiplied by 2. Only cursed transformations available]

Abilities:

(Natural)[Cold Resistance: Immune]

[Curse resistance: Immune]

[Dark resistance: Strong]

[Nightmare resistance: Strong]

[Elemental Water resistance: Weak]

[You are being watched.]

Something with many legs crawled from the head’s nostril and back in through its menacing toothy grin, while he marveled at his improvements.

[You’ve reached max level!](5)

[Transformation available!]

[Cursed Dreg](Rare)

[Cursed Levitating Skull](Rare)