A low groan echoed from the bowels of the earth. Moggotheddon stirred in his slumber, and as he did so the rock shifted with him. With a thunderous crack, tons of stone collapsed downwards into the subterranean chamber. They plummeted onto the limp body of the giant, the massive boulders merely scraping his hide. The cuts awoke Moggotheddon, their sharp pain reminiscent of the chafing of his shackles. The cavernous deeps that Mogg inhabited were blacker than ebony, the oppressive darkness no different from that of Tartarus. Fearing that it had all been but a dream, that his escape had been imagined, the mighty keeper fell into a fit of rage. The colossal links of his chains rattled as the were whipped wildly, recoiling off the walls of the cavern. Mogg's continued thrashing caused yet another collapse. A fisure began to appear above, splintering layers of solid granite as if they were flimsy arrows. At last, after several minutes, Moggotheddon once again slumped down from exhaustion and fell back into a deep sleep. Fortunately for the Cypriots unwitting living atop a sleeping giant, none of them were harmed on this day. In fact, not a single building had been damaged. The crack in the earth had split the town square in half, though it swallowed nothing save the single statue of Reginaldus I, a weathered old guardian that had stood vigil over the market and warded off thieves since the town's creation. Deep below, Moggotheddon's wounds continued to ooze blood. Pools of the red sludge formed, the infernal magic within managing to infuse the fallen boulders and seep into the very walls of the cavern itself. First Creature: 0/3