On the floor of the dungeon sanctum, among the miscellaneous beings that ran the gamut of monsterhood from ordinary creature to traditional demihuman to eldritch entity, lay an unassuming pile of rags. Dark, shapeless, and threadbare, as if discarded and left to rot in some antediluvian epoch and gnawed by untold generations of moths in the intervening eons since, these decrepit garments gave off a venerable musk, but possessed no other extraordinary qualities that one could see. Only once the frayed textiles began to shift, as if caught in the teasing touch of some inexplicable subterranean wind, could an onlooker begin to realize that there might be more to these rags than met the eye. The heap of cloth bulged outward, then began to writhe, as if some unseen captive within were straining to find its way out. As it pushed against the confines of its prison, the raggedy membrane molded around its extremities, those contours suggestive of clawed hands, knobby elbows, and inhuman faces.

Finally, after only a few moments of struggling, a limb slipped through a gap in the cloth. It was gangly to the point of emaciation, scarcely more than bone, its five, unnaturally long digits terminating in wicked, talon-like claws. Moreover, it was jet black, pitch black, black as night.  For a moment that solitary limb simply lay there, resting like a newly hatched bird as it soaked in the stark, clinical light that shone from the sanctum's sconces. Then those elongated fingers twitched like spider legs, randomly and incoherently tapping and scratching at the stone floor. The palm began to smack the ground, like an irate rabbit thumping, and when the palm had its fill the claws united to rake across the sheer surface. Then, as the hand stood atop its clawed fingers, an eye bulged out of the back of the hand. It wobbled, gelatinous in consistency, as concentric black rings highlighted by bright pink and cyan chromatic aberration collapsed inward to a central point that stared around at its surroundings, surveying the strange and perplexing new existence it had awakened to for the first time.

Another couple seconds passed before the eye receded, and more limbs sprouted from the pile of rags. They propped themselves against the floor like their predecessor did, and the heap rose, getting taller an taller until the cloth assumed the form of a hooded cloak. A yawning void opened in the hood's center, and through that black aperture the darkness extended, assuming the shape of an enormous nose. Its nostrils flared as the specter inhaled, breathing deep of the stale dungeon air. In that moment, the shadow self-actualized. Then he sneezed, doubling over. "Ohh," a hollow, reedy, nasal voice moaned. "It smells of [i]magic[/i] in here."

The specter wiped his nose with the back of his hand, then sniffled miserably. More psychedelic eyes bulged outward from the darkness within his cloak, and from the sides of his nose, peering out through the tears in his garment. Their gaze was uncomfortably intense as they identified the various objects and monsters around him, but soon enough the eyes disappeared again, and the shadow put two hands to his head to massage his temples. "The nothingness," he complained, more to himself than anyone. "It was simply...sublime. No smells, no messes, no disorder, no discord. Just...nothing. Darkness, in every direction. I was one with the darkness, and it with me. Dreamlessly asleep in the gentle, velvety embrace of nihility...a kind and caring mother...Mother Void." He instinctively understood where he was, of course, and what he was, and why. He just didn't much care for it. Since he was here, though, and he didn't know the way back, he naturally figured he might as well do whatever he could to make things here more like they'd been [i]there[/i]. Why else would the core have picked him, after all?

Now fully situated, the shadow floated over toward the furthest corner from the humming, crystalline dungeon core, where he hung in the air as he listened to the strange creature's briefing. Her delivery struck him as rather asinine, and briefly he wondered if she was being purposefully condescending, but he decided not to turn up his nose at her just yet. Ultimately, the principles behind what he and the others needed to do were quite simple, and the shadow felt himself equal to the task. However, his mission mission started to get more complicated when he considered all the random monsters that had manifested alongside him. A tentacled aberration, a naga of some stripe, a couple dopey-looking goblins, and...a kind of airborne sarcophagal siphonophore? And they were all to be partners in this endeavor? Oh no. A few of them looked like they ought to know what they were doing, but they also reeked of magic; he could already feel himself getting congested. With so many drastically different individuals crammed together, all equal in station with no actual chain of command, things were bound to get messy. And that simply wouldn't do.

The dungeon spirit proceeded to request everyone's names, as well as an addition appellation for herself, which any of the seven dungeon keepers could evidently suggest. At first the shadow had very little stake in the matter and was inclined to say he simply didn't care, but after both Muste and Salbjorg introduced themselves, his dissatisfaction with their suggestions got the proverbial gears turning in his head. Surely he could whip up something more satisfactory? At least the Shahmaran's manner of speech gave him plenty of time to think. "Schnupfen the shadow, at your service," he declared with a formal bow. "All I ask is that I be allowed to steer clear of magic. I have something of an...adverse reaction."

He then turned his attention toward the dungeon spirit, tenting not one but three sets of fingers in a most contemplative manner as boggled eyes examined her. "Perhaps I misheard, but I thought this creature requested a name, not a job description. A name is something...hmm, personal." His eyes narrowed. "You do rather resemble the little masked bandit, Waschbär. Fitting for the one who stole me away from Mother Void, hm?" Schnupfen shrugged his various arms. "But if that is not to your liking, perhaps simply 'Kleine' would suit you, little one."

With the two go-getters and Schnupfen out of the way, that just left the goblins and the extradimensional sea-angel, so things were about to get interesting.