After a moment, the curse inflicted upon the Oracle by the detestable magical amulet wore off, restoring the otherworldly being to its (un)natural form in explosive fashion, so it looked like Schnupfen's efforts did the trick. Unfortunately the Oracle seemed ignorant of the efforts Schnupfen went to in order to dispel the polymorph. Before he could set the record straight, the Oracle began to spout off its adulation for the vicissitudes of fate. With his attempted correction drowned out, Schnupfen quickly gave up and left the oversized siphonophore to its own devices and turned back toward the excavation team to gauge their progress. He paused only to shoot Salbjörg a rather quick look, which managed to convey his smugness despite his current lack of eyes and mouth. That cold-blooded osteomancer could look askance at him all she wanted, but now the shadow had several wins under his belt, several more than her in fact. Schnupfen didn't mind being in the middle of the pack and taking orders from more qualified individuals, but even if he wasn't very prideful, why would he humor Salbjörg's snarky attitude when she only barely edged out Zoppy from last place? If she insisted on disdaining him, she would soon find that when it came to looking down one's nose at people, there was no one more practiced than Schnupfen.

Of course, when it came to sneezing at the dust kicked up by the Oracle's reversion, Salbjörg and Schnupfen were very much alike.

After wiping his massive nose on his rags, the shadow turned to go check on the diggers, only for one of the rats to accost him. He bent down to see what the little fellow wanted, only for his nose to scrunch up and the proffered crumb. He stared in wonderment for a moment, then attempted to hazard a guess as to why a rat might seek him out with such a morsel instead of simply eating it. "...An offering?" he hypothesized. As gifts went it was a rather squalid, not to mention unnecessary for a being such as him, but Schnupfen had to assume this was the product of good intentions plus harmless naivety. "How...thoughtful." Rather than simply inform his considerate companion that he needed no sustenance, though, Schnupfen saw an opportunity to be dramatic. "You are too kind, little one. But you and yours have far more need of its nutrients than I. It is yours to enjoy."

With other matters out of the way, most of the dungeon keepers turned their attention toward excavation. It was already painfully clear that progress would be intolerably slow, even if the physically incapable team members lent a hand. At the same time, though, he reached the same conclusion that Salbjörg had: with the dungeon in this state, there wasn't really anything else he could do. He couldn't fashion rubble into structures or decorations, so until the keepers actually had room to work with, there would be little to occupy Schnupfen's time unless his lent his meager strength to the dig. With a hollow, ethereal sigh, like the death rattle of a mortally wounded soldier resigned to his fate, Schnupfen floated forward to help. He couldn't offer much, but it would be hard to do worse than he did the first time.

[hr]

Throughout the next few days, Schnupfen was consistently in the running for coveted title of 'most miserable monster alive', his claim only hindered by the ambiguity of whether or not a shadow could be considered 'alive' in the first place. Unlike most of the dungeon's laborers, he didn't have muscles to tear, or bones to break, or lungs to gasp from exhaustion, but the shadow suffered in his own way. For a weak but cerebral entity like him, the task was not only mind-numbingly boring, but agonizingly frustrating. Despite his best efforts, his lackluster strength made little headway against the unyielding rock, no matter where or how he applied himself. And as if the interminable drudgery wasn't bad enough by itself, the stone seemed to actively resist its assailants, rebelling against them in puzzling and frankly impossible ways. As such, Schnupfen's first and foremost contribution to the project was complaining, which unlike digging was something he happened to be extremely proficient at. While he seldom cast aspersions at his fellow dungeon keepers or his hard-working subordinates, everything else was fair game. Even if the others failed to find an inspiring sense of unity in their commiseration with him, at bare minimum his more sadistic colleagues might find solace in knowledge that Schnupfen was having a truly awful time.

After an abundance of blood, sweat, tears, and mental breakdowns, though, the motley crew of horrors and halfwits had something on their hands that could actually pass for a dungeon. Maybe. Improvements and renovations would be a constant as long as this glorified warren existed, but for now at least it wasn't as shameful a hallway as it had been to start with. Unfortunately, even this failed to bring Schnupfen much joy. The shadow was glum and disconsolate, the concentric collapse of his bulbous eyes slow as molasses, their neon colors deep-fried. When actual rooms took shape in the dungeon and keepers began to stake their claims, Schnupfen quickly made it apparent that there would be no such thing as 'privacy' with an entity like him around, to whom walls and other barriers were mere suggestions. Of course, some of his peers found that they could counter him by threatening him with magic, after which he graciously decided to give them their space. Schnupfen claimed no territory of his own, of course; as he told Muste before, the darkness was his mattress, and the cobwebs his sheets.

Of course, now that there was actually room to work with, the main task that concerned him -and those among his coworkers who were capable of rational thought- would be strengthening the dungeon's defenses. Schnupfen could finally peruse the place for the best spot to put down his beloved pitfall trap. He wanted to put it somewhere that intruders would be forced to contend with it, but not so close to the entrance that they could get around it before Kleine alerted the keepers. Schnupfen needed to be around, after all, if he was going to push invaders down that hole, which he wanted more than almost anything. No matter how dangerous an adventurer might be, a long fall would be a one-way trip to Mother Void. Furthermore, the hazard's mere presence nearby would make other tricks and traps much more deadly. A standard force blast, inconvenient but harmless, would be lethal if pointed at a pit. A ranger or rogue could avoid an arrow trap with a well-timed evasive maneuver, but with a hole around to punish panicked dodge rollers, things would be more complicated. If only the keepers had an oil slick, instead of a glue trap! The mere thought of bumbling buffoons sliding straight into the depths brought a spark of joy to Schnupfen's lifeless eyes.

Unfortunately, there was a problem. In a fit of pure, unmedicated genius, Muste had planned out branching paths through the dungeon's center, which meant that prospective intruders could simply choose the pitfall-free path. Having not scrutinized Muste's dungeon blueprint thanks to its unpleasant magical aura, Schnupfen realized the problem much too late to do anything about it. There was also the issue of one way to the dungeon core being much, much shorter than the other, but Schnupfen had his priorities. "This is reprehensible," he muttered, hovering around the central chamber M11 with indecision and displeasure worn on his sleeve. "Perhaps...here?" He loomed over K10, reasoning that he could potentially hide just out of sight at K9 and wait for adventurers to attempt the easy route toward the core. A quick push mid-jump, or even a surprise pull on someone about to jump, could score a kill or two and force others to take the longer alternative route. Then again, the core's proximity would be troublesome, since the defenders would probably amass in the large room just beyond it for their final stand. There would be no room for ghostly subversion with a pack of galoots in plain sight fifteen feet away. "Argh," Schnupfen grumbled, turning around to pass through a north-south wall. Maybe the pitfall at P6, and he could lurk, ready to shove, at P8? But then what if someone [i]did[/i] pull an oil trap? Then the hole should go at P7, and the slick at Q7 so that simpletons could slip right into it.

Decisions, decisions.