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Gather near, children, to hear a tale of an ancient time -- a savage time -- long before the days when the great mana-slings of old hurled our farportals to the distant stars and made this galaxy our own. In those days, we looked up to the heavens with wonder and dread, much as we now look downward upon the dark stairs to this ancient, infinite dungeon whose way I guard.
In those days, Cresca Helion, a Shalore Anorithil, was born in the East. If the tales are true, he was sent out from Sunwall to do battle with a party of nagas, but put off completing his task to go exploring in a seemingly unremarkable cave to the north of the city, hoping to whet his skill and improve his equipment before facing the naga captain.
There for a time he did better than most who attempted such folly, but in the end, he -- like so many others -- found himself cornered by enemies he could not possibly defeat. A certain skeletal warrior of some minor renown had cast upon him an arcane eye, and under its baleful gaze was he cut down mercilessly.
Or so it seemed. The Eidolon -- as he was known in those days -- snatched him away from the moment of certain death, allowed him to heal his wounds, and offered to send him back.
It was at that moment, however, that something strange -- stranger even than the Eidolon's well-known capriciousness -- happened.
Instead of being sent back to our plane of existence, he was merely teleported some distance from the Eidolon. Confused, Cresca again drew near, and again asked to be returned to the mortal world he knew.
The second time, the tranferrence worked. Alas, though, poor Cresca had forgotten to specify where he wished to be returned, and so it was that he found himself once again facing the same skeleton that had cut him down just moments before.
Cursing himself for a fool, Cresca drew his weapon, determined to give a good accounting of himself before the inevitable. He struck, and struck, and struck again. The skeleton struck as well, but remarkably, its blade simply passed through Cresca, not harming him at all.
Cresca's blade was far more solid. After a brief span of time, he had slain the skeleton and all the host that lurked behind it as well. Only the arcane eye continued to hover, almost comically, in the air.
Cresca soon discovered that this was no temporary effect. The only thing that seemed able to hurt him at all were spells that he had cast himself, and it was a simple matter to stay out of his own lines of fire and areas of effect. Cresca Helion had become for all intents and purposes unkillable. Ere he left the East, he had slain countless orcs, nagas, and other beasts -- even one so fearsome as a dreaming horror!
Many were his famed exploits after that day. He traveled to the Western continent of Maj'Eyal, and played a pivotal role in binding the two continents together by farportal. He rescued the beautiful Melinda from cultists who would have sacrificed her to a foul demon. Returning to the East, he destroyed the orcs from the land, and recovered a lost Sher'tul artifact from sorcerors who nearly succeeded in using it to destroy the world.
Only one enemy did he ever fail to defeat -- a shade of himself that had been summoned to fight against him. The shade also could only be harmed by its own spells, and in the end Cresca simply abandoned the battle, leaving it alone in some lost pit where it probably still stands waiting to this day.
After all these things, Cresca Helion returned to Maj'Eyal, where he married his love Melinda, and traveled to many strange lands by farportal, amassing a legendary collection of rare artifacts.
However, there is always a tragic note to those love songs shared by Elf and Human. Cresca stayed by Melinda's side all the days of her life, and when she at last died in ripe old age, he left his fortress and disappeared forever into this infinite dungeon that I now guard.
I warn every adventurer who comes here that should they enter this black pit they will most certainly die there. Cresca Helion alone is the exception. He will not die. He will delve deeper and ever deeper, and should he be able to clear the floors faster than their distant maker can dig them, he will one day lay hands upon him, and this pit shall be infinite no more.
Perhaps that day has come already. Perhaps it came long ago.
Perhaps it is the sound of his footfalls I hear upon these cold stone steps, even now growing ever louder...
