Rooms

  The air crackles with umbral lightning and tenebrous shadows swirl as the

eddying air currents above the Rip in Algoron's sky push at the inky clouds.

The cacophony of abyssal lightning crashes thundering within the tainted

stormheads is constant, and a deathly chill fills the air.  Despite the

dizzying height, the air itself appears somehow solid, as if the tumultuous

nether energies roiling in the sky have made the clouds themselves capable

of supporting the physical body.  The only escape, it seems, is to descend,

though the yawning maw of the Rip beckons there.