Blackblood Bastion, North Bog Forest.
Furfur's footsteps echoed between the stone corridors and marble floors. The darkness of the path he trod was no obstacle; magma, appearing almost sentient, flowed perpetually beneath the pores of his skin, serving as a natural light source that emitted a steady, crimson glow.
There was no haste in his movements. He stepped with extreme caution, as if concerned that his sheer body mass and the searing heat of his magma might mar the beauty of the marble beneath his feet. Before long, he arrived in front of a pair of double doors made of black gemstone, adorned with reliefs of suffering.
Furfur raised a hand as thick as a tree trunk and knocked with a slow, nearly clinical precision.
"Uncle, it is I, Furfur. I have come to report. I humbly ask for a moment of your time," his voice, which usually thundered like a volcano on the verge of eruption, now sounded far softer and filled with reverence.
