Uh oh! You have ventured too far outward into what you believed to be uncharted lands in the dream sequence, and have now become a rat in my hypnagogic compound. Run! Run through these tunnels, and pray the wardens of your prison lose their way! Sprinting through smoke, and your outreached hands grasping for a door find no purchase as the tunnels lead on. You think back to the teachings of the village crone, who had warned you against the Brain Cleric and the wickedness of my malevolence! How foolish you were to assume that none would object to your trespass, and now you must die. This labyrinthine complex stretches onward and outward forever, and turns you just took are now straight upon revisitation; lengthy corridors you had just run are now, upon reflection, twisted zig-zags and stairways. The soft floors below you suck at your feet like drying mud, and the whisper of flying things above you grow louder. Death! Death to the outsider!