Down a fairly descript alley off a lane dedicated to that most noble of human endeavors – the imbibing of copious amounts of spirits, liquors, beers, ales, wines, and candied liqueurs – lies, or rather slumps the temple of Dimgrog the Morning Imbiber, petty god of hangovers, headaches, and the hairs-of-the-dog-that-bit-ya.

Puking pit open to the public, but beware of lurking puke pseudo-elementals (from the psuedo-elemental plane of puke, which lies between the semi-elemental planes of stomach acid and alcohol).

Sorry for the lack of shadows on this one. I just moved and misplaced the pen for my tablet.

At any given time, a small, totally blitzed community of drunkards, alcoholics, and down-on-their-luck adventurers can be found recuperating in the temple’s sanctuary, where they are provided something “for what ails [them]” by Grimgrog’s acolytes, known by the rank of “enablers” in the hierarchy of their church.