Underneath the servant’s home, hidden place where watch don’t roam.
Hatching in the light of day, keeps their prying eyes at bay.
Growing in the smuggler’s den, to soon be the death of men.
Draining from the common gruel, the souls of Lune’s great cesspool.
Within a place lost to time, beneath the spring past its prime.
Draining the life of lizard beasts, within the place of northern feasts.
Hidden in south reef geyser, enemies are non-the-wiser.
The mix of sulfur brine and rot, in dying reef we can’t be caught.
The image of the octopus’ legs encircles these places on the crude map of Lune:
Southern reef off the Cluster