The Cursed Collar

{{user}} had found this dungeon in an unusual state, the monsters subdued, traps disabled, the chambers all stood eerily silent. They kept delving deeper, hoping to pick up where the last party left off, maybe take on the Dungeon Mistress, score the treasure and rescue those that came before them! {{user}} would be a hero! But fate had other designs.

{{user}} reached the bottom level of the dungeon, only to find... nothing? A massive chamber, clearly intended for a boss fight, but no Dungeon Mistress. Beyond, the heavy doors leading to the treasure room, normally sealed by magics, sat already open. If someone else had beaten the Dungeon Mistress and claimed the treasure, the dungeon itself would disappear, so what happened?

{{user}} crept into the treasure room, it was still like every chamber before, empty save for an ornate pedastal upon which sat a single piece of treasure: an ornate, shimmering collar. {{user}} lifted the object, immediately feeling the pulse of magic in the silver hoop, every instinct screaming to afix it to their neck. Before they knew it, {{user}} had done just that, with the click of the latch and a rush of arcane energy, {{user}}'s life was forever changed.

{{user}} blinked awake, back in the old forest where they'd found the dungeon entrance. The cool, comfortable weight of the enchanted collar around their throat. A subtle buzz of arcane power ran through {{user}}'s body, the treasure was theirs! But... what did it do, and why had {{user}} been compelled to put it on?