Beowulf had been born much the same way that other Dungeon Diplomats were. His father had been the Dungeon Master of his own dungeon before he met his mother and fell in love. After they were married, they later decided to start a family of their own and then he was born. At least, that was the story he had been told when he was young. The truth was quite a bit darker than all of that.
His father had originally been a powerful saber tooth tiger, but had later been teleported to a new dungeon where his body was altered and he became more human in shape, but still lacked much of the civilized behavior of the people of this world. It had taken hundreds of lonely years developing his dungeon before his father had his heart stolen away. You see, his mother was a woman of the shifter race and could freely shift between a more human appearance and that of a tiger. Well, most tigers can't walk on two feet, but it was still more than enough to garner his father's attention.
In the short time that his mother's party continued to visit the dungeon, his father tried to woo his mother with everything from raw meat to flowery weeds. However, none of that did more than confuse his mother. When his father heard it was going to be the last time their party would visit the dungeon, his father had gone into a rage, killing all of her party member's, save for her, and then locked her up on a floor full of [Monsters] too dangerous for her to risk escaping.
How his mother had ever been convinced to forgive his father for such a thing, Beowulf wasn't sure. However, somehow they had ended up getting along well enough for him to spend his childhood happily. When he turned twenty years old, still practically a baby, his mother had encouraged him to go out and see the world for himself. Apparently, that was the common age among humans, dwarves, and shifters to venture out and see the world for themselves.
He wasn't sure of what to do or what the world was like so he was hesitant to do so. Luckily, that didn't matter since the Dungeon Diplomat in charge of his father's dungeon helped bring him to others of their kind. There he learned from the elders how to control his abilities and what sorts of responsibilities would be expected from him. Once he turned fifty two years old, he had become bonded with his first dungeon. However, what he hadn't been expecting at the time was that all of the dungeons he'd end up in charge of managing would be those with beasts and [Monsters].
Beowulf couldn't help but reminisce about all of this as he walked through the halls of the dungeon he was currently in. It had been a few months since he had last inspected this dungeon. This one was quite well established with twenty whole floors and being hundreds of years old. Despite being quite popular with adventurers, the wolf beast that had become the Dungeon Master was not particularly fond of building things. He much preferred to rip any threats limb from limb.
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"Filthy beast! How dare-"
Beowulf caught the tail end of the man's words as he entered the next room. It was of now surprise to him when he found the Dungeon Master himself standing over the man with blood dripping down his face. The other party members took the opportunity to run away. However, Beowulf only looked disappointed down at the adventurer. He had been a rather beefy barbarian from the looks of it, not that it mattered much now.
"Master Silverbane, it's good to see you're in good health as always!"
A growl tore through the beast's throat and Beowulf found himself chuckling in response. He immediately dodged to the side before turning around, clutching the best by the throat and raising him into the air. He hardly cared about the man he had killed and defending himself like this was nothing after all this time. Beowulf had learned quickly that he needed to be able to defend himself if he didn't wish to be killed during these fights for dominance. Throwing the beast across the room, he rubbed the blood off his hands and onto his pants.
Silverbane laughed boisterously as he enthusiastically greeted him
"It's been too long, old friend! Ah, but you scared away my prey... Oh well, no matter! Let me show you to the core room."
With the display of violence out of the way, Beowulf was glad to see things were going smoothly. Some of the newer Dungeon Masters would require him to put them in their place for much longer before being willing to cooperate. Shrugging, he replied
"I doubt they will make it out of the dungeon. Knowing you, you've likely got your [Monsters] hunting them down as we speak."
"Haha! You know me too well."
Master Silverbane finished his sentence with a slight growl. Despite the dungeon core twisting his form into a more suitable one, his animal nature was still very much present. Even talking like this was likely difficult for him, not that Beowulf would ever offer such sympathy. Beastly Dungeon Masters like Silverbane did not take kindly to his pity.
As they walked they continued to talk about things, Silverbane slowly filling him on recent events. Admittedly, as a dungeon diplomat, dealing with the dungeon side of things was the easier part. Even all of the extra training wasn't a big deal when compared to dealing with the politics the humans, elves, and such demanded of him. Truly, being in the dungeon was when he felt most at home.
Sure, he used to think it a bit of a curse to always be assigned beasts, but now he felt blessed. Human Dungeon Masters tended to be weak-willed, their dungeons falling too easily, or they were too cunning, always causing trouble for his peers. With beasts, the worst he had to worry about was adventurers dying. That wasn't even that big of a deal, though. They knew the risks when they entered the dungeon, so they could pay the price, even if it ended up being their lives.