The Dungeon Dimensions are the endless wastelands outside of space and time.
The sad, mad things that live there (a pastiche of Lovecraftian horrors) have no understanding of the world, simply craving light and shape. Therefore, they try to warm themselves by the fires of reality. It has been noted that should they ever break through, the Universe would be destroyed, rather like an ocean warming itself around a candle. Some of them can survive in this world under special circumstances, and become something rather like demons (though they cannot be seen as demons per se, first because their existence is not dependent on human belief, and second because, as they are completely lacking in vitality, they are neither good nor evil, but the opposite of both). For most though, the reality they crave is soon fatal, due to their lack of a natural morphic field.
They are jealous of all things alive and so far as their emotions can be understood, they feel mostly hatred, stemming from that jealousy, of all 'real' creatures. They are lured by heavy concentrations of magic that thin reality and may allow them an easier point to break through. Sometimes they break through into a mind, using that being's mind and body to further their own ends. Magical minds shine like beacons to them. The number eight also seems to attract most of them (especially Bel Shamharoth, although this one might be less angry than the others as it has acquired physical existence, which, however, makes it easier for it to harm creatures) which is why wizards are advised to avoid saying it.
The prettier ones are said to resemble a cross between an octopus and a particularly angry bicycle. For a discussion of the named creatures from the Dungeon Dimensions, see Discworld gods.
Read more about this topic: Other Dimensions Of The Discworld
Famous quotes containing the words dungeon and/or dimensions:
“A Dungeon horrible, on all sides round
As one great Furnace flam’d, yet from those flames
No light, but rather darkness visible
Serv’d only to discover sights of woe,
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes
That comes to all; but torture without end”
—John Milton (1608–1674)
“Is it true or false that Belfast is north of London? That the galaxy is the shape of a fried egg? That Beethoven was a drunkard? That Wellington won the battle of Waterloo? There are various degrees and dimensions of success in making statements: the statements fit the facts always more or less loosely, in different ways on different occasions for different intents and purposes.”
—J.L. (John Langshaw)