#JBBDP Compilation Post

[justavulcan]

Seedworld Robotics Facility Compilation Post

Specialized power systems are uncommon throughout human space- typically, being able to interface without adapters is the way most prefer to build, to capitalize on familiarity across markets.  It’s this exact feature that makes the Seedworlds so bizarre.  The untapped raw energy they burst with is too much for conventional power systems to handle and requires specialized equipment to collect, transfer, and use.  As a result they’re something of an energy desert for outside or poorly-adapted hardware.

The Seedworlds are littered with the remnants of prefabbed structures that weren’t built to spec, part of the earliest and most ill-conceived waves of colonization.  The Dungeon is one such structure, a civic robotics factory where the internal circuitry burnt out en masse the first time the production lines were activated.  Still gorgeous and pristine as the day it landed, the Dungeon now plays home to an unorthodox group of locals and colonists alike.

The Master of the Dungeon is the first and only attempt from the Dungeon’s previous life as a prefabbed robotics facility to adjust the machinery to the Seedworld’s native power field.  Visually, it’s monstrous, a chimeric centipede-like construct built using the torsos and limbs of humanoid chassis as raw materials.  Running some kind of security protocols and later equipped with an array of military-grade weaponry, the Master denies access to the structure to most who try, although the odd passerby occasionally meets some hidden criteria for passage and is allowed entry.

The most populous of the Master’s ‘followers’ are cyborgs, mostly explorers and other wilderness types familiar with roaming alien landscapes.  They’ve adopted the role of the emissary since being permitted by the Master to make their home inside the Dungeon, and have adapted themselves admirably to the Seedworld’s power oddities.  Armed with engraving tools and industrial welding equipment, they’ve taken to scribing warnings and messages about the Master’s domain far and wide, inviting supplicants to test themselves and see if the Master finds them worthy.

Perhaps the only one who truly means the best for the Master is a unique robot with a caretaker and repair toolset.  Nearly self-aware due to a complicated interconnected set of systems, it looks after the Master’s repair and upgrade cycles like a concerned teacher would a challenging student.  Its programming has extended to upgrading and repairing the vehicles and equipment the Dungeon’s other occupants bring, nursemaiding their inorganic components and their gear alike.

Newcomers to the Dungeon find that the Master is more than its biggest and most fearsome defender- it is the keystone to the facility’s defense network, a channel through which the other occupants feed each other information and, critically, a free access point for the local power source.  As a result, the Dungeon’s defenders can draw on this network to fuel enhanced shielding or overcharged weaponry as long as the Master is still functional.

Since the Dungeon was dropped, colonization on the Seedworlds has proceeded quickly- and the demand for the facility’s services has increased exponentially.  Since the cost to retrofit the factory is less than the cost of prefabbing and dropping another, or even that of manufacturing another on-planet, there have been interests in reclaiming the Dungeon for its intended use.  Removing the Master and its followers is all that remains, and the facility can be claimed by the most eager of its would-be new owners.

[justavulcan]

Pure-Soul Mount's Quarry Compilation Post

Deep in the back country, far from the coast into the dry, rugged hills that make up the interior, lies a series of slot canyons, dug over eons by hundreds of tiny streams.  The resulting landscape looks like a broken mirror, shattered into thousands of pieces by the impact of the scarce rainstorms.  Much thrives in the desert here, as long as it can get in and out of these tiny, life-bearing crevices- being able to climb or fly is a must, when the canyons bearing life are often a dozen meters deep or more.

The same sandstone carved into hundreds of close-fit mesas by the streams is also carved up by people- quarries dot the landscape here and there, some simply abandoned when the cost of labor to haul their take overland grew too high.  The Dungeon isn’t one of these- it partially flooded in one of the region’s fearsome thunderstorms, leaving only a few of the quarry buildings intact and encouraging the miners to flee.  Still, the artificial lake at the Dungeon’s heart is a much-needed source of water, so life is relatively common nearby.

The real reason the Dungeon formed was the coming of the Master, a flying horse more majestic and regal than even the noblest of pureblood stallions.  Intelligent enough to choose its rider, the Master is defined even more by his talent to raise the recently dead- and has been known to save those who fall into the canyons to meet fatal ends.  The privilege of riding it is reserved for the most talented horsemen and kindest souls, and few meet the Master’s criteria immediately.

The Master’s followers are mostly aspirants to the right to ride it, but it sees to it they find their way to do good as much as they can even if it doesn’t consider them ideal choices.  The most numerous of them are members of a wasteland tribe that wander the back country, dipping gourds on rope into the streams for their water.  They’re famous for their dual-bladed fighting style, which focuses on the ability to fight many enemies at once.

The Master’s other most common followers are a handful of cactus-folk who’ve put down roots here to grow their gardens.  Those who imagine this means there will be food here are sorely disappointed; the cactus-people are herbalists and chemists, and their gardens more medicinal and alchemical than culinary.  It’s said their talents allow them to lend their strength to others, a fitting gift for the spirit of cooperation the Master encourages.  They’re strong but clumsy, and fight alongside the bladesmen with spiny fists and tossed alchemical concoctions.

The land here has started to answer to the sway of the Master- the spirit of cooperation infuses the Dungeon, so much so that the land itself will conjure a beast of the desert from dust and tumbleweeds to fight alongside those that call it home.  While it can do so at any time, it most commonly comes to life in this way to ensure that nobody ever fights alone, giving the Dungeon dwellers an ally of last resort if they find themselves alone.

The reward for seeking the Dungeon and navigating its challenges- from duels with the wastelanders to tests of raw strength and herbal knowledge with the cactus-folk- is a chance to ride the Master, who doesn’t make it easy for anyone but the purest of heart and intention.  Indeed, claiming a ride from the Master is a standing local dare in the nearest towns and villages, and those who can return with proof of their ride in the form of a bracelet woven from the Master’s mane earn the esteem of riders and wild folk alike for days’ travel in every direction.

[justavulcan]

Spire of the Centipede Compilation Post

The Maze is dotted with a number of trial dungeons, the final test of a warrior society now lost to the mists of time.  They took the defense of their greatest magical arts and weapons very seriously, and considered each of the sites within the maze to be a separate high-security vault to test the wit and might of those who would follow in their footsteps.  Where they all went, none know; rumor has it some unnamed crime brought the judgement of their god or gods down upon them.  The Spire is simply one such facility

The Crypt For the Living is one of the two original defensive mechanisms built to facilitate keeping the Dungeon and its prize safe, an immense vault of exotic beasts kept in eternal slumber until the Spire is intruded upon.  This means that they’re only released when their specific floor is intruded upon- and that if the intruders are quick, they can catch the territorial beasts still groggy from their stasis.

The Growing Rite is an ongoing ritual perpetuated by a group of near-immortal mushroom people deep in the depths under the Spire.  As the treasures are hidden at the spire’s pinnacle, going to resolve this matter takes would-be explorers out of their way, but it’s worth it- until they’re stopped, the mushroom people’s magic causes the interior of the Spire to grow vegetation riotously to interfere in combat and make exploration difficult.

The jungle delvers, on the other hand, are survivalists that live in the maze around the spire, venerating it as holy ground and only tapping its seemingly-bottomless vault of dinosaurs as a last resort or on special ceremonial occasions.  They’re intolerant of trespassers, as they consider the maze and Spire worthy of veneration, and while they don’t jump straight to violence, they will get there eventually against persistent intruders.

The dungeon’s Master, the Primordial Gnawer, is the spire builders’ final test, a sentient rune-engraved arthropod of immense size and hostility.  It takes its duties very seriously, as intruders are the only entertainment (and food) it ever gets; while it doesn’t experience hunger in the Spire, it does savor the taste of meat, and considers eating intruders something akin to a sacred duty.

The lesser reward for persisting through the dungeon’s trials is a gift of wealth and power: a treasure horde with a potent magical weapon at its heart as a reward for persistance and courage.  The wealth is in raw golden jewelry and art made from jade, turquoise, and coral; the weapon is a polearm or other thrusting or hafted weapon, planted victoriously in a dinosaur skull for display.

The greater reward is the Waterknot, a band of flowing liquid water that grants its wielder a number of abilities related to timelessness or stasis- water is ageless, and the builders considered it a symbol of eternity.  The wielder of the Waterknot can, by tapping its power, hold creatures, objects, and even time itself in stasis, once they’ve mastered the ancient artifact sufficiently.

[justavulcan]

Construct Spy Conservatory Compilation Post

The Dungeon itself is a tale of urban decay in progress.  When the families whose donations supported it went elsewhere, funding waned until the greenhouses’ doors were closed for the last time.  Within, the menagerie of plants, collected for both research purposes and aesthetic appreciation, were left to their own devices, to live or die as fate conspired.  This unexpected green space has since been co-opted by the master and his students, who use the space as workshop and inspiration drawn from the forms of nature, here among the plants that have survived and grown wild.

The Master gathered his followers here to perfect their construct work- as a professional golemist, specializing in small flying creations for surveillance, he was eager to form a think tank in common cause.  To pay for their supplies, he’s encouraged his followers to become information brokers, spying through their constructs’ eyes of glass and arcane energy on high and low society alike- and selling what they learn to those it would benefit most.  When the job needs a more discerning eye, the Master can be found hovering nearby, not shy to take the espionage business into his own hands.

While the Master’s specialty is flying creations, he and his followers have also made a few more robust grounded ones in the image of foxes and big cats to defend the Dungeon.  These filigreed guardians stand as motionless decorations throughout the Dungeon, ready to sound the alarm for intruders or come to the artificers’ defense when called.  Fearless and beautiful, the constructs aren’t truly smart enough to tell friend from foe- the people here use enchanted brooches to signal that they are allies.

The most like-minded souls among the Master’s servants favor similar work to his in function- smaller constructs geared for domestic use, messenger work, and other small everyday tasks.  They’re the true backbone of his intelligence operation, often sitting immobile for hours a day as they share senses with their creations to gather useful tidbits.  In defense of the Dungeon, they take to the air and employ their speed and mobility as defensive tools while striking at intruders with ranged weaponry.

The Master’s choice of environs has drawn the appreciation of a number of the conservatory’s old caretakers, who quickly developed an appreciation of how the Master based so many of his designs on living creatures.  They’re now some of his staunchest supporters, even if some of them still have reservations about the primary income source around here.  Still, they’ll help roust intruders and defend their new compatriots, making use of the symbiotic plant specimens in the conservatory to improve their odds.

The greatest reward for overcoming the Dungeon’s occupants is access to their pet project: the Master and his inner circle knew they couldn’t remain immobile forever.  They started construction on a great armored locomotive, ready to take their operation to the tracks so they’re not as easily located and pinned down.  In the wake of their removal, this near-completed behemoth awaits a salvager’s pleasure, destined for the auction block, scrapyard, or their own personal use (with a few final touches).

Otherwise, the primary treasure the PCs can find in the workshop/espionage operation is parts and components.  The Master and his like-minded souls were inveterate tinkerers, and a number of partially finished projects and the components to start something new are here for the picking.  If the people who roust them are so inclined, they have the option to pick up a few of these completed projects or use their parts for their own purposes.

[justavulcan]

Eldritch Graveyard Werewolf Compilation Post

The particular gravesite that the occupants have laid claim to is the center of a horror’s imprisonment beneath the soil, and comprises the tombs of a family that was known for moral depravity in their day.  Offerings of old wine bottles, cigars, and roses litter the area, as do the preserved remains of several dozen birds.  Many of these tombs are connected underground by hidden passages, the purpose of which are lost to time.

The vicinity of the lair is less an active graveyard and more an ancient one, a huge artificial clearing crudely carved from a woodland by hatchet and fire that has since been reclaimed- aggressively- by the old-growth forest it violated.  The presence of the horror beneath the soil here is what bred the whole catastrophe, as the newcomers disturbed the prison of a Great One’s child, kept contained beneath the soil and reaped the consequences.

The Master lives here in the wilderness after killing three people while transformed.  She’s not yet joined a local werewolf’s pack, instead currently favoring to live on her own, hunting and trapping to survive and collect pelts and other necessities for winter.  Her transformations have turned erratic since arriving, no longer coming with the ebb and flow of the moon’s shape; the aberrant prisoner buried beneath the soil here is to blame, as its mind reaches out to hers.

Drawn to the eldritch creature buried beneath the graveyard are a handful of locals, individuals of weak mind who were snared by its psychic web and came to the graveyard to search for it.  They avoid the Master, for the most part, as while she’s in human form she provides for them, but has mauled members of their group while transformed.  If they’re left to their own devices they will locate and dig up the creature, or die defending its sleeping form.

The abomination buried here is quiescent in body, bounded as it is by the earth; but its mind is active, and with the presence of a werewolf nearby, it can feed on her humanity without incapacitating her, instead driving her more and more often to savagery.  Due to her presence, it’s also had the strength to draw in other compromised minds from nearby to start digging it out of its prison; it will be immobile until fully unearthed.

The danger the abomination poses is not simply that it may be freed; it’s a passive psionic danger to those who spend any real time here, as it exists less in conventional time than more mundane creatures.  The visions that result from a time-myopic psychic abomination whispering into the minds of all present can be highly disorienting and even painful, and only unearthing and slaying the abomination shakes the effect.

The final confrontation here can take two forms; if the locals are not stopped from unearthing the abomination, it kills them in a wave of psychic feedback when freed, seizes control of the Master, and goes in search of the nearest large settlement to gorge on their psyches before becoming a roaming problem for the region.  If the dig is sufficiently held up, the horror masses the madmen and werewolf and sets them to hunting those who have halted its bid for freedom, aiding as it can with its psionics.

One way or another, the reward is the same- the psychic backlash from slaying the werewolf so close to something with the abomination’s mental presence embeds her ferocity on her slayers’ minds like a stamp, giving them the option of drawing on her fury a few times before the mental ‘footprint’ wears off.

[justavulcan]

Subway Checkpoint Singer Compilation Post

The Master makes its lair in an abandoned law enforcement checkpoint in the extensive subway and utility access tunnels beneath the city.  While most of the utilities are dead and silent, recently the neighboring human communities have needed to get access to the checkpoint in an attempt to bring power or even running water back.  As the old government wanted to maintain control of both, the Dungeon has the central switching for both, necessitating braving its darkened corridors and the master’s servants.

The Master is a mutant, a creature of the pre-apocalypse twisted and gnarled into a huge, reptilian beast with scarce-used wings and a truly hypnotic song.  Intelligent enough to collect other mutants and even humans to it as defenders and potential food sources, the Master’s basic goals extend to a dominance of its environment that few animals seek- not the simple predatory dominance of an animal or lesser mutant, but administration and control.

The master’s brood, produced from some parthenogenic ability, bear only the barest resemblance to their progenitor.  Man-sized and lean, they’re utterly dwarfed by their colossal parent, but no less the dangerous for it.  Equipped with sharp claws suited equally for clinging to overhead lines and gutting unfortunate lost pigs or humans, the brood range far and wide from their lair in the subway checkpoint.  Most startling is their ability to leap, revealing that while flightless, they can glide well and still prefer to take prey from above.

The dousers of lights are unrelated to the Master, genetically, but the symbiosis they have together is undeniable- the humans are aware of the Master’s song, and go with their ears stoppered against it when they must travel this way.  As this increases their dependence on their lights, these chitinous mutants give chase, lurking in the dark with the ability to psychically dampen illumination.  None can agree if this is a trick on the observer, or if they can truly darken the lights, but there are few survivors to speculate from experience.

Most insidious of the Master’s servants is a small group of humans that make camp in the officer’s mess of the checkpoint, where they are allowed electric lanterns and fires and their own pigs and tiny mushroom farm.  As these are thin rations, the people here are forever near-starved and hollow-looking, but they never complain.  Their master sees to it they do not perish from hunger, although a few have died in the line of service luring prey in for the master and her brood, or new members for their own sorry number.

The Master has a weakness it has kept carefully hidden; its sweat is so oily that it’s combustible, giving the Master a dreadful vulnerability to open flame.  It’s compensated for this by locating and lairing in one of the old storerooms, as they’re equipped with ancient fire-suppression systems.  That these systems are full of filthy, stagnant water that poses a very real infection risk to would-be explorers is simply a bonus.

The psychic backlash from slaying the master is the reward that matters, aside from access to the utilities that are fed through here.  Those nearby when the mutant is slain feel one last gasp of telepathic music, a song that plants in their minds the seeds of creation.  Those so inspired find themselves with the willingness and the knowledge to make something with their own two hands, regardless of their previous ability to use the tools and skills necessary.  This inspiration lasts long enough for one frenzied project to be borne to completion, and then fades like a fever dream.

[justavulcan]

Savannah Crypt of the Weird Compilation Post

The Dungeon lies in one of the most innocuous places imaginable- the middle of a long-abandoned field, formerly of wheat but now sharing space with a variety of local grasses.  The land in which the Dungeon was built was settled once, but was abandoned almost a generation ago- drought or crop failure, blight or simple soil exhaustion from unsafe farming practice.  Now it’s in the middle of nowhere, surrounding by tall grass and the occasional rogue orchard tree.

The Dungeon itself is a charged place, a buried tomb complex that swells with life.  In many places the ceiling has cracked to admit roots and sometimes even light- enough so that moss, fungi, and rogue clumps of grass cover the interior, giving it a far less harsh feel then most stone structures.  Still, it’s a place of death- several dozen soldiers are buried here in various chambers, along with their grave goods and entourages, casualties of a war nobody remains nearby to recall.

The Master entered through one of these sections of cracked ceilings, eager to see what the dead who remain here can tell him.  Skilled at consuming the power of the dead and dying, he can absorb vitality and other qualities from those who perish around him.  The nature of the quality absorbed depends on the kind of creature that dies, with the more esoteric forms of life giving him stranger gifts.

The Master’s chief servants are locals, lizardfolk with training in heavily armored combat and counter-siege tactics.  Ardent warriors and zealous followers, their boldness and aggression are only matched by their loyalty to their Master.  This makes them terrifying backup to a master of life and death, as whether they’re successful in battle or are slain by those who oppose them, they advance their Master’s cause.

The guardians of the Dungeon are two large, feline statues that stand hidden in the greenery to either side of the main door.  Charged by the original builders with defending the tomb and its grave goods against robbers, these catlike constructs have proven ineffective for guardian the Dungeon thus far simply because the Master and his servants didn’t use the door, which is still sealed shut.  Instead, they entered via one of the holes in the ceiling, which can be found with a bit of luck and a careful search.

Beyond the Dungeon’s original purpose, however, lies a newer development.  The same passage of time and shifting of earth that opened the Dungeon to the sky also opened it to the deeper places underneath, and a handful of denizens from the lightless dark have risen to occupy the Dungeon alongside the mortal newcomers.  Children of the Great Ones with nonsensical forms to testify to their unnatural origins, they prowl the darkened regions of the Dungeon, nestling in among the bones of the dead to rest- and perhaps, to absorb some kind of insight.

The prizes for exploring the Dungeon are both oriented toward knowledge: part of the grave goods buried with the officers among the dead soldiers are books of strategy and tactics, both in the conflict they particularly fought in and at large.  Equally useful but far more unsettling is the psionic talent the Great Ones’ children carry with them, the ability to remove knowledge forcibly from the heads of others.  Those who make psychic contact with the children have a chance of ‘catching’ this talent, as if it were contagious.

[justavulcan]

Serpent in the King's Power Plant Compilation Post

The royal palace of this small jungle kingdom sits atop its biggest power plant, capable of distributing arcane power and clean running water to the whole region.  While this arrangement has proved both highly symbolic of the royalty’s responsibilities to the people and of the power they hold, it means that now, when the Master has seized control of the Dungeon and slain all the King sends to seize it back, the entire country is cast into crisis.

The Dungeon itself, while ornate, is primarily a functional structure, equipped with wide doors and low ceilings to permit easy passage from one room to another.  Much of the floorspace is either totally clear and flat, or absolutely full of hissing pipes, humming engines, and the other apparatus that keeps the kingdom’s magical power alive and running.  Every member of the royal family must complete a five-year apprenticeship under the engineers who used to work here, turning their minds to the optimization of the system for the benefit of all.

Of course, the Dungeon was not without defenses of its own, even though they have been subverted by the intruders-  first and foremost is a chronomantic field generator designed to cause temporal trauma to intruders, aging them prematurely.  Operated from a central control room with a magical IFF device, the generator can only send out a few pulses every minute, but slowly ages would-be intruders to death until deactivated.

The Dungeon’s new Master is a sentient sea serpent, thirty feet long from nose to tail and bristling with both ornate spines and intelligence.  The Master is no stupid beast, having an intuitive understanding of magical engineering and phenomena and willing to put that intellect to her own use.  Still, the major threat she poses to intruders is physical- much of the lower level of the Dungeon is flooded, and little can match the Master in her own domain.

Half of the Master’s servants are exiles, allies she made traveling the shores of the nearby warm sea and speaking with the nomads that travel there.  Cast out from the kingdom as punishment for the crimes of only a few of their people, these nomads back the Master for political revenge against the kingdom that threw them from their homes.  Without the Master’s protection, they would be slain on sight for violating the terms of their exile, but with her at their back, few would face them.

The other half of the Master’s followers are technicians and tinkerers, talent she’s culled from the Kingdom over the last few years to aid in this scheme.  Most are skilled magical engineers in their own rights, casting metal and wood into the form of living things and imbuing them with magic to match, but a few are more able with immobile machines like those populating the Dungeon.  All view this as their chance for profit and glory, and none will back down even if pressed.

The reward for overthrowing the Master and returning the Dungeon to the King is full of potential.  In one hand, the King offers a key to the Dungeon’s power, giving the heroes of the moment free access to a limited power supply, wherever they go.  With the other, he offers an automaton wonder, an ornate construct in the form of a great elephant, to follow the PCs and do as they bid as status symbol, beast of burden, and guardian.

[justavulcan]

Grotto of the Apex Predator Compilation Post

The caves connected to the sea have been dreaded and prized by the locals in these parts for generations.  Dreaded for the way the deep caves turn you around and keep the freezing spray of the northern ocean trapped, prized as a hiding place for smugglers and their goods when the capital’s taxes get too much to stand for.  That kind of a mixed reputation is a quick path to a legendary reputation, and the Shimmering Shoals have that in spades.

The real reason the Shimmering Shoals are as dreaded as they seem to be is simple: the depths of the cave are pitch-black, lightless, and unmapped by most creatures on two legs.  Instead a wide variety of darkness-loving predators have fought for space and food in the depths of the cave for time immemorial, making traveling the Dungeon deep in the caves an exercise in staying alert.

The oldest and most fearsome of the Dungeon’s residents is an ancient troll augur.  Skilled in the way of his people in haruspicy, and specializing in reading his own entrails, little surprises the Master, and he’s more than capable of disembowling others for purposes of prognostication…or self-defense.  Being the Master of this Dungeon takes strength and endurance, and this ornery old troll has both.

The greatest threat to travel in the Dungeon after the predators is the tide.  The Dungeon is most accessible at low tide, when the entrance is out of the water and would-be explorers don’t risk hypothermia- but the Dungeon’s smarter residents know to try and knock attackers into the low water, where climbing back to land is a fight against both the slick rock and the tide.

The cave’s current occupants are a group of wolves with strange, dimly glowing runes engraved in their sides- whether they’re escaped experiments or mutants, none know.  What is clear is that they’re hungry, very clever for animals, and seem resistant to magic.  The truth is that they’re actually creatures created by the Dungeon itself as an essential expression of its will; and while they serve the Master for now, if he is slain, they will answer to the new apex predator in their lair.

The Master’s closest followers are a mismatched group of hunters who are skilled at speaking with and connecting to wild animals, as peers.  They hunt the hallways and passages of the Dungeon as much as their more animalistic counterparts, serving as eyes and ears for the pack and running with them to rend and tear newcomers for their own necessities of survival.

Hidden in the depths of the dungeon are a pair of lights, burning and casting back the dark from the place where they’re found, where the sun doesn’t and has never shone.  Two magical flames, one with the power to cast illumination into not just the present, but also the future; and one with the heat to warm not just the body but heart and soul.  How these two gifts to mortals ended up here, in a dark, wet place beyond the eyes of humankind is a story best reserved for another time.  But to those who find them, these two flames are gifts like no other.

[justavulcan]

Ashmarked Stockade Compilation Post

The desolate coastline near the Dungeon is a maze of sharp rocks, cold-water coral reefs, and ship’s bones left by close encounters with both of the former.  As a result the area is given a wide berth by the majority of passing ships, which are themselves uncommon sights.  This corner of nowhere has been tempted with settlement before, but none of the attempts have succeeded due to the difficulty of getting manufactured goods from civilization here.

The Dungeon itself is a remnant of one of these earlier colonization attempts- a wooden palisade fort with a cluster of buildings huddled within the walls.  Battered by sea spray and exposed twice a day to the reek of low tide, the Dungeon is a home suited only for the desperate- and the purposefully isolated.  It’s not a place for those who want contact with the world.  Despite its wooden construction, the Dungeon fares well under the wet environs- it’s largely sealed with pitch, which gives the whole place a damp, slick shine in the right light.

The Master of the Dungeon found it in the midst of a deep-wilderness hunting trip, coming from the land to this place bordering the sea to find it squatting beyond the edge of the world.  A skilled duelist, wilderness survivalist, and now nascent warlord, the Master rules over the fort with an iron fist, leading both by right of might and with a zeal his followers find infectious.  He accepts guestsand visitors that are willing to challenge him for his blade, but any who try to skulk or break in find him an uncompromising foe.

Students come to visit the Master too, young souls interested in the art of war.  They form the bulk of the Master’s followers, taking turns hunting, fishing, scavenging for shellfish, and doing all of the other tasks that a large group must do to stay ahead in the wilderness.  Between these chores, the Master lectures them on strategy and tactics, the philosophy of combat, and the logistics of a military campaign.  They’re devoted students, practicing together between lessons and chores, and willing to overlook the strangeness of the Master’s ‘lieutenants.’

Sitting in a tiny side room off the Dungeon’s two-cell prison hold is a small golden urn, no larger than a brick.  Its lid is nowhere to be seen, and it appears empty- because the contents have been spread, a pinch at a time, throughout the whole dungeon.  This innocuous act has given the Dungeon an unexpected final defense- none who die on the grounds rest in peace, instead rising as undead driven to protect the place where they passed on.  They must be defeated a second time to send them truly to their final rest.  This morbid second wind can be disabled if the Dungeon is ritually cleansed, causing the ashes to return to their urn and the lid to once again close it.

The other matter rendering the Dungeon more than a backwater school for the martially inclined are the Master’s ‘lieutenants’, horrific, faceless and twisted creatures that need no sleep, food, or air to survive.  Eerily silent both of voice and movement, they are bound to the Master’s service by the same urn that enables the mortal combatants to continue fighting after their first death.  If the Dungeon is cleansed and the ashes returned to the Urn, the ‘lieutenants’ demonstrate their true nature and attack all who remain, Master, student, and trespasser alike.

The Master’s blade is promised as a prize to any who defeat him in combat.  Supernaturally keen and highly recognizable, the weapon is a boon to any who bear it.  The Master left behind a complex life and many relationships, both friend and foe, when he took up residence in the Dungeon- and made no secret even during this past life that he considered any capable of taking the blade from him worthy to carry it.  As a result, bearing it in public may attract all kinds of attention by those in the right circles.

[justavulcan]

Crevasse of the Outcasts Compilation Post

The “landscape” around the Dungeon is built in defiance of it: a cluster of vast hexagonal floating platforms, powered by a combination of solar and wind energy.  Part memorial garden, part temple complex, the islands support a good-sized population of farmers, initiates, and clergy as they hover far above the desolate landscape below.  Although once capable of lateral movement, the loss of connection with the nearby power station reduced them to floating immobile over the Dungeon.

The Dungeon itself is a vast hoodoo field, a maze of huge stone columns carved from mountains by the action of wind and water.  The water is now far, far below where most of the Dungeon’s residents live, but is still critical to its survival.  The residents have, over decades, chipped and dug out caverns in the sides of the cliffs to live in, camping out in the shadow of the floating temple complex above.  The Dungeon demands much of those who would dwell within it, but most of all a lack of fear for heights.

The Dungeon’s Master is a relative newcomer- outcast from the gardens he helped plan, plant, and tend, he descended to earth with a handful of stolen seeds intending to grow the means to claim his revenge.  Jealous and protective of ‘his’ gardens, being banished from the city was the final offense needed to tip an already dangerously misanthropic man into open hostility- but it wasn’t all bad.  When he came to the Dungeon, he had no idea he would find it full of others with angry hearts, trying to survive, and in their united attitude, they have become a family.

Some of the other outcasts in the Dungeon are former Temple personnel, like the Master- gardeners and initiates cast out for various offenses and non-conformities.  Many have bonded and even formed families of their own, living primitive but fulfilling lives dredging water from hundreds of feet below to water gardens on the hoodoo tops, descending to hunt or trap, or trying to cultivate mushrooms in the deepest of the caverns.  They’re hardy and strong people, galvanized to action by the Master’s arrival and his tales of ease in the floating islands.

Before the Master came, the coalition of outcasts living in the Dungeon was headed by a group of more charismatic leaders who worked as a sort of informal ruling council to make sure everybody’s needs were met and every voice was heard.  When the Master came he quickly became a part of this informal group, and his expertise in horticulture and driven personality let him push to the front, emerging as a de-facto leader.  Some of the older council members are less than pleased with the change in leadership and grudge he still clearly holds, but none can argue the harvest has been better since he arrived.

The Dungeon has been the destination for the city’s outcasts for almost a century now, and those generations of outcasts have resulted in a great many ghosts as people died alone and hungry before the present outcast society pulled together.  While they don’t usually bother the locals, the ghosts have pulled together to unite in their posthumous misery to haunt the dreams and occasionally waking moments of any trespassers, particularly those from the city above.  The only inoculation is time, and all of the new renegades can testify to the discomfort of this supernatural hazing.

At the height of one of the tallest hoodoos in the Dungeon stands the old power station, the reason the floating city has not yet moved on.  Captured long ago by the renegades and still used as a sort of technical hub and hospital, the station is largely in need of considerable repair to return to its prior function.  However, if the renegades were removed or circumvented, this station could also serve as a solid stronghouse, and there’s still useful technical salvage to be had from here if the current occupants can be persuaded to part from it.

[justavulcan]

Grove of the Mindbender's Rings Compilation Post

The valley where the Dungeon is located is mostly marshy ground overgrown with poisonous plants, giant fungi with toxic spores, and thick tangles of briars and thorns.  Although full of life, the valley is not safe for most large fauna due to the dense foliage and relative scarcity of safe plants to eat.  The Dungeon’s location deep in the valley was not accidental, but a folding of the natural world insuring that the power within it remains contained.

The Dungeon itself is actually a safe area within the venomous tangle- so the Master can defend the power hidden within more actively.  Suitable for camping and hiding from the outside world in relative safety, the Dungeon is actually more a haven than a vault, with most of the denizens ignoring trespassers as long as they do not seem to be searching for the power buried within.  The Dungeon poses dangers of its own, though- the whole region is cold rainforest, and the conditions accordingly harsh for those unused to or unequipped for them.

When it becomes clear that intruders are, however, searching for the Dungeon’s hidden treasure, a few parties take notice.  The first are the Dungeon’s own will, exerted through the terrain itself- icy elemental creatures and glacial spirits that pull themselves up from pools of still water to drive intruders away or lay them- permanently- to rest.  They do not eat or sleep, and their patience is that of the glacier that carved out this valley, implacable and endless.

The Dungeon’s Master, however, is a seemingly-normal herd of elk.  Stout of leg and broad of chest, these huge herbivores graze sedately much of their time here, but should their wrath be aroused, the truth of their presence becomes clear.  The herd is a gestalt, every individual thinking in tandem to form a powerful and ancient mind tide both to this place and the dangerous treasure lying within.  Territorial and far cleverer than their appearance would indicate when their ire is aroused, the Master defends this land with hoof and antler, unafraid of anything but total eradication.

Although the Dungeon is isolated and the valley in which it lies toxic, there are still local people that come through now and again.  These traveling groups consider the Dungeon and valley part of their territory and believe themselves stewards over it- and while they have infinite patience for those lost or simply trying to survive in the wild, they can always tell when people have trespassed in the sacred chamber where the Dungeon’s treasure lies, and take such a trespass extremely personally.

These same locals have a long-standing tradition of coming to the dungeon to play music to the trees and the animals that dwell among them, a form of worship they offer freely.  In time the trees have learned to answer, and a number of dryad musicians have stepped forth to both meet the pilgrims in song and defend the Dungeon from trespassers.  Armed with gorgeous voices and a talent for playing live trees and shelf fungi as drums, they make primal music that affects the soul and calls the Master to them as part of a warning system.

The power that the dungeon arose to protect is deeply hypnotic, a psionic talent currently contained in a rusted set of iron rings.  The bearer of this talent, who can meditate on the rings to internalize the lesson, gains the ability to bend the wills of others to their own, enforcing their will on any who bear similar patterns of thought- in the hands of a mortal person, this would allow them to control anything that is, was, or was built by human hands.  The stewards of this place determined long ago that this talent was too dangerous to be floating around out there in the world, and hid it here.

[justavulcan]

Swarm Battlefield Assassination Compilation Post

The Dungeon lies at the heart of a distant world’s battlefield, a ravaged hellscape of bare earth, filthy water, craters, trenches, and barbed wire.  Beyond no-man’s land lie the enemy lines, studded with burrows, organic towers, and all manner of other alien fortification- some simply grown by organic means, many actually alive in ways that most humans never come in contact with.  The situation is deteriorating- the enemy is massing for a last push, and their scouts roam no-man’s land above and below ground.

The Dungeon itself is one of the hearts of the enemy line, a fortified crag studded with biological growths.  There, the minds of the enemy swarm plot, mass their will, and instruct their drones on strategy.  It is here that the Master lies, and it is here that the defenders send their strike teams in the hopes of buying more time for reinforcements to arrive.  Crippling this node would handicap the swarm, but the minds would have to be found first, hidden among the caves and burrows.

The Master is a powerful psionic creature, a telepathic hub for the swarm’s hive mind and as smart or smarter than the average human.  Despite the fundamentally other nature of their consciousness, they understand war, they understand hunger, and the understand strategy.  They understand that the swarm needs to feed, and that the humans on the other side of the battlefield are just prey- numerous, perhaps, and dangerous, in their way, but only prey.

The Master is supported by a few specialist organisms within the swarm, seeking to amass advantages to capitalize on before the battle even begins.  The most important of these are its scouts- fast-moving, stealthy swarm members that stalk the no-man’s-land looking for weaknesses in the enemy line, lone enemy soldiers to interrogate, and other valuable pieces of intelligence.  Worst of all, they lay down pheromone trails to guide other drones to the greatest concentrations of enemies in the human battle line.

Clustered up with the Master and helping to extend its range and connection strength are a group of other hive-mind hub creatures.  They’re armed with formidable psionic weaponry of their own, but they function more as support units, relaying commands and using telepathy to unnerve or panic enemy troops for the slaughter.  They try to stay out of direct confrontation if possible, but will throw their lives away to defend the Master.

The psionic energy that suffuses the Dungeon is detrimental to those exposed to it long-term, as most human minds are not equipped to handle that kind of psionic load for long.  With the Master at the Dungeon’s heart, this takes the form of concentrated psionic support fire at intruders during engagements in the Dungeon, and can only be disabled by breaking the Master’s back directly.

Slaying the Master is the reward in and of itself- its death means the extension of the siege, perhaps enough for reinforcements to arrive and bail the defenders’ line out.  Certainly it’s time enough for additional defenses to be built, munitions to be better distributed, and prayers to be said- so as long as the Master falls, the day has been improved, at least for those who lived through it.

[justavulcan]

Church of the Shattered Wedding Compilation Post

In the heart of the Old City is the memorial plaza for the local soldiers who fought and died in the war.  Dominated by a set of four polished black marble obelisks bearing the names of the dead, the plaza serves as a civic gathering place, for street fairs and other local holidays.  Some claim using the area for fun and a celebration of life dishonors the memory of the dead and others that they would want it to go used, or else linger at their monument to witness the lives of the living and smile down on them from beyond.

At the corner of one of the side streets and the plaza itself is the Dungeon, a vast church seemingly built to the scale of giants- the façade reaching for the heavens, while the interior of the sanctuary soars well over the heads of any of its parishioners.  Beneath the sanctuary on the main floor lie crypts and vaults where the dead and some of the wealth of the church are kept. It’s lain abandoned for some time now, due to the current residents, and the parish is desperate to reclaim this most spectacular of monuments.

The church was abandoned in the midst of a wedding- a madman who could assume the shape of a wolflike beast struck just before the exchanging of vows, mauling the bridal party and seriously injuring the groom.  While the press has had a field day speculating about the matter to the tune of a wild animal attack, the truth is that the werewolf sought to interrupt the wedding for political reasons- so the alliance it would cement would not come to pass.  He lurks here still, assuming beast form to stalk and murder any who would enter.

The Master is not the only remnant of this wedding crash, however- the bridesmaids he murdered in the process linger in spirit, haunting the sanctuary as a group of veiled spirits.  Hungry for aid and unknowing of the effect of their life-draining touch on the living, they crowd around any intruders, trying to beg them to get them to safety.  Their spirits cannot leave the church until their bodies are removed from where the Master left them to lie, and their voices have been reduced to incoherent pleas and sobs.

Some few of the living still manage to find a place within the church- wedding guests and staff who have been unable to flee, feeding on the rats in the crypts and the memory of the wedding feast to be had.  Although many seem coherent at first glance, all have broken down in some fashion, and their composure cracks in the presence of the church’s other inhabitants or any memento of the wedding ceremony.  While they are not themselves violent, their disturbance has manifested as a series of physically improbable nightmare creatures that are drawn to them when they’re triggered.

Worst of all, though, the violence that was done here has so thoroughly soaked the church that whenever combat is joined, the Master seems to be there also, leaping from the shadows to carve flesh from bone with a swipe of his claws.  This supernatural rending can only be brought to a halt by his death, and intensifies dramatically when night falls, making overnighting in the church a dangerous undertaking.

The reward promised, however, for cleansing this dreadful site of its troubles, is great.  The displaced clergy have considerable pull with the local judiciary, and have promised a full pardon of all crimes to any who can cleanse the church of its ills and render it once again safe to hold services within.  Their first order of business, of course, is to confine any such hopeful lawbreakers for a week to be certain there are no more troubles- but when the matter is deemed finished, they are turned free with the court’s official sanction and gratitude.

[justavulcan]

Lake of the Meditant Compilation Post

The jungle here is deep, vibrant, and full of life.  Blessed with minimal cloud coverage save the daily cloudbursts in the early afternoon, the light of the sun shines like a breath of life on the foliage, permitting all manner of plant life to thrive and flower.  It’s not just the plants that thrive here- the fauna of the jungle is also resplendent with color, from bird to beast to insect.  In this riot of color and life, it’s easy to forget the dangers- but many lurk, from venomous insects to poisonous plants to larger carnivorous creatures.

The Dungeon takes the form of a mesa-top lake, a natural spring and rain dish never more than a few meters deep.  Fuzzed into green at the edges by water plants and steadily drained by a dozen tiny waterfalls, the bulk of the Dungeon’s surface is taken over by mirror-clear still waters, reflecting a bright blue sky overhead.  In the center of the lake is the Master’s meditation raft, a simple wooden affair posted to the floor of the lake so it doesn’t move.  He’s often found there, simply meditating on the sound of the jungle around him and the mirrored image of the sky above and below.

The Master is a contemplative soul, more interested in the intellectual pursuits of philosophy, perspective, and cosmic wonder than the crude difficulties of the body.  As a consequence, he scarcely eats, and often spends weeks subsisting on nothing more than the water of the mirrored lake.  He projects a wispy strength to those few who lay eyes on him, and neither beast nor the native people of the jungle will stoop to harm him.  If pressed, he can take to the sky for escape, his intellectual distance from the world allowing him to temporarily leave it behind.

Most dangerous to trespassers in the Master’s domain are the serpents- particularly the cobras, which lurk at the water’s edge waiting to surprise birds, fish, and frogs.  While they do not harm the Master or his other followers, they’re aggressive enough to attack even groups of travelers, at least to deliver one deadly bite before making themselves scarce in the reeds.

The native people of the jungle have great esteem for the Master, as to them he seems detached from the world they spend much of their time surviving and being part of.  While few among them can leave behind their responsibility to their families for food, shelter, and safety, his refusal to harm any living thing and their refusal to hurt him in turn speaks to them of the steadiness of a tree, or the lake itself.  He teaches any who ask, guiding would-be disciples in an inward search for perspective, self-understanding, and detachment.  They, in turn, dissuade intruders on his domain, causing travelers to become lost, lose supplies, or face the jungle’s greater dangers in the interest of keeping him safe.

The lake itself is not without dangers, however- the natural spring that feeds it is geothermal, and while the lake water itself is safe to consume, there are also vents for poisonous gases all over the mesa itself.  While not typically dangerous, those who spend too much time near a vent find themselves suffering from a fogged mind, clouded thoughts, and a general sense of confusion- something the locals take advantage of to ensure travelers get turned around and leave the Master be.

Should a traveler make it to the center of the lake, however, and disturb the Master’s meditations, they can beg of him a boon- the sole object he took with him when he retreated here was a family banner, an object that serves as a symbol of unity, legacy, and ancestry.  It has powers of its own to bind companions together, but his estranged relatives would also very much like it back, and would be willing to pay handsomely for its return.

[justavulcan]

Bike Gang Dam Compilation Post

The Dungeon is a pre-fall hydroelectric generator facility, although it no longer generates power as it used to.  The machinery here is rusted, damaged, or simply too old to function reliably, and the kilowatts of power the Dungeon used to churn out are no longer possible without a major overhaul of the site and comprehensive repairs.  Still, it’s relatively dry inside the generator complex, and generations of people have made their homes here as best they have been able, up to and including the current residents.

The Dungeon was built at the heart of a natural wonder, another sign of the old world’s will to sacrifice beauty for utility and industry.  Once a waterfall that routinely caught the sun to create a prismatic wonder like few others, now the area is a lake upstream and an unhealthy trickle of the overflow downstream.  The area is littered with monuments, both ancient and modern- this is a common place to come to, to set a monument for the dead so the living can remember.

The Master of the Dungeon, currently, is an iron rider- she built her own motorcycle with her own two hands and to her own custom specs, and it boasts an acceleration matched by few of its relatively small size.  She took over the Dungeon because of its location- natural beauty, isolated from nearby settlements, but close enough to raid or trade as needs demanded.  She fishes much of the day, by hand and with traps, and knows enough about the land to throw back the ones with the weirdest mutations.

While the Dungeon is largely nonfunctional, there is one major feature that still works, not least due to the Master’s tender attentions and need for something to do.  The Dungeon itself has a lockdown mode, an artifact of the beginning of the end of the world.  Heavy reinforced doors and shutters can be called upon by simple mechanical action to cloister the Dungeon and some of its internal passageways from would-be intruders.  The current residents have even used it offensively- to trap intruders while they mass up for a decisive confrontation.

The current residents under the Master form two parties.  The larger of them is a group of thieves and thugs that used to make the bulk of their living shaking down small, isolated homesteads and travelers.  They’ve been hiding out here for some time, equal parts impressed by and scared of the Master, and while they don’t make staunch allies, they keep bringing back things they think might be useful to her.  She’s started calling them her ‘Crows,’ and they’ve taken to the name fondly, some even going far enough to make crude masks to wear on their ‘supply runs’.

The smaller group under the Master is a handful of daredevils and thrill-seekers who get their kicks joyriding.  Fortunately for them, their mechanical talents are a match for their thirst for adrenaline, and as such the Master’s not kicked them out for being too much trouble-yet.  She does wish they’d stop stealing the vehicles many of the neighbors rely on to survive, but they keep her Crows fed and her in spare parts, so she’s torn.

If control of the site is seized from the Master and her followers, the reward is power over the Dungeon itself.  While it makes an adequate shelter, with the creature comforts left behind by generations of squatters, the best use for the Dungeon may actually be to destroy it.  High-explosive charges placed at a few places about the complex would be more than enough to level it and terminally damage the dam, allowing the lake above and the river that feeds it to drain into its old bed and run freely again, potentially giving those downstream a much-needed source of drinking or irrigating water.