A Rift Above Ritenus: Super Dungeon 2022

This teaser was written by Ella Sheffield, Theme Master for the 2022 D&D Super Dungeon. For details concerning the upcoming Super Dungeon, visit our web page.

When the rift first yawned open in the sky above Ritenus, not many people noticed. It was a dreary, haze-filled morning, and at the moment of appearance, dawn light had only just begun to brighten the streets of New Keteratonik. All sensible people were still home in bed, and most of the insensible ones were passed out in alleyways. But in one dingy newspaper office, not far from the airship docks, a coffee-stained kenku was at the tail-end of an all-nighter when he happened to glance out the window. Dennik Scratchings may only have been the editor of a minor tabloid, but he knew a front page story when he saw one. The Daily Dungeon had its newspaper boys out on the streets while the editors of the other papers were still busy gaping at the sky.

As the first one to report on the rift, Dennik figured that he practically counted as its discoverer – and he made sure to repeat this as often as he could. It gave the paper a pleasant burst of attention, but Dennik knew it would die down in a few days if he didn’t find some way to keep ahead of the news. People didn’t just want to be told that the rift was there, after all – they could see that with their own two eyes. No, they wanted answers, and Dennik thought he knew where to get some.

***

From the outside, the governor’s office was a towering palace built after the style of old Praxlarri temples, but from the inside it was a warren of identical hallways and harried interns. The governor himself was an aging dragonborn draped in ill-fitting robes and carefully nursing a headache. He was friendly enough towards the reporter, but every question was met with polite obfuscation and meaningless promises. Eventually, frustrated, Dennik closed his notebook. It was at that point that the governor leaned forward, a serious look in his eyes. “Be careful what you write in that paper of yours, won’t you? We wouldn’t want to cause a panic, as it were.” Dennik opened his mouth to reply, but the old dragonborn continued in a thoughtful tone. “Yes, write something optimistic, something that indicates that we’ve got it all under control. It’s best to keep the order.” And with that, he waved a hand and the reporter was dismissed.

Dennik was somewhat disquieted, but not surprised, by the governor’s attitude. He hadn’t truly expected any answers from the dragonborn – everyone knew that he was practically a figurehead for the banker’s guild, anyway. But it wouldn’t have been a good look to print statements from guild leaders without at least attempting an audience with Praxlarr’s official representative. His next stop would hopefully be more productive. 

***

It took several minutes for Dennik’s eyes to adjust to the gloom of the library’s basement. The air was cool, and only a few flickering faerie lights illuminated the labyrinthine bookshelves. A soft rustling from the left told him that he wasn’t alone, and he stepped forward, calling out a greeting. A shape slowly came into view between the shadows, of a serpentine woman seated at a desk piled high with papers, books, and incomprehensible instruments. She looked up with poorly disguised impatience. “What do you want?”

Dennik frowned. “I sent ahead a message – I’m here to interview the Society of Scientific Researchers about recent events. You’ve seen the rift, I assume?”

“I read about it,” she said, tossing a hand vaguely at one of the ink-stained stacks on her desk. “What exactly was your question?”

“Well, what is it?”

“What is it?” she repeated. The scientist appeared to mull that over for a moment. “If you’re asking for our leading theories, then it’s plain to anyone with eyes and an ulvitameter that this is no extraplanar boundary leakage. That leaves either a psychogenic effervescence effect, as predicted by Cassander and collaborators, or an interwordly temporal dissonance of external origin. If you ask me, the most important result of this is the complete contradiction of the Arcane Academy’s theory of materialistic arcana.” She seemed to relish that last sentence for a moment. “I cannot wait to see Remaier’s face when my next paper is published.”

Dennik could tell at a glance that asking for a simpler explanation would be fruitless. Instead, he dutifully copied down her words – maybe some egghead among the readers would be able to decipher it – and took his leave.

***

Dennik had never quite gotten used to riding the train. He preferred his talons safely on the street, thanks you very much, not careening wildly across a swaying bridge, shrouded in steam and sparks. But apparently this evening commute was the only time available to meet with the head of the tinker’s guild, so Dennik gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the screeching of the iron behemoth beneath him. The artificer was a young, bald goblin who grinned at the reporter on his approach. “So!” they said cheerfully. “What do you want built? A new printing press? I’ve got one made of dragonsteel and lightning that’ll about triple your efficiency, so long as your paper is fireproof, or – ooh, how about an automated news delivery system? Our accuracy with the Door-Door system has nearly reached 80% – just think, you can have your news delivered to readers right to their breakfast tables! And what about-”

Dennik finally managed to cut across the artificer’s chatter. “I don’t want anything built, actually. I’m here to ask about your thoughts on the rift. Has your guild been taking any action towards investigation?”

The goblin switched tracks with lightning speed. “Oh, sure, we’ve been doing plenty! So far our labs’ve been unable to replicate the effect, though it’s not for lack of trying! We’ve opened portals to plenty of interesting places, but none seems to quite match – that’s what a supernatural phenomenon will do for ya, I guess! The obvious priority is getting up there, but most of our current aircraft aren’t much designed to withstand a powerful magical field like that one, nor are they particularly maneuverable! We’ve got a new design in the works – it amounts to basically strapping magical dynamite and a couple controls to a pilot’s pod, yeah, but it should be practically impervious to unforeseen environmental conditions in or through that portal there! Plus it’s fast, too!”

“You think it’s a portal, then?” Dennik fit in.

“Sure, what else would it be? Like as not Yl’s up to her old tricks again, trying to pull us someplace more interesting now we’re finally getting a handle on how this world works!”

Ah. Dennik recalibrated his approach to the conversation. The zealous of Yl’s followers were – well, unpredictable was one description. Dangerous anarchists with no regard to their own safety was another. Not all of her followers were like that, of course, but it still took a special sort of mind to persist in believing in a god when all evidence pointed irrefutably to the fact that she’d died two centuries ago. Rather than push the issue, the Dennik simply nodded politely and let the artificer ramble on as the train continued on its way.

***

Just over a week later, Dennik was at the front of the crowd as the governor delivered a perfectly tedious speech beneath the rift. Behind him were arrayed a party of intimidating warriors, the finest of the Adventurer’s Guild, each prepared to risk their lives for the benefit of Ritenus. Like the others, he suffered through the formal pageantry of the farewell, and surged forward eagerly to watch the heroes climb into the tinkerer’s contraption. With a deafening roar and a rush of light and smoke, the ship thrust itself skyward, spiraling up and up and up, and finally crashing into the gaping hole and vanishing with a shiver.

There were several moments of loaded apprehension as each animalfolk stared eagerly upwards. As it gradually became clear that the adventurers weren’t coming back, the crowd slowly and reluctantly began to disperse. It was several hours before the last stragglers finally went home, Dennik among them. He was determined not to miss out on the next part of the story, even if it meant throwing himself through the rift after them. But even so, he had to admit that standing in an empty field grew tedious after a time. 

***

Nearly three weeks had passed with no news, and talk of the rift had gradually begun to die out. Dennik, however, had not given up. Letters and Sendings had streamed from his house every day, carried out of the city by tiny animated constructs or the spells of apprentice wizards, winging their way to contacts all over the isles. Eventually, finally, a letter was returned.

The next day, a new headline appeared on the front of the Daily Dungeon. HEROES DISCOVERED, it read in eye-catching font. ARCHAEOLOGICAL DIG IN FROZEN WASTES REVEALS REMAINS OF CRAFT was the subtitle, and the rest of the paper was emblazoned with grainy images of machinery buried among fossils and quotes from experts that swore to the authenticity of the result. At the bottom of the page, in stark black ink, was the only statement that the Adventurer’s Guild had given:

“We’re going to need more heroes.”