This theme reveal was written by Alice L., Theme Master of Super Dungeon 2022.

“Another load of steel for Bay 5!”

“Keep those fires hot, lad! We’re a forge, not a bakery!” 

“Look out below!!!”

That last statement was followed by the scraping of chains. Artificers and engineers, blacksmiths and alchemists, and even a lone reporter scrambled out of the way as the top of a rocket clanged onto its other half. Immediately, goblins in soldering gear scrambled all over the structure, and sparks began to fly haphazardly. It was rare to see the large scale construction space of the tinker’s guild of New Keteratonik so abuzz – usually, activity (and the occasional explosion) were confined to the network of smaller workshops.

Floating above the fray, Tor Avitpaxu and Progrix observed at the hectic, bubbling hive of activity underneath them. They were invisible, of course. A giant floating tortle and a furry mythical beast would cause too much of a commotion. But they were hardly here on vacation. The rift yawned above them, and it was the very cause of this current fervor.

As he watched yet the goblins assemble yet another cockpit, Tor Avitpaxu frowned, the creases on his gnarled face deepening into valleys. He had seen the first capsule pass through the rift – and how it had nearly shaken apart before making it through. These mortal-made constructs were too unshielded from the raw power of the rift and were only good for one way journeys, if anything. And even though most adventurers were willing to take risks, they still had people they cared about and would not like the idea of being stranded forever in a foreign time. 

What a waste of perfectly fine metal, he thought. Still, Tor Avitpaxu supposed the capsules had not been entirely sacrificed. They could now tell that the rift was really a portal that led to some point in the distant past of Ritenus. Now more and more adventurers were being sent through, in hopes that they’d find out more. But they couldn’t go hurling thousands of gold pieces worth of material into the rift anytime a group needed to go through! At this rate, the mortals would bankrupt themselves long before any disaster arrived.

No, what the mortals really needed was a dependable and reusable way to traverse the rift. Tor Avitpaxu contemplated his companion, who currently had his thick furry tail wrapped around his front claws and was staring quite intently at the sparks flying below. Something like Progrix would work nicely – being a divine beast, Progrix could enter (though not pass through) the rift with no repercussions. He was dependable. He was cheap to power. 

The only problem was the Progrix was not a very good large class vehicle. Sure, he could shapeshift to be much bigger, but that didn’t mean he was safe. Adventurers or their equipment falling from a high height above New Estanos certainly seemed like a bad situation for everyone involved… 

Progrix, sensing his master’s thoughts, pondered over them. His ears flicked absentmindedly as he scanned the chaos below, trying to find something that could help. 

Suddenly, Progrix spotted a spurt of steam from the corner of his eye. He maneuvered his invisible bulk around stacks of materials and over walls until he found it’s source: a train! Laden with steel and coal and all the other things the workers needed, it was big and shiny and powerful. People filed on and off the train in neat, tidy columns. Watching the scene, Progrix felt a shiver pass from the tops of his horns to the tips of his claws – it was perfect! Not sparing a single moment, Progrix jumped up and pranced proudly back over to Tor Avitpaxu, tail waving. The Tortle god was now floating upside down, apparently trying to look at things from a new angle. Progrix nudged the Tortle god with his nose insistently, and he turned to look at the divine beast questioningly. “What’s the matter? Did you find something?”

Progrix nodded, then pointed with one claw in the direction of the train. When the god didn’t move fast enough for his taste, he grabbed the Tor Avitpaxu’s staff in his mouth and began to drag him over to the train. There was no time to waste! Adventurers were probably being shot through the rift this very second! 

“Hey!” With no small amount of struggle, Tor Avitpaxu extracted his staff from Progrix’s mouth. “How rude, Progrix. Now what’s the rush?” He looked around. Progrix had dragged him to a different part of the workyard, which was just as busy as the rest. The only thing of note here was the large train that had just pulled in. A train…Tor Avitpaxu frowned contemplatively, then brightened.

A train would be perfect! Large, with ample storage space, maneuverable with the use of tracks, and easily powerable by Progrix! But he could hardly build it alone. He didn’t have the slightest idea how trains worked, and even divine magic could only make up for so much. He’d need the help of Charchaeon, for sure, and Vicnaritas, and possibly even Wilehelion. Hmm…

Looking back at the workshops, Tor Avitpaxu swung himself up onto Progrix’s back. He gave the divine beast a pat on the head, eliciting a happy rumble. “Let’s go, old friend. We have a lot to do.”

~~~

Weeks later, the people of New Estanos gaped as a train made out of an unidentifiable brownish metal spiraled out of the sky. It formed its own tracks as it chugged its way down and down and down, finally stopping just outside of the Adventurer’s Guild. 

As the crowd gaped, Tor Avitpaxu stepped out of the front, complete with a conductor’s hat. Ignoring the gathering, he slowly made his way to one of the carriages and rapped on the door. “We’re here!” He called.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, there was the sound of a small scuffle and the door slid open. An extremely tired looking Kenku emerged first, clutching a backpack to his chest and mumbling about how ‘this was out of his paygrade’. He was soon followed by a battered looking warforged, two Tabaxi, a Tortle, and two halflings, most of whom were slightly singed and rather dazed.

As the adventurers began to regain their bearings, Tor Avitpaxu turned to address his growing audience. “Hello, fine citizens of New Estanos! As I’m sure many of you already know, I am Tor Avitpaxu, one of the Pantheon. This fine contraption next to me is Time Train.” He patted the dull yet distinctive vehicle beside him fondly. “We are now the official transportation for all adventurers through the rift. You can acquire tickets from the Adventurer’s Guild…” As he continued to explain the intricacies of using the Time Train, the onlookers finally seemed to shake out of their collective stupor. Whispers grew into confused and contemplative murmurs. From the back of the crowd, a blue scaled Kobold in a fedora and an oversized trench coat began to push her way forward with urgency. Though she elbowed animalfolk out of the way rather aggressively, her small stature made progress difficult.

Finally, Tor Avitpaxu stopped talking. He seemed to think for a second, tapping his chin with one long claw in contemplation before continuing. “Well, I think that’s all I have to say. I hope to see some of you on board soon!” 

With that, he climbed back onto the Time Train. The machine came to life all around him, and he chugged his way back into the sky before vanishing , leaving behind a disappointed reporter, bedraggled adventurers, and a very confused New Estanos.

This theme reveal was written by Alice L., Theme Master of Super Dungeon 2022.

At night, the city of Nidor was an unexpectedly lively place. Bars along the pier and in the city were packed with sailors and overworked interns alike, and the loud, bawdy noise of these establishments carried far and wide. 

Sitting atop the highest spire in Nidor, a little Kenku child swung his feet back and forth as he contemplated the lights of the city and the teeny tiny animalfolk scuttering back and forth below him. Punkiedory, as he was once called, was definitely, 100% not allowed to be here – if anyone saw him, he’d absolutely be shouted at. But alas, people rarely look up, so here he was. 

And oh, what a view he had! The city spread out below him like a tapestry, so similar yet different from the place he remembered. Now, steel and copper encircled the trees along with vines and wood, steam spurted from valves and mingled with the smoke from sacrifices, and the clanking of machinery was as common as the gentle clinking of bone wind catchers. Yet Nidor was still Nidor, Bracorax was Bracorax, and he would stand by them until the end of days. 

The end of days… With a small frown, Punkiedory turned his eyes up from the luminous city to the inky sky above. He quickly picked out the familiar constellations – the crow, the tortoise, the scales, all complete. Yet four – the water bearer, fire eater, earthshaker, and airbender – were missing stars.

The rift was still there, he thought dejectedly. The gash in the sky had been there for over a week at this point. Though it hadn’t been growing, or spitting something out, or doing much of anything at all, he didn’t like the rift. It made him uncomfortable. And more importantly, nobody, mortal or divine, seemed to know why it had appeared.

  A flutter of wings at the edge of the Punkiedory’s vision shook him out of his musings. Looking down, he saw that a sleek black crow had landed next to him. Ah. He wondered what was the matter. Ever since he’d gotten ungrounded, he’s usually allowed to go out and about as he pleases.

“Hello sister!” He gave a cheerful little wave to the crow. “It’s rare to see you here these days. Do you need something?”

Though the bird didn’t open its mouth at all, he heard the reply all the same, reverberating directly into his brain. “A council has been called. Your presence is requested.” Punkiedory cocked his head a little. That was weird. His sister’s voice sounded…well, not quite anxious, but tinged with something of that sort. This must be serious then. Still, he felt the need to liven the mood.

“Requested? Or ordered?”

The crow didn’t give him the dignity of an answer, instead side-eyeing him before dissolving into the blackness of the night. With a sigh, Pupsilludo stood up and stretched. Of course he knew that the gods never made requests. And if even he had been called, this must be an assembly of all the gods – something that almost never happened.

~~~

When Pupsilludo stepped through to the plane designated for the meeting, he found the rest of the pantheon already present, exchanging pleasantries. Oops. He wondered how long his sister had spent looking for him – and how long the meeting had been delayed. Ah well. At least he was here now. He discreetly made his way toward his siblings, stopping only to wave at Tor Avitpaxu, the tortle god being the only one that noticed he had slipped in.

“Is everyone here now?” Bcaesorr’s voice rang out above the soft murmur of side conversations among the gods. Nobody answered, but the gathering quieted. The question was rhetorical, of course. Though the milky-eyed god was blind, Bcaesorr had a better idea of what was going on around him than most people with eyes do – a fact that has cost Pupsilludo many times. “Excellent. I trust you all know why we are here today?”

Vicnaritas was the first to speak, his horse tail flicking as he readjusted his four hooves. “That rift in the sky, right? I regret to inform you that I have no knowledge on what it is. The greatest mortal researchers can only come up with theories too.”

“Yes, what is that thing?” Lucretor jumped in, sounding quite frazzled. The rings on his claws shimmered alluringly as he waved his hands around, and Pupsilludo had to focus really hard in order to not be distracted by the shininess. “Whatever it is, it’s driving some mortals rather crazy with worry – can you imagine how that’s affecting the economy?”

“That’s what we’re asking.” Sidastrea’s voice rang in everyone’s head, sounding vaguely annoyed by Lecretor’s outburst. Dark eyes flashing, she continued, “Now, do any of us have an idea, or are we just as clueless as our followers?”

“Well,” Tor Avitpaxu raised one gnarled hand, though there’s no need. “I may have some inkling of what it’s about.” With everyone’s attention on him, he continued. “You see, the river of time has been acting a bit…strange since that rift’s appeared. Sometimes it’ll show images from Ritenus, but other times it shows strange beings – featherless, scaleless, and hairless, except on their heads.”

Pupsilludo felt his beak drop open involuntarily. Whaaattttt???? He had never even heard of such beings – and he was no silly mortal, he was a god! Was the river really malfunctioning? But why? It wasn’t as if anything they did affected the river anyways – it was far older than even Tor Avitpaxu.

“So you think the rift is somehow manipulating time itself?” Though it was hard to read the half-mechanical god, Charchaeon sounded skeptical at best. “Why would anyone do that?”

Tor Avitpaxu shrugged. “I’d love to know the answer to that, just like you. But if I had to guess…doesn’t it feel a bit like her?” Though he avoided saying the name, only Charchaeon, Lucretor, and Wilehelion looked confused. Pupsilludo knew everyone else understood what he meant.

Next to Pupsilludo, Sidastrea visibly flinched, feathers ruffled. “Even if it does, it cannot be her. Yl is long dead. We established that 238 years ago, no matter what some stubborn mortals continue to believe.”

“Now, now,” Tor Avitpaxu waved his hand, dispersing the tension. “I never said it was her, only that the rift feels a bit like her. And you need not feel so guilty. She did it willingly, if I recall.”

“…perhaps.” Sidastrea did not appear to be significantly reassured though. Watching her slightly slumped form, Pupsilludo vowed to ambush her with a hug later. 

Noticing his sister’s clear agitation, Bcaesorr redirected the conversation. “So time may be messed up. Is there anything else we can discern? Or is this the work of a power greater than even us?”

A chorus of nos and shaking heads met his question, and Pupsilludo felt his stomach drop. However, he’s distracted from his growing feelings of dread by the ever chipper voice of Wilehelion.

“Well, even if we don’t know much now, we’ll probably know some stuff soon. I’ve heard the mortals have some plan to investigate the rift.” Here, he paused, tapping one finger against his chin. “I think they want to shoot some people through with a contraption of some sort? Quite ingenious, if you ask me!”

Incredulous silence met Wilehelion’s sudden proclamation. The Phoenix finally broke it, flaming wings flaring in disbelief. “You mean to say that the mortals are planning to shoot their own through a mysterious rip in the sky that no one, not even us, has any idea about?”

“Yup!” Wilehelion seemed almost satisfied with the fact, but even Pupsilludo had his doubts about the mortals’ sanity at this point. He could tell that the plan was probably a very, very bad idea – and he was practically famous for making questionable decisions! It would be a minor miracle if it actually succeeded the way the mortals were planning. From the anxious murmurs all around him, Pupsilludo could tell the rest of the gods shared his views.

But once again, Tor Avitpaxu restored the meeting to order. “Though I’m sure we can all agree that the mortals are quite mad, we must consider their circumstances. What else can they do? The rift is a mystery they must solve, and if even we cannot assist they must take matters into their own hands. Let us wait and see. Perhaps we may yet learn something new.”

The gods continued to deliberate, some arguing for the mortals’ plan, others wanting to stop them, fearing the potential repercussions. Pupsilludo, however, quickly lost interest. He knew the passive-aggressive arguing would amount to nothing fruitful anyway – it rarely did. And no one really cared about his opinion anyways. Most of the gods still thought he was a little kid. Instead, Pupsilludo let his eyes wander discreetly over the demiplane all around him, looking for something more interesting. Unfortunately, the place was dreadfully plain and boring – no trees to climb, no clouds to stare at, no rocks to hide behind. It must have been one of those weird pocket places that simply existed, with no god to shape it into some other form. Everywhere was the same, the same, the same – except for there! 

Wait, what? Pupsilludo squinted at the spot where the air was…jiggly, but the abnormality remained. So he wasn’t imagining things. Probably. But that still didn’t explain why the air was jiggly in that spot, wavery and fluctuating. Pupsilludo wanted to investigate so badly, but he also didn’t want to get caught. Being grounded was not his idea of a fun day, thank you very much.

He discreetly looked back to assess his chances. The conversation had shifted from civility once again, and at least half of the gods were busy trying to convince Lucretor that the state of the financial market should probably not be their main concern at the moment. All in all, they were thoroughly not paying attention to him. 

Excellent. With quick, careful steps, Pupsilludo sidled over to the aberration. It was situated at just about his eye level and only the size of his wing. He could see through it perfectly fine, but everything behind it was weird and distorted. Also, even though it was jiggly and wavery, it seemed to be stuck to the spot it currently was in. Huh. Pupsilludo wondered how it would feel if he touched the thing – was it as incorporeal as it looked? But he also knew that he probably shouldn’t – after all, who knew what kind of weird thing it would do to him! Pupsilludo was impulsive, not stupid, so he pulled out a rock from his pocket and carefully tossed it at the patch of air first. Much to Pupsilludo’s surprise, the rock disappeared as soon as it hit the abnormality, vanishing before his eyes. 

Wha??? Now Pupsilludo was really interested. Drawing close to the aberration, he carefully stuck the tip of his wing into it, watching as it disappeared. Though he could no longer see his feathers, he could still feel them…being tickled by a light breeze? There was no breeze here though. Fascinated, Pupsilludo stuck his wing further and further in, wiggling his feathers around on the other side. Maybe this was a portal of sorts? Unfortunately, he probably didn’t have enough time to figure out where it led – he’d have to investigate more thoroughly later. 

Going to pull his wing out and return to the meeting, Pupsilludo found that there was a slight problem. His wing was stuck. He yanked harder, but still couldn’t seem to get free – in fact, it seemed as though something was actively tugging him on the other side. 

Oh no no no no no! Valiantly, Pupsilludo tried to brace himself against the floor and yank his wing back, but it was too late. With a floomp! he disappeared. Pupsilludo was gone.

This teaser was written by Pablo, DM for the 2022 D&D Super Dungeon. His first game will be held on July 9, 2022. For details and registration, visit our web page.

The wind tore through the ship’s open window, sending ink, quills, and pages flying across the wooden deck of my quarters along with the stinging rain. Roused from a dreamless sleep, I winced and surveyed the room. The room was shrouded in a stygian blackness, framing the light of the gibbous moon on my desk with the stroke of the master-artist. I slipped out of my cot and walked to the window. The cool sea breeze licked my face as I looked up at the moon, enchanted by the silvery halo that encircled it. The moon was enormous and I could make out faint shapes upon its surface. I imagined that I saw a city upon the moon, filled with picturesque moon-towers and inhabited by happy moon-folk. Engrossed by my own imagination, I looked closer at the surface of the moon until my eye fell upon an odd eye-like formation in its center. It was bulbous and wide and its dreadful pupil was fixated on the ocean below me. I too looked deep into that murky abyss, yet saw only the reflection of the ship, drifting gently through the night.

When the day finally broke, the Captain informed me that he had found me still at the edge of my window, staring forlornly at the lapping waves. He is nothing but an idiotic old sailor! I was not merely looking at the surface of the sea, but trying to grasp at the wonder that lay beneath it. Throughout the rest of the day, I was unable to accomplish any of my usual navigational tasks, instead poring over hoary tomes of pelagic and celestial lore, pilfered from the private library of our ship’s mage. My research proved to be fruitless however.

As night fell again, my mind began to cloud with the weight of a sleepless night. Yet I still had not discovered a morsel of the truth which I so desired. A sliver of moonlight, a boon from the full moon, crept its way up the leather-bound volumes I was reading. Its dim light settled on a particular passage of the Liber Crepusculum, a book purportedly written by a mad priest of old Zhar who disappeared along with the city all those years ago. It read:

The gods have gone mad! The oceans churn, the air twists, and the very ground beneath our feet threatens to give way. Only the stars remain faithful to our cause. In my communion with those great gods above, I have been granted sight beyond sight and know the horrible truth of it all. The skies shall weep for ten-thousand nights, and this deluge will end all life but those below the sea. Look only to the ringed moon which the stars have illuminated to foretell our demise!

What the senile old priest wrote was utter madness, foolishness beyond foolishness. Yet I felt drawn to his strange ramblings. I glanced again at the cold moon outside and studied its ethereal rings. The moon itself began to resemble a single unblinking eye, staring at the impending doom described by the lunatic cleric. A strange shape caught my eye in the moonlit waters, a rectangular shape standing alone among the submerged dunes. My eyes widened as I noticed more and more structures dotting the ocean plane. They were buildings! Just like the ones I imagined on the surface of the moon. The lost city of Zhar was not lost, but sunk beneath the sea to avoid the coming apocalypse.

The following morning, I was found yet again staring at the open ocean through my window. The captain ordered me restrained to the brig after hearing my earnest entreaties to save our own ship by sending it beneath the sea, in imitation of that great city. There was a fear uncharacteristic to his voice, and his skin appeared terribly soft and parched. To my horror it seemed that the affliction had set itself upon the whole of the crew overnight, rendering them all fleshy creatures incapable of even proper movement, nor entirely coherent speech. Then to add insult to injury, I heard the pattering of raindrops on the roof of the deck above. The prophecy of Zhar! The end times! I had to do something. With my waning strength I wrenched open the iron bars of my cell and set to work. I tore at the wooden planks beneath the ship with my scaled hands, desperately trying to save the lives of my crew. Wheezing for lack of water, I lost consciousness right as a burst of water exploded into the vessel. I can only hope I was fast enough.

This teaser was written by Elihu S., DM for the 2022 D&D Super Dungeon. His games will be held on Thursday evenings. For details and registration, visit our web page.

This teaser was written by Jonah L., DM for the 2022 D&D Super Dungeon. His games will be held on Thursdays. For details and registration, visit our web page.

I must not sphere. Sphere is the mind-killer

“How much do you know about the sphere, my child?” A middle-aged Kobold walked quickly across a wooden catwalk with a clipboard in one hand and a child’s hand in the other. Next to them is a transparent, giant, magical, sphere, suspended in the air holding a small island worth of earth. On this little land in the sphere stands a giant tree pressing its limbs against the edge of the sphere as if it’s either holding the sphere up or trying to escape. They stand in a hole carved out of the earth, a little pouch to hold the sphere. Many catwalks, platforms, outlooks, and doors extrude from the walls of this chasm. The sphere floats completely still, the only thing unmoving in this chattering canyon. 

The little kobold thought for a moment, “Well… it’s really old, and it’s really big but not too big, and there is a big tree in it!”  The child said excitedly.

“Good job! The sphere is an ancient anomaly that is made up of extremely powerful, undispellable spells. It is quite big, as you told me and this area had to actually be dug into to get to it after a landslide collapsed a lot of the surrounding area onto it. We research it because until those big cracks in the sky opened up, it was one of the most direct things connecting us to our past. We could trace plants today back to some of the plants inside of the sphere, which has been my main job here. It has had many researchers come and go, but its main use now is for ballistics testing, as the underneath of an unbreakable object makes testing explosions… somewhat safe? Anyways that’s what the goblins use it for. The Genera as a whole has been studying this sphere since we came into being. In fact, great great grea-”

“5th Great Grandma worked here which is why you’re so excited to start working here, you’ve told me a thousand times.”

The kobold continued on unperturbed,  “Exactly!  For all of time it has floated there unchanging, it was figured out long ago that the outer edge holding it all in is a modified wall of force that seemingly can’t be dispelled. On the inside, we aren’t so sure. “ The Kobold paused speaking to climb up a ladder. He waved at a warforged who was walking across the platform “Hey Cor!”

The warforged glanced tiredly at this energetic kobold, “Hi Braille. Didn’t know it was bring your kid to work day, today.”

“Well today is a special day, it’s the da-”

Cor interjected quietly, “Yes I’ve been up since 2 am yesterday morning preparing, I know all about it.”

Braille huffed “Well you don’t have to be rude!” He then took out a pocket watch and looked at the time, it was 8 in the evening. “Oh my, well, you can sleep now at least right?”

Cor sighed, “More work to do.”  Cor then trudged off.

Braille exclaimed, “We need more funding…” He then looked at his child, “What was I saying?”

“We’re going on a vacation to a city?” His child hoped.

“Oh, the sphere! Some think it’s an illusion, but many think that time in this area has stopped. The main reason being this.” Both stop on a platform close to the top of the sphere, where inside a leaf in the middle of falling floats inert. “Inside there is some grass, some flowers, and a door. Now the door, that’s the interesting part. “ At the base of the tree stands a door, made of dark metal, with archaic runes etched onto it. Braille handed a spyglass to the child, “This is a spyglass that translates messages read through it. Read the inscription on the door out loud for me.”

“In dire need of cleaning! Help wanted! Help needed!” The child read. 

“Which surely stumped the researchers who figured that out!” The kobold chuckled then looked up towards the sky, “Anyways, with the time rift opening up, we happened to discover that in Early Sostenus the sphere is gone. The inside of it is there but the forcefield has disappeared. We want to research the inside and find a way to dispel the forcefield, but it seems that dinosaurs and a little bit later, bandits have set up residence there, who don’t seem so accepting of research… So we’re going to send some adventurers to go, well, politely ask them to leave! If only I was an adventurer and could see it firsthand…” Braille walked across the platform to a door in the wall and straightened a bowtie. “Do I look good?”

“No.”

Braille ignored his child, “Well the adventurers are here!” Braille whispered excitedly “Let’s meet them!”

This teaser was written by Lily B., DM for the 2022 D&D Super Dungeon. Her character creation workshop will be on June 24th at 5PM EST. For details and registration, visit our web page.

The night the sky tore open, the opera house was brimming with fans. Crowds were packed mile-high to see Bulak the Warbler, a famed orc vocalist. Her performances had become a widely revered attraction across Sostenus as she told the tales of heroes and demons in -as the local critics called it- a distinctive musical experience. As people clamored into their seats, Gaylle Yelvaris took a deep sip of a fiery elixir. It had a sharp taste and stung like he swallowed a thorny rosebush. It was only temporary though; after a few minutes he would feel fine. Or, as fine as possible. The elixirs were the only thing that numbed Gaylle’s piercingly painful headaches. They’d been like this for weeks, eating away at his concentration and possibly his sanity. Ever since returning from his archaeology travels in the surrounding islands, he hadn’t felt the same. Perhaps he was just readjusting to life in his home city, he reassured himself. After all, it had been more than a century since he walked the streets of Cirrayne. Gaylle leaned back and settled into his seat. The lights faded to darkness and a single spotlight shone on Bulak as she began her ballad. 

Nearing the first act’s end, Gaylle felt himself growing bored. His thoughts wandered, dancing around the house. He craved the chill, early spring air outside, a relief from the stuffy atmosphere indoors. Gaylle was pondering leaving when an elderly gnomish woman beside him suddenly spoke.  

“Marvelous, isn’t it?” she remarked in a raspy, high pitched voice. She peered at Gaylle through oversized opera binoculars. He couldn’t help but notice the resemblance to a bird. 

“Hmm?” Gaylle answered, caught off guard.

“Her voice. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Oh. Oh, yes. Absolutely,” he stammered. The woman smelled heavily of perfume, not helping Gaylle’s claustrophobia in the slightest. He discreetly scooted to the far corner of his seat, keeping his face as far away as possible from the suffocating fragrance. 

“You know,” the woman continued wistfully, “I used to sing too. Back in the golden age of Sostenus. I was young, famous. I was a star!” Her voice cracked and was suddenly dripping with vexation. “I haven’t had work in years. My last gig was at a sleazy tavern. A tavern!” Gaylle recoiled, incredibly unsure of how to respond. 

“I-I’m awfully sorry about that” he said, as the woman shook her head in exasperation. Gaylle, desperate to escape the situation, stood up. “Pardon me, I’m feeling a bit warm. I may step out for a moment, if you could just-” Gaylle was cut short. Around him, the entire opera house rose, simultaneously conducting a standing ovation. He’d barely noticed the performance end. 

After Bulak took her bow, a tall elvish man took to the stage. Gaylle instantly recognized him, though it took a moment to fully realize the connection. It was Myrvilaur, the mayor of Cirrayne. Gaylle recalled waving to Myrvilaur at the city parades as a child, holding his mother’s hand. Since then, Myrvilaur hadn’t changed much, save for a few more wrinkles. 

Myrvilaur strided across the stage, his tailcoat flapping slightly. After reaching the center, he addressed the audience. 

“Good people,” he announced, his voice magically amplified, “thank you again for coming to see the lovely Bulak!” Myrvilaur flashed a smile so shiny it would make a thief go mad. “And of course, the orphanage will greatly appreciate every single coin coming from tonight’s benefit.” He paused momentarily, waiting for the cheers to die down. “And as an added treat, Bulak will be back in Cirrayne for our inaugural Heavenly Jamboree!” Once again, the audience erupted into applause. “Come one, come all to our festival of music, of food, of commerce! I’m sure-” Myrvilaur was interrupted by a heavy jolt protruding from the ground. Various spectators shrieked, clinging to their seats. A deep rumble sounded from the sky. 

The opera goers rushed out the door, forming a massive crowd on the front street. Townsfolk emerged from their front doors, the majority in their sleep garb. An elvish child rubbed her eyes tiredly, half-asleep in her father’s arms. The herd of people gasped collectively, staring at the sky. The heavens were dotted with stars like every other night. But a gash bled across the night, exposing the infinity beyond the atmosphere. Colors beyond comprehension glistened as the denizens of Cirrayne watched in awe and horror. 

“What in Sciear’s name is that,” Gaylle mumbled as a lonely figure plummeted from the rift.

This teaser was written by Hannah Lee, Con Director and DM for the 2022 D&D Super Dungeon. Their virtual games will be held on Wednesdays from 9:30am-12:30pm. For details and registration, visit our web page.

Buried deep beneath the peaceful forests of Trinka, a quiet story has been told a hundred times. It is a conversation carved in stone and told in the face of mountains. For far too long, it has remained unheard. But one day, a refugee from the demiplane of dreams stumbled upon a cavern too large to have been carved by underground waters, its floor shaped in familiar segments. After excavating the cave-ins and hollowing out a place to live, the delicate calcite structure of a rib cage as large as a house, a spine longer than a train, and a head larger than any Firbolg could dream were exposed.

The bones of these lost giants cast long shadows among the Firbolgs, Kalashtar, and Kobolds who lived on the island. Myths of ancient creatures had long lived in the imaginations of the caretakers of the forest, but each tree they consulted and each creature they spoke to had only inklings of memories that had been passed down from generation to generation. Perhaps, they wondered, the fish that lived in the shallows of the deep lakes could tell them. Perhaps the moss? They begged the Little God to shed light on the mystery to no avail. 

It was a tale that could not be translated until, one day, the sky broken open and travelers unlike anything the animalfolk had ever known began to share their own stories.

Stories where Giants wandered, leaving footprints that transformed into lakes.

Stories where Kings built underwater bridges and spires that sang ethereal melodies in desert winds.

Stories where monsters dwelled in deep caverns and where kingdoms of peoples hoarded magic treasures beyond scholarly belief and gods were defeated by mortal hands.

And as curiosity in this world grew, so did disbelief. When guilds gained access to the passages beneath the mountains of Trinka, something incredulous was discovered.

They found, of all things, goblin remains surrounded by mysterious, fragrant seeds. The problem? When traced to define their origin, Chronologists found the owners of the skeletons, still breathing, in their homes two continents away, completely unaware that they were supposed to have been killed two million years ago.

Thus, as adventurers began to equip themselves to foray into the unknown rift, this small group of Chronologists begged them to resolve this mystery and prove, once and for all, the goblins were, in fact, dead and time could make sense again.

Will you be one of these adventurers? Or will you stumble into a story all your own?

The Coffee Goblins will run on Wednesday mornings, 9:30AM-12:30PM EST, beginning June 29.