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.

This teaser was written by Paul G., one of our Dungeon Masters for the 2022 D&D Super Dungeon. His character creation workshop will be on June 18, at 6:00PM EST with DM Pablo. For details and registration, visit our web page.

Che threw the lasso up, tugging on it to make sure it had caught on the rocks above. It didn’t budge, so he jumped off the rowboat and planted his feet firmly on the cliffside, narrowly missing the water below. Che forced a foot up, planted it down, then moved the other. Slowly, he inched up the cliffside. After about five minutes of this, Che could see that he was almost at the top. He glanced down, and shut his eyes tight at the dizzying height. If he were to fall now, then… splat. That would be the end of ‘Master Treasure Hunter Che Thire.’ Che made the last few steps up the cliff, collapsing on top, panting. Che looked up to see a teenage elven girl holding the end of the rope, with red marks on her hands and pain contorted across her face, her arms shaking. She had bright blue hair, and incredibly pale skin. However, both these were mostly covered by the midnight black robe she was wearing.

“Chastine…” Che panted. “Why didn’t you just hook the rope onto a rock?” Chastine looked up at him, offended, ask if he had just insulted her.

“You’re heavier than you realize.” She said, her voice delicately quiet. “I could’ve slipped and dropped the rope trying.” Che got up, looking at the burns on Chastine’s hands. He took one of them, pouring some water from his waterskin onto a cloth and rubbing it, then doing the same with the other. “Thanks.” Chastine said, wincing from the pain. Che gazed up at the giant castle before them. Peford Castle. Where the king hoarded all his treasure and magic-users. He walked closer to one of its dark, giant windows, staring through it into the dark room. Chastine walked next to him, shivering.

“Chastine, this is your first real job. If you’re not cut out for it, it’s fine. I don’t want you to get in trouble.” Che forced out of his mouth, even though he knew that Chastine was vital to this heist. 

“As if I’d chicken out now.” Chastine scoffed.

“Thought so.” Che replied, glancing at Chastine before walking over to one of the enormous walls. Chastine followed, grabbing onto one of the rough, weathered stone bricks. “What the heck are you doing?” Che asked, watching Chastine put her other hand up and then one of her feet.

“Climbing.” Chastine replied, looking at him with a confused stare. “What are you doing?”

“Using the door.” Che chuckled, walking over to the flimsy wooden thing and inserting a lockpick.

“Oh.” Chastine replied, jumping down. “So you want to add breaking and entering to your charges?” she asked.

“You wanna climb, go ahead.” Che replied. “Besides, they have more than enough reason to arrest me already. Doesn’t matter if I do anything else now.” He could tell that Chastine wanted to ask what the other reasons were, but he hurriedly turned the lock and pushed the door open before she could. Che took a quick glance inside, and seeing no one but arrays of flowers, crept in. Chastine grabbed his shoulder, pulling Che back to look at her. She was slightly taller than he was, and much older. However, Che was the most experienced one here. Why was she stopping him? Don’t think like that… Che thought furiously. You’ll be just like him if you do. Chastine stepped into the doorway and scanning the area, probably looking for any signs of magic.

“One of the doors has a magical alarm on it.” Chastine said. “We’ll have to take the bigger one.”

“The bigger one leads to the trophy room.” Che said. “We would’ve taken it anyways.” Che looked back at Chastine, and she seemed a little hurt. “Sorry.” Che grumbled as they walked towards the large metal door.

“Sorry?” Chastine said in faked shock. “I’m simply honored, Che of the Thire court.” Thire Court… Che thought. That has a nice ring to it. He slowly pushed open the rusty metal door, this time letting Chastine look into the room first. “All clear.” She said, stepping in. Che followed, looking around the room. It was practically glowing, shelves upon shelves filled with gold and silver and all sorts of treasures. And there, on a pedestal, below two crossed swords mounted on a wall, was what they had came for. The Amulet of Ludivicia. Che picked it up, noticing a plaque above it. It read:

The gods gifted us this power
Because of our own.
We must use this in our darkest hour
To brave the last unknown.

Che furrowed his brow. What the heck does that mean? He thought, concentrating. All that Che knew about this amulet was that it was priceless. Chastine walked up next to him, glancing around his hood to Che’s confused face.

“You really don’t know any history, do you?” She asked, holding her hand out for the amulet. Che passed it to her, still transfixed by the poem. Chastine took off her hood, putting the amulet around her neck. It looked strange on her, an almost glowing piece of gold and diamond next to pale white skin and black cloth. “They say that an ancient emperor of peford fought off a giant squid that was attacking boats in the harbor. That squid was supposed to be nearly the size of this castle. Anyways, Ludivicia gave him this amulet because she was so impressed. It’s said to have extreme magical powers. Ludivicia told him that his people would need this amulet someday, but for now he had to take it and join the elves in the north. The emperor didn’t listen, and Ludivicia killed him.” Chastine poured out. “Wow.” Che said. “Where’d you have room to breathe in there?” Suddenly, Che spotted something behind Chastine. A man was standing, on the end of the hallway, seemingly scared. Noticing that Che was looking past her, Chastine spun around, startling the armored man further. The man gulped, and shouted:

“Everyone! The elves are attacking!” And with that, he ran forward, sword drawn, shouting nonsense. Chastine pivoted, as did Che, and they began running down the halls in the opposite direction. Why would he think the elves are attacking? Che thought. I’m a human, after all. And Chastines not even fully grown. Chastine took the lead, turning left and right through the halls of the castle. They often had to duck under swords and arrows, cheating death at every turn. Just as they could see a set of large blue doors ahead, a woman in robes ran from another hall, blocking their exit.

“An elf and a human. How peculiar…” The woman said, holding her hands up. Little sparks of lightning crackled on her palms. Her black and gold robes fluttered in a nonexistent wind. Chanstine pulled off the amulet, then placed it around Che’s neck.

“Go. Run.” She said, kissing him on the cheek. “I love you.” Che opened his mouth, but no words came out. “Go! Now!” Chastine yelled, pointing to the hall where the woman had come from. Che could see an open window in it, and took his chance. The woman didn’t seem to notice the amulet, or just didn’t care, and focused on Chastine.

“How sweet.” She said while Che forced himself through the window. He heard booms of thunder, and the whoosh of fire from inside. Chastine is a sorcerer. Che tried to convince himself. She’ll be fine. And so Che ran, back through the streets, past the guards, gripping the amulet the whole time. And not once did he look back.

A rift in time has torn open the sky, connecting cultures and species spread out across 2 million years in a handcrafted D&D universe. With over 70+ games to play this summer with players from across the country, this year’s D&D Super Dungeon is not something to miss!

Click Here to Register

Character Creation Workshop Dates

June 16 at 6:30pm EST with Eli

June 18 at 6pm EST with Paul and Pablo

June 19 at 6:30pm EST with William

June 23 at 1pm EST with Hannah

June 24 at 5pm EST with Lily

June 25 at 1PM EST with Milo

Free-for-all Character Creation June 28 at 3pm EST

View Our Player Guide and Teasers Here

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.”

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

“Mr. Bard! Mr. Bard!” The innocent and ear piercing shouts of children stopped Ernest Jennings in his tracks. Turning around, he spotted the source of the sound – a brown haired head weaving in and out of the crowds of market-goers, its erratic movement punctuated by shouts of “Wait up!”. Amused, he decided to wait and see what the commotion was all about. All around him, the hustle and bustle of the marketplace never ceased. Though the harvests of the past few years had been bad on Sostenus, it seemed as though this year’s had turned out alright. He watched as the brown head – now joined by a red and blonde head – swerved to avoid two workers carrying a crate of apples and chuckled again. Finally, a face popped out of the crowd in front of him.

“Huh. So you really did wait.” The little brown haired girl, no more than 8 or 9, squinted up at him before breaking into a smile, showcasing the gap between her front teeth. 

“Most…adults would have just…ignored us,” her blonde friend wheezed. Already bent over halfway, he was clearly not the most athletic. The third girl said nothing, simply watching Ernest with grass green eyes while fiddling with one of her red braids. 

“Well it’s a good thing I’m not like most adults.” Ernest quipped back. “Now tell me, what was so urgent that you all felt the need to tear after me like horses?”

“Oh!” The brown haired girl jumped guiltily, then continued. “It’s just that the marketplace is sooooo boring, and we thought you’d be able to tell us a story to pass the time!”

Ernest raised an eyebrow. So that was all it was? Though he should hardly be surprised – what else did he expect from children? Looking up at the sky, he saw that it was not yet midday. He supposed he could entertain them for a bit – the next town was close enough that he didn’t need to set out just yet.

“Very well then. I suppose I am at your service. Are there any particular tales you want to be told?” As he replied, he ushered the three kids into a nice shady spot under a tree – after all, there was no need for them to keep blocking the road.

“You should tell the tale about Lymqua and the leviathan!” The brunette exclaimed.

“No, no, we’ve heard that story a hundred times.” Her blond haired friend glared at her, then jabbed Ernest in the side. “You should tell the story about King Ajax instead.”

“What do you mean he should tell that story instead?!” The brown haired girl indignantly side eyed her friend.“We’ve heard that one a million times! And it’s a boring story too. Who cares about him?”

As the two children began to squabble, Ernest sighed and turned to the red haired girl, who still hadn’t said a word. She’s watching her two companions disinterestedly – perhaps this is a common occurrence for her. To be honest, her silence and aloofness unnerved Ernest. Still, she’s the only one who’s paying attention right now. 

“Your friends seem to have very strong opinions on what they’d like me to tell. What kind of story do you want to hear, then?” he asked.

The red haired girl turned and stared at him once more, eyes gleaming. Now that he has a better view of things, her eyes reminded him more of emeralds – hard and cold – than grass. She paused for a moment, as if analyzing him, then finally spoke. “The story of the origin of this world. Do you know that one, sir?”

“That story? Of course I do!” Ernest is almost surprised at the ordinary nature of her request. Though really, what was he expecting? The girl was just a quiet girl, nothing more. Maybe he hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night. “I’d be happy to tell it to you, but…you’ll have to do something about them first.” He jabbed a thumb at her companions, who had now progressed from verbal arguments to full out tussling on the grass. 

The red haired girl sighed, then, quick as a cat, grabbed the ear of one and the hair of the other, dragging them with surprising strength to the base of the tree and plopping them down. “Hush, you two. He’s not going to tell either of those stories. Now be quiet. He’s about to begin.”

~~~

In the beginning, there was nothing. Velvet blackness encapsulated a cosmos that was little more than the leftover bits of creation, floating aimlessly here…and there. And the world would have remained this way, had two beings not emerged out of this void. Ylanous, Lady of Chaos, and Kyrassous, Lord of Order.

Finding themselves in a boring, barren place, the two set out to reshape the world, guiding errant specks of matter together and arranging them into more interesting shapes. Their creations continue to form the basis of the world even now. 

But with new elements come new domains, and with new domains come the need for new gods to watch over them. Thus emerged the greater constellation gods – Lymqua, Arbellux, Sciear, and Faterra, each born of the element they now preside over. At first, their influence was so small that Ylanous and Kyrasous didn’t even notice the fledgling deities. When they finally did, a great debate ensued between the two. Should these strange new beings be allowed to persist? Kryassous thought not. There was no need for new gods, who would only serve to disturb the established order of things. Ylanous thought differently – after all, more gods meant more chaos, and she was all for that. But she also knew such arguments would be useless against Kyrassous. So she told him the world was already growing far too complicated for only two gods. Why should they refuse helping hands? Gradually, Ylanous’s arguments wore Kryassous down. The new gods could stay – for now.

As the influence of the greater constellations grew, they began to carve out swatches of the world for themselves – now our four elemental planes. 

But the elemental planes were not the same as they are now, neatly separated, one from the others. Back then, they mixed at the edges. Air swirled with water, water seeped through earth, earth dampened fire and fire flickered through air. Within this bubbling boiling mess, the first inklings of new life emerged – the World Dragon, which ravenously consumed everything it touched. It sucked up the fire, water, air and earth of the planes and made them a part of itself, growing larger and stronger with each meal. 

Sensing this disturbance and the gradual consumption of their domains, the greater constellations appealed to Ylanous and Kryassous to do something to stop the beast. Their requests fell on deaf ears – Ylanous and Kryassous had decided not to interfere. They were curious what would happen. Would these young, yet unchallenged gods hold their own? Were they worthy of staying?

Seeing that no higher intervention would save them, the four gods gathered their strength and set out to slay the World Dragon. The fight was long and hard, but eventually the World Dragon ceased to move, pierced by earth, choked by water, scorched by fire and battered by wind.

However, the World Dragon’s colossal body, imbued with all four elements, did not fade back into the nothingness. Instead, it began to change, morphing into something new. Its flesh dissolved into soil and earth, its teeth became stones, its bones formed the mountains. Its free flowing blood became oceans and rivers. Its breath formed the air and the clouds. One eye became the sun, the other the moon, and its scales flew up to form the stars. 

Atop the highest peak of this new plane – our Material Plane – an egg appeared. With its iridescent scales and far-reaching aura, all the gods could tell that it was the World Dragon’s egg. The greater constellations immediately moved to destroy it – for no one wanted a repeat of the last World Dragon. But their attacks were blocked by Ylanous and Kyrasous, who thought this new world needed a ruler, someone to regulate the mixing of the elements in this new plane, and that this fledgling god would serve nicely.

To prevent the World Dragon from ever growing powerful enough to destroy the elemental planes, they set up a cycle. The World Dragon would have a finite lifespan, and each time it died, it would be reborn and consume its own body to gain power. Then it would enter an endless sleep – no longer would it consume elemental energy to grow. 

Thus the World Dragon was allowed to hatch, and it sleeps in the center of our world to this day, sustaining all life and magic in Sostenus. So too, was our world created – the world we now live and die in.

~~~

“Huh.” The brown haired girl leaned back and scratched her head. “Is that really how Sostenus was created?”

“Of course it is! Haven’t you ever heard that story before?” Her blonde friend puffed out his chest, seeming proud. 

“Don’t act like you know better than me! I know lots of things you don’t!” And with that, the two friends launched into a new argument. 

Ernest was so busy watching the two kids fight and reminiscing about his childhood that he didn’t even notice the gradual dying down of the constant murmur of the marketplace. But the red haired girl did. Turning around, she immediately let out a soft gasp at the sight and reached back to tug on Ernest’s shirt.  

“Mr. Jennings, you should look behind you.” Though her words were quiet, Ernest could hear the unease in her voice. Even her two friends stopped fighting, perhaps tipped off by her strange tone. (And how did she know his name?)

Looking backwards, he found himself at a loss for words. There was a…a rip in the sky, he supposed. Just looking at it made his head hurt. All around him, the marketplace was coming alive again, but this time the people were not concerned about the price of tomatoes or haggling over pieces of pottery. They were all fixated on the..thing…in the sky. Ernest could understand their confusion and fear – even he, with all of his stories and travels, had never seen or even heard of anything quite like it. And as he stood there, there was only one thought in Ernest Jennings’ mind:

This bodes poorly.

Last year’s D&D Super Dungeon had over 45 games to play for young adults across the state. This year, we’re going national! With participants from across the country (and Scotland!) and over 70 planned games, this Belmont-grown virtual Super Dungeon is reaching new heights, led by our very own local high school and college-age volunteers. Watch this teaser video for the theme reveal of this summer’s next big adventure.

The video will go live at 3:30 PM on Tuesday, May 3rd. Want more details? Visit our webpage here.