I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the implications of certain parts of my dungeon/megadungeon idea. One particularly peculiar one that jumped out at me was the nature of kobolds.

Dragons and their hoards attract kobolds as minions, right? Everybody knows that. So why does the dungeon know that?

In my idea, in one of the later stages, the dungeon creates some dragon eggs, which become protected by various kobold tribes.

But why? The dungeon could easily put the eggs in the clutches of any monsters. It doesn’t even have to be separate races.

The implication of the dungeon choosing to group things this way stretch a little bit further than the dungeon. It suggests that the relationships between dragons and kobolds is essentially magical law. That’s what it suggests to me, anyway.

And magical law like that extends out to the rest of the world.


Another of the implications that I’ve been thinking about is that if this dungeon exists, where else do dungeons exist? The living, breathing, thinking kind, anyway.

If there are other dungeons which grow the way these ones do – which affect the land and people around it the way this one does – then what usually destroys them? Do people know about them?

And I have a few thoughts about that.

First: yes. There are other dungeons. But I’m thinking that what sets this dungeon apart is its anger. Other dungeons have been around for a VERY long time. They have gimmicks. One, for example, is the labyrinth on Horn Island.

The Labyrinth on Horn Island is the last stop on a pilgrimage many people make every year. It’s a week long trek to get to the Labyrinth, making various stops at shrines and villages along the way. There’s a culture and ritual surrounding it.

But only the bravest actually enter the Labyrinth, and those who return don’t really get much out of their trek. Only five times in forty years has a pilgrim made it to the centre of the labyrinth.

See, the Labyrinth is several thousand years old. It doesn’t need to rely on anything so petty as anger to change its shape. It can do so simply at will, and its inhabitants – the sometimes noble, sometimes base, minotaurs – are entirely enthralled to it. It doesn’t need to affect the world around it.

By comparison, the Wrathful Dungeon is greedy. It hasn’t tasted any adventurer flesh yet. And it’s hungry, and stupid, and… wrathful.


These implications? These are the things I’ll work into the prologue of the adventure guidebook for Against A Backdrop Of War.


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