Author: jdiehl

The Star-filled Night

XXIV

It’s gentle up here. Behind her, the distant lights of the city danced along the horizon, but here the heavens shine clearly onto the top of the water tower. A light breeze brushed through silver curls and gossamer wings, and the oracle stared wistfully past the party at a future yet to come. It was time. Her wings fluffed for a moment while pins from the celestial tapestry floated down to her, as if they were fireflies just feet away and not vast titans countless lightyears beyond our sky. They danced in geometric patterns, leaving behind trails of light. Her eyes flash, the lights dissipated, and she is ready to speak of the fate to come.

The Star-Filled Night is a dancer of divination, a being of dreams who resides between the waking city and the fantasy of the wilderness. Her presence is tied to proximity of the urban sprawl and the visible sky above, so meetings with her requires finding that delicate ring around civilization that has both. The workings of her sight require these spaces of intersection, the cusp between realms.

She is fascinated by both regions but can never visit either. An NPC tied to the spirit of a place, the Oracle is enthralled by these other domains, and gifts from either can enchant her. A child of powerful glamour, she protects herself with illusions and charms should she suspect a party means her harm. If all else fails, she will attempt to slide sideways into the past or the future.

In Urban Fantasy, she is the oracle of the water tower, a local legend that arises when the moon is dark, and the heavens sing with lights.

In ages of explorations, she is the spirit of the isolated well. Tithing coin to her sacred space may grant one dreams, wishes, and nightmares.

In distant sci-fi, she is the trapped spirit aboard the reality warped wreckage. An illusion of form on shattered monitors, she plays haunting memories of the disaster that brought her crew to such ends.

The night, more gentle than it would seem, has come at last. The blanket of darkness swept the land and calm reflection greeted us. Breath in the umbral air. Let dreams take hold.

The Haunted Dusk

XXIII

“Are you alone? Were you followed?” his words are hurried, raspy whispers. “The eyes are everywhere. “ He quickly ushers the party in, slamming and bolting the door as soon as they are past the precipice. He takes one last furtive glance out the door’s sliver of a window before closing and shuttering the last grasp of fading the evening star. “The dusk comes, and we have much to discuss before the moon silvers the land.”

The rumors surrounding The Haunted Dusk are ones of caution, concern, and chaos. Many in town will look forlorn at the thoughts of memories of them from before; before the boating accident, you understand? Others will scowl and curse, damning the very notion of having this lost scholar within the thread of their lives. But parties are a nexus of such figures, so it is no small wonder this one invited the group to his dwelling with a promise of a prophecy.

Plot device and Mcguffin delivery lies in the heart of using this NPC. They have seen things, been hunted by them, and now think they know the truth of it all. But they are scared. They have seen the sights that drive mortals to panic, the unending fangs and impossible limbs. Too many of each. These fears may seem an inroad for manipulation, but risk them not. Parties who try will find The Haunted Dusk rapidly turns on those they dem corrupted. A cautionary ally can become an enemy far quicker than they are prepared for, especially at this initial clandestine gathering.

In early days of the 20^th century, they are the explorer come home to tell of terrors of the deep. The herald of the darkness come.

In distant aeons, they have witnessed the stars move first-hand, and seen the blackening field of night hide the massive things moving between worlds. If only their ship could run faster.

In ancient days of legend, they know of the horrors that lurked before light found the world. They hold the door firm and seek aid keeping it shut.

Night looms as the sun dips below the horizon. The dread building is one of caution, of a chilling sensation that consumes the heat of the day like ice water poured over burning coals. Now, only the midnight hour remains.

The Gruff Day

XXII

The third sun’s ascent into the apex of the sky signaled the official midday quarter hour. It had been a hot one making the work that much harder, but it wasn’t meant to be easy doing things right. They were responsible for getting this complex ready for habitation, and they weren’t one to shirk their duties. This planet, like the many others they had been called to, demanded hard work, and they were going to give it their all. Their lot isn’t for a quest, it’s a ethic of worth. Their attentiveness will determine the safety of others and will be a bulwark against those who would renege promises of quality against the hunt for greater profit.

Danger need not come from exploring dark recesses of the cosmos. It need not come from starships fueled by the drums of war or machinations of tyrants. Often the danger is there because someone needs a home, and the universe is an uncaring thing that has no qualms with physics and environmental hazards harming the delicacy of life. Such are the thoughts that occupy the Gruff Day’s mindset. They know that their work is worth the effort, and a focus on protection over gentleness guides them.

They are not needlessly cruel, although their words can come across in that manner. But they know the danger of not following policies to every dotted I, or crossed T. Mistakes get made, seals break, people die.

The Gruff Day is a warning of an NPC. They can serve parties as a voice of caution, of concern. Even if others will not halt efforts, they will still be informed of the proper outfits, the tools needed, and the expertise required to get the job done properly. This route, they cannot be manipulated away from. Too much rides on keeping others safe and their incident rate low. Not because of bonuses, not for insurance, but for honest dedication to protection of lives.

In space faring days, they’re the supervisor on building habitats on distant worlds. They know the ins and outs of isolated facilities and could serve as a guide to keeping safe around them.

In modern day, they’re site managers for industrial construction. They may care about the profit of the job to keep the lights on for their company, but they won’t cut costs for the sake of the danger.

In fantasy, they’re the engineers of great machines and endless dungeons. Even powerful liches need skilled workers to put their vast networks of traps together.

The sun traverses the sky, and a cool gentle dawn gives way to midday heat. Those who work under a star’s hot embrace get done what must be done, but look forward to the respite that may come.

The Kind Dawn

XXI

The lands were ashen, covered in dark woods, dangerous roads, and whispers of shadowy threats loomed upon the wind. But not to this sliver of dawn’s radiance. No matter the dark turnings of the age, her voice of hope is a ward against dwindling times. Through endless cuts sting at her life, she embraces the warmth of the brighter age, of the turning the day and new possibilities.

Her life varies. Sometimes she traverses roads filled with hard work in need of soothing hands. Others are dogged and hunted with fate’s claw constantly just beyond their back. But she persists, lifting up others with a smile, soot covered and mud stained, but a smile none-the-less. It is like an infection of kindness, a warmth that spreads in the hearts of mortals.

The Kind Dawn serves as an aid in dark times, and even in the grimmest and darkest of settings, she will share hope. It is easy to lead them on a path that leads to helping others. The harder challenge is to dissuade her actions. Threats, harm, or loss; none of these are things the Kind Dawn fears for herself. She has experienced much before and know more shadows await her, but she will carry the light within and share it with those who need to see the next dawn’s radiance in their eyes.

As a soothing voice, she can raise the spirit of others. Whatever her creed, she will use the trappings of her life to assist and aid. Should she be touched by powers or blessings, these too will serve to bless her world.

In fantasy, she is the community caretaker, the kind heart of the village. Pain happens, but it need not be endless. Though she is young, she has the heart of her elders and their compassion in her steps.

In fairy tales, she is the fairy godmother, the gift of magical aid, of light against shadows. Her promise is a bond, and her kindness is her oath.

In dystopia, she is sister-hope, the voice amongst the down and out that speaks of a dream that all must hunger for. The technicolor radiance against the sepia of apocalyptic lives.

Many worlds of fancy are driven through challenge, pain, and taxing quests. Days of turmoil that test those that walk the path. But some days can begin with compassion and joy. A bright dawn upon a story’s beginning.

The Spectral Frequency

XIX

Organic life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. There’s danger, there’s food needs, there’s weather, there’s, well there’s a lot. But here? On the other side of the glass? No, it’s safe. Just the warm glow to keep my hearty and healthy. Look at these cheeks? Perfect and ready to go on air. Wouldn’t trade it back for a second. Yeah, I know I only see you lot and maybe a few dozen others who can see what I really am, but I’m fine.

Really.

They might have had a life before their airwave conversion, but they don’t want to talk about it. They’re happy now, that’s the point. Sure, the shows they step into treat them like guest stars, but they’re mostly a wanderer, exploring the various airwaves of television, radio, and beyond once the world starts dabbling into more varied way of showing media. And they like it this way, a digital wayfarer, adrift on the Television dream.

The Spectral Light can glean information from any screen, scope, or viewer that can see the magical world of television. While they spend time as a tourist in the realm of visual fantasy, they still care about what’s going on out there, as that often informs what goes on inside of the realms. They’ll want to communicate to willing friends, especially if the viewer has some good show ideas.

In modern sci-fi, they’re the digital dreamer, Mike Teavee with a bit of influence, whimsey, and odd powers in their shows.

In the far future they’re the living hologram, a specter of the virtual dancing through the world. Here they can manifest, create light illusions, and participate in both realms.

In fantasy, they’re the dream talker, slipping into the imaginations of slumber and seeing what others yearn for.

A voice calls out from the snow of a dead channel. It seeks more than mere witness. Like a performer at the globe, audience participation is not only desired, it’s required.

The Maintenance Crew

XVIII

The enforcer swung at the door again, his fulgur club bursting into arcs of electricity. The lock began to buckle under the onslaught, but then warning chimes went off through the hall. The party moved closer together, facing out to deal with whatever oncoming threat would lash out against them. They saw movements near the ceiling, dozens of little spade shaped creatures poured from crevices. The telekinetic started prepping a mind blast while the enforcer readied another charge in his club. The swarm swept along the walls and surrounded them, before flowing towards the battered barrier. It was the system breaker that halted them when she let out a warning. “It’s not us they’re after,” she said. “It’s the door.” They moved like a kaleidoscope, as the drones fell into odd patterns over the broken latch. Small flakes of material swept from mini-limb to mini-limb until the old piece had been completely torn out and replaced.  The enforced grumbled while the other two watched in awe as the machines worked. Another set of chimes and they dispersed, except for a larger diamond shaped machine that waddled towards them. It held something small, fluttering, that turned out to be a leaflet. It dropped it in front of the party and with a small motion, the telekinetic lifted the sheet before them.

“A bill for damages?” They said in unison. The party looked up at the new lock, shiny, perfect, and open. It was repaired, but not reset. The door hung ajar, ready for them to pass through.

The Maintenance Crew is an annoyance to a party. Whether on space stations, high tech facilities, or luxury living zones, the swarm is a cluster of machines that want to keep things in top shape. They don’t care if the party is there. That’s another system’s problem. But they do care if the party breaks things in the care of the swarm. The crew will watch from a distance, observe any disturbances, announce their presence, and then fix what’s been smashed.

Their behavior is meant to be predictable, as that lies in the heart of manipulating them. As drones they can’t help but keep things clean. They are hyper focused on the task even if it means breaking other protocols. Their job is to fix, not security. Not reporting intruders. Fix.

In sci-fi they’re a swarm of creatures resembling mechanical insects. They beep and chirp and make loud modem noises at the party as they bumble their way through the facility.

In fantasy they’re a swarm of dust motes, moving about an ancient shrine repairing old statues and keeping the torches lit in ancient crypts.

In cyberpunk, they’re a swarm of human faced birds that sweep across digital realms searching out different types of data and keeping a network “clean.”

The swarm is here to do a job, and the characters are the ones in the way. Fix, clean, move on. Let the other systems deal with the problems about intruders.

The Door Keeper

XVII

The passageway should be right here, the map shows it. The wall is even framed with that curled golden lace and ancient script guiding the way. But the insert archway has a solid wall of ancient dust covered brick blocking advancement. Frustrated, the party turns to the guide, and made demands. Xe had been waiting for them to get out of the way and at last, now without them bumbling about xe can. It takes a few tries, but xe finally grabs hold of the passageway that would lead out of the temple. Holding the detached entrance is like staring at a very high-resolution screen, although a bit nauseating at it shows off bits of the foundation and a peek at the floor below the room until at last, the guide slams it into place into the once blocked passage.

Xe smiled at the slacked jawed party and asks if they’d like to proceed to the next chamber through the now open gateway.

Xe is patient and observant, watching xir comrades work their way through their experiences rather than interjecting xir views wontly. The door keeper is a master of Janusian magic, an art of passages, chrono-manipulation, and changes of state, and one which allows xir to shift and change reality to let things flow forward in time. This is reflected in how they deal with others, helping them to change and grow, and move forward in their growth but to do so in the natural progression rather than hastening them through time.

As a guide, the Door Keeper is an enigmatic figure. Xir mastery of doorways and the connection of states of existence serves as the basis of the experience and puzzle with her visitation to a campaign. The door keeper’s first actions are two-fold. First, it should teach the party how to move the doors. Second, it should trap them in the dungeon until they figure it out. Such an encounter should include time locked events that, when triggered properly, will allow the party to move forward to their eventual reward. But the flow of time should always keep moving forward. Time should be manipulated, not broken.

The door keeper’s goal is one of exploration and assisting with unravelling the things that keep the world halted. Xe is drawn to aid those stuck in metaphorical mud, and will gladly be attracted to a mystery in need of unravelling. Xe fears regression, and the loss of hard-fought victories due to stagnation and apathy.

In fantasy, xe is the keep of Janusian magic, a priest of the moving temple. They will use their own quest to aid the growth and change of others.

In sci-fi, xir will is that of the portal master, and seeks to untether a time locked star and free the planets within the frozen system.

In ages of legend, xe is a parrel to Janus, a god of change and passages. Their role is to open a way for ancient heroes to move forward in service to the gods.

Many routes but all take wisdom to discover. Time moves ever forward, and with words and deeds the Keeper will aid those who seek out xir guidance.

The Living Blockade

XVI

The rumbling rattles the walls again. Someone yelps as the surface they leaned against slides away, revealing a passage to the next room, and a surprised fanged and clawed thing. The creature coils itself to leap at the party when the wall bends in towards it, snapping it up in a maw of brick and mortar. The party pulls back, suddenly aware of the different sections of the chamber’s edge that are moving as the stonework thing drags its meal away. Another deep rumble, and then the next surprise lands in the party’s lap.

The wall apologies.

It is a hunter of dark places. Serpent like, long, flat, and camouflaged. The Living Blockade grows in dark places like crypts, cellars, dungeons, burial chambers, any place where it can grow to resemble masonry or carved earth. Any place where dark things congregate under the earth. This one has grown quite large, enough that it has made this once open dungeon a labyrinth of isolated rooms. And navigating this place is going to take delicate negotiation with the creature that is the walls.

The Living Blockade is a sentient creature, and while its own survival is paramount, it is not without compassion and understanding the wants and needs of others. It seeks food and the lure of creatures to its dungeonesque web. Killing commoners and adventurers? This draws trouble and not more food. Beyond that, some may seek to propagate their species, although rare as it brings competition. For a promise of bringing their young far, far away from their parental creature the blockade may aid parties to their chosen path within their hunting grounds.

In fantasy, they’re a living snake of stone and earth that has made the walls of this crypt their home, their shell, and their hunting ground.

In deep space, they’re a station that has gain contro l of their own vast body and may manipulate parties to help with some function or antagonist deep within their hull.

In ages of legend, they’re the great hive of stone that has taken over the city’s sewers and hunts the dark places while the world above slumbers.

A place as an ally or a foe. A creature so vast yet hidden. The Living Blockade is a puzzle NPC whose mood shifts as the party slides through their territory. A thing’s whose hunger will overcome all other desires, whose maw is getting ever closer.