The Magic of Magicbuilding: Modular Design

Welcome to the Magic of Magicbuilding, our little spinoff feature that focuses specifically on building a magical system for a fantasy setting.  This week, we're going to build a dungeon.  Like, a specific dungeon, rather than pointing to a pile of dungeon pieces and saying, "A dungeon!"

What We Have So Far

About those dungeon pieces:  Last time, we determined that a semi-conscious effort by a planet to design a dungeon would ultimately be algorithmic in nature.  The thought process is that if insects can have a semi-programmed plan of action, so can the planet.  In addition, we came up with some of the rules that would be included in that algorithm:

1. Every dungeon will have a single entrance/exit, large enough for monsters to gain entry.
2. Every dungeon will consist of a series of "rooms," open areas that contain attractive resources, connected to other rooms and the entrance by a maze of corridors.
3. The attractive resources will depend on the variety of monsters that the dungeon is meant to capture.  Fae dungeons will feature rooms that evoke specific emotions, for example.  As a general rule, the attractive features will provide enough sustenance to entice the monsters within.
4. The rooms will also feature semi-randomly located resources that adventurers would find attractive, such as valuable mineral veins.  These won't be at all common, but they will occur often enough to encourage adventurers to check every room.
5. The corridors will, generally, be extensive, confusing, and trend downward.  Many, but not all, will be large enough for monsters to freely travel.
6. Traps will be located in the corridors.  The traps will either use extremely basic mechanics or magic, and when possible will be oriented inward; that is, they will be safer to approach as you move into the dungeon than when you try to leave the dungeon.
7. A bias toward greater resources and deadlier traps as one makes their way further into the dungeon.
8. The more successful a dungeon is- that is, the more monsters that are trapped within- the larger a dungeon is.

Based on what we've come up with so far, a good way to generate a dungeon is to... well, to use a dungeon generator.  Donjon, for example, is a useful generator.  To be clear, however, if you were to use a generator to make a dungeon with our rules, you wouldn't end up with this:

You'd end up with something more like this:

Remember, each dungeon is oriented toward absorbing and eliminating the local, ambient magic.  The design also tends to be influenced by native consciousnesses, which lends itself to concepts like "themed dungeons."  Most importantly, a dungeon needs to be complex enough that monsters wandering in are unlikely to accidentally find their way out.  A dungeon wouldn't be worth the energy expended to create it if a random monster could memorize its layout.

The Belly of the Beast

Let's say that we're looking at a random dungeon from the perspective of adventurers preparing to delve it.  What would the dungeon look like?

Making some quick assumptions and using what we already have prepared, let's say that this is a dungeon located near a volcanically active area, and that the closest settlement is several days away.  The primary influence on the dungeon will be the local, likely fire-based monsters.  The party will thus find an open crevice, with a walkway leading down into its depths.  Wisps of smoke and steam regularly puff from the crevice.  The air is warm and stifling, but not unbearable.  The party is professional, and sets up camp outside the entrance, complete with stewards, cooks, teamsters, and guards.  The delvers pack a week's supplies onto a trio of pack animals, arranges their formation, and cautiously follows the walkway down.

The walkway is rough but flat, and after several minutes curves to enter the sidewall of the crevice.  The party quickly converses and decides to send a Rontakowa scout, a Siculi engineer, and a Llaikan runner in first.  The Siculi engineer pulls a spellbook from her belongings and activates one of the first sigils: a light spell, causing a clear crystal in her offhand to glow fiercely for about an hour.  The Llaikan runner sticks close, equally blind in the dark.  The Rontakowa needs a mere fraction of the light the others do, and ranges ahead, watchful for both rooms and traps.

The primary corridor twists and turns, often branching off in different directions but mostly continuing the downward motion of the walkway.  It is perhaps ten feet wide, and similarly tall; any of the three could easily touch the ceiling with a light hop.  Rooms are fairly easy to spot; the entryway to each room is illuminated by a dim glow from the fires within.  A quick investigation by the Rontakowa determines that the rooms are warmer than the corridor, with a noticeable upward slope from the entry to the back of each room.  Steam and smoke are much thicker here, and almost all rooms have at least one feature that is glowing or on fire.  Room sizes vary significantly, some not much larger than a closet, several the size of a house.

Notably absent are signs of natural growth.  There are no stalagmites or stalactites, no running water.  There are several smaller crevices, but these appear to only serve as sources of heat and smoke.  Signs everywhere indicate that this dungeon was crafted by moving regular blocks of rock and dirt with earth magic.

It takes almost half an hour before the Rontakowa encounters the first trap.  Clawed scratches in the floor and walls warn them of its presence, and a cursory glance indicates that, however the trap is activated, when tripped it immediately releases a quantity of water.  The Rontakowa examines the ceiling; no claw marks.  It idly scratches one fluffy ear, considering.  Then it calls up the Llaikan runner.  They talk quietly, conscious of the echoes their voices cause.  The Rontakowa can't figure out how a small quantity of water caused such regular, violent responses from the monsters within, and wants to intentionally trigger the trap.  The Llaikan, understandably, objects.  The Rontakowa points out the unmarred ceiling; it is evidently safe from the effects of the trap.  It plans to trigger the trap, then leap straight up and cling to the ceiling, something it is confident it can manage.  The Siculi, walking slower as she maps the path, listens to the argument and suggests a compromise: a length of rope, attached to the Rontakowa and held by the Llaikan.  The others agree.

The Rontakowa gingerly steps onto the water-stained section of waterway.  Magic pulses in the corridor, and the Rontakowa shivers as bitterly cold water suddenly appears, pouring downward.  At first, held in place by the rope, they only look quizzically at the water.  Why is it cold in a place like this?  The Siculi is a bit quicker on the uptake and tells them to leap for it.  The Rontakowa twists in midair, grasping the ceiling.  The water slows, thins... and crystallizes.  The downward slope is now covered in a thin sheet of smooth ice.

The trap is clever but frightfully basic, relying on one of the basic truths of the world: friction on the planet of Istenaiti is already low to begin with.  A small, ice-covered slope is almost impossible to traverse.  All the trap does is summon a quantity of water, letting the slope do the work of coating itself; then some basic fire magic removes heat from the water, and any monster that ventures past this point in the corridor is stuck further inside.  After the trap is activated, the ambient temperature eventually melts the ice.

The Rontakowa chuckles lightly.  The rope was a good idea, though ultimately unnecessary.  They are about to say as much when they suddenly pause, looking down the corridor.  Water continues to flow into the darkness.  Somewhere, outside the Rontakowa's visual range, something shifts.  Something living.

The Rontakowa quickly hisses two orders.  The runner is sent back to the rest of the delving party to deliver news that a monster has been discovered.  The Siculi is told to smother the light and retreat to the last room they passed.  The Rontakowa, still clinging to the ceiling, slowly backs up until they are no longer over the trap.  Its eyes glitter in the growing darkness as the Siculi leaves.  This is the most dangerous part of the job, and what the Rontakowa gets paid for:  it needs to make visual contact with the monster so that the party knows what they're dealing with, and the safest way to do so leaves it all alone in the dark.

Conclusion

With this, we have both a generic design for dungeons in general, an example of how a dungeon would actually work, and an example of how delving would look from the perspective of the delvers.  Don't worry too much about the Rontakowa scout; it might be dangerous, but they're a professional.  They can handle it.

We've been doing this magicbuilding for about eight months now, which is a pretty long time for a temporary feature.  Next week, we're going to pull together everything we have so far and see what our magic system looks like.  It isn't finished yet, but it's getting there!