|Illustration by Rob Jr.|
Welesbur’s last spell… That’s a good one, sure. It has no name, for Welesbur was wise, and knew if somethings have a name, then people will want it for themselves. The wizard built it over twenty years, and long sleepless nights and painful introspect; it is tailored just for him, and nobody else can use it, well not to good avail anyway. A skilled (very skilled) and patient wizard can, however, replicate the process to make his own.
The principle is very simple, but requires great dedication and constancy. First, one needs to build a receptacle, a reliquary of sorts; this doesn’t need to be big, it could be as small as a shoebox, for minds have no shape nor volume. This thing must be sturdy, for it should last for ever (or at least a very long time); Welesbur made his from a rock the size of a chair, and carved it by hand, slowly, over many months, for it to look like a normal stone on the outside.
Then one must forge the links between himself and the reliquary, which is done by selecting pieces of yourself and placing them inside the receptacle. When we say pieces of yourself, we’re not talking a pinky. Welesbur placed a lock of his hair (which never grew back), a nail (for pain is a great sacrifice), and a very fond memory (the very first time his mother said she was proud of him). He used pints of his own blood to paint the inside of the reliquary (he was pale to the day he died), and most of all, he gave roughly two years of his life carefully carving and polishing the thing (for time is a very prized material, and in limited quantity).
This done, the rough part comes. Every night, you must take a fraction of time to concentrate on the reliquary and remember the day, and comment it, with the greatest honesty, for it to be transfixed by magic inside the box. Every report, every thought, every idea given to the box, will stay there, and with time, melt and connect and meddle with the others, reproducing your mind and the way it works.
If this is done long enough, the reliquary holds a more-or-less exact copy of your mind, a save if you will, detached from your flesh; At the moment of his death, Welesbur triggered a switch in his soul for it to tap into the box instead of his dying brain. And he went on as pure spirit, his soul unaware of the death of its body.
Now, questions: Where is welesbur’s reliquary? Well, nobody knows, not even the wizard; he erased the memory of hiding it from his own mind, and from the box. Can I do that too? Well, yes of course! That is to say, if you’re able to do all the things described above (you’re probably not). What are the risks? If the save is not built over enough time, or badly built (if you’re not honest enough, or if you tend to exclude to many things), you’ll end up with a largely incoherent copy, with many psychic problems, and who, probably, won’t even feel like you.
As honest as Welesbur was in his reports, a few things changed in his state of mind, from the transfiguration. People who knew him before would say he is now less patient, less calm, and probably even more difficult to follow than before. But he is mostly the same guy.
As a pure spirit, he now roams his domain invisible and quiet, as he likes it. He mostly continues his work, so he reads a lot and writes a lot. He doesn’t need to eat or sleep anymore, but he must stop and rest periodically, for his mind gets tired after a while. He won’t be bothered at all by adventurers, except if they mess with his stuff (the laboratory), but won’t care for them either, he will mercilessly make noise whenever he needs to and take the books he needs when he needs it (even if a hero’s holding it); He won’t hide from them, but won’t show himself unless it seems to be the best solution to preserve his tranquility. It is probable that heroes electing to live in the hole will realize his presence quite rapidly.
If (when?) he decides to reveal himself, he’ll look like he did that day on the floor of the laboratory; actually, as pure spirit, he could appear as anything or anyone, but he just doesn’t care that much what he looks like. So he keeps himself real. He is… Well, kind of broody and distracted, and stupid questions will annoy him pretty fast (and smart as he is, most questions will seem stupid). He can be pretty harsh but will never be cruel; he is a good judge of characters of a sort, and will share his work if asked (but he won’t explain anything, you get it or you don’t; and you usually won’t). He will happily test his discoveries on the heroes with or without their knowing or consent but won’t harm them (except by accident).
The little spell book found in Welesbur’s secret box in the abandoned room is written by his own hand. The red cover is made of leather, and the title is burnt in it, “the domesticated dungeon”. Of course, Welesbur didn’t need the book to cast the spells, but he wrote it in the eventuality that he should let someone else take care of his lair. Which is now, sadly, the case.
Technical infos: All the spells in there have a non-reducible casting TN8, and they cannot be learned, because they are early glyph spells and in this non refined form, are a bit… fiddly. Casting time is 3 rounds (because you have to read them as you cast, which is longer) plus whatever time it takes you to draw the actual glyph (say 2 more rounds). Of course you need chalk, or paint, ink or even charcoal, anything that can leave a mark on the ground (it’s a bit dramatic, but in case of emergency, 1HP worth of blood should do nicely).
The fiddly part: the description of each spell (except for the amulet making one) has a “fiddling” section, which specifies logical modifications that can be made to the glyph to alter its functioning. To operate this, a spell caster must first study the spell for at least one full day, to understand its architecture (roll MEN TN9, once a day). He can then note a “new version” of the glyph, with one factor changed, then cast it as he would have the original one. Each successful day of study authorizes to note one alternate version of the glyph, but after the first day, the spell caster may at will alter the glyph “on the fly” when incanting it: this takes two more rounds and is TN 10 instead of 8.
Note: If two magic users are present, one can do the spell while the other draws the glyph. A non magic-user wouldn’t know how to draw that, and cannot help at all.
The book contains the entire procedure to create the amulets, and the full text of all 4 glyphs used in the dungeon. And it is full. There are of course margins, in case you need to add personal notes to the thing.
Create an amulet: First you need to procure a small piece of the precious stone corresponding to the amulet you are making: onyx for the ward rune (the one in the cells), lapis for the thunder rune (in the abandoned room), or bloodstone for the fire rune (the one in the laboratory). Those can be bought in any major city, and should cost at least 30 to 60 gold. Then you need to craft the amulet itself, which requires a PHY roll (TN9, TN8 works but will be fragile). You can finally cast the spell; It takes 1 round, 1 MP, and is TN9. A failure has a chance (3/6) to break the stone, which will make it useless. Note to fiddling wizards, the amulets will work with any version of their mother rune, so, you’re safe.
Create an imp: This Glyph summons an imp from coal hell and binds it into the flesh (which is not really flesh, but some kind of Helloplasm); moreover it contains the working schedule for the imp, and its acceptable interruptions. So the newly created Imp will start to work immediately upon invocation, tending to the dungeon. It will continue as long as the glyph stands undamaged (Welesbur used to make them on the Kitchen walls). The glyph also specifies that the imps obey Welesbur; so they will obey the schedule, but not the heroes orders. Same idea, the glyph says that the imps must stop schedule anytime an hostile enters the dungeon; as the heroes are merely curious, the won’t be identified as a threat, but if they try to break walls or if a truly hostile being comes in…
Fiddling: First, you can summon an imp from any hell you want, which will change their appearance, and sometime the way they fight, but this is mostly cosmetic, as it is really improbable that their stats will change. Then you can alter their schedule, in almost every way. You can make them answer to anybody you want, but only one person at a time. Finally, you can specify their interruptions and triggers, and of course, write any name you want on the guest list (people on the guest list won’t ever be identified as threats).
Fire rune: When triggered by stepping on it, this rune creates a vertical burst of flames; it does XD6 damage on the burst, and ignites anything that can be ignited; it then burns for X turns at D6 damage, then withers for X damages for X rounds, and finally dies.
Fiddling: by default, every X value is set to one. Any of the values may be set to… well, anything really.
Thunder rune: When triggered by stepping on it, this glyph creates a strong spark which causes XHP damage to the trigger. The spark isn’t coming from the floor, so rubber boots won’t help.
Fiddling: the damage value is set to 1 by default. It can be set to any number by spending 1 more MP per point above 1. If damage goes above 7, the victim has 2/6 chances to die on the spot, from a heart attack.
“If Then” rune: when stepped upon, this glyph opens all the cages and closes the outside door of the holding pen. The glyph can be draw anywhere in the dungeon, it will always do the same thing when triggered.
Fiddling: this glyph is so specific that rewiring it too much equals creating a new one. The only thing graspable is to change the doors involved, like “open the stove door and close the kitchen door”, or “close the laboratory door and open the cupboards in the pantry”, but is it worth the effort?