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| Illustration by Rob Jr. |
Then what?
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 spellbook
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?
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