L. Frank Baum’s 1901 travelogue novel, Dot and Tot of Merryland, offers an entirely unique blueprint for a high-stakes campaign. By taking the book's episodic travel structure and filtering its whimsical elements through a dark lens, a Dungeon Master can easily create a weird and wacky campaign conveniently divided into valleys filled with talking cats, animated dolls, and candy people.
The demiplane of Merryland represents a highly structured yet volatile pocket of Faerie, composed of seven circular valleys interconnected by a singular, continuous, loop-like river. While many planar cartographers classify this realm as a whimsical sanctuary due to its eccentric denizens, modern eyes see something different: a place with heavily-guarded borders filled with lethal hazards. It's not easy to get into Merryland and even harder to leave it.
The physical entrance is guarded by an elemental entity known as the Watch-Dog of Merryland. From a distance, it's easy to mistake him for a large white bear sitting. Upon closer inspection, however, the Watch-Dog is revealed to be an ancient man with white hair and whiskers of such extreme length that they drape down to the soles of his feet, entirely obscuring his body. This hair would grow infinitely longer were it not for the rough stones of his perch wearing away the ends as he moves. His head is smooth and bald, and his limbs are so thoroughly enveloped by his dense coat that when he stretches his arms, he can only push his hands and wrists through the thick white mass.
The Watch-Dog is not very good at what he does (this was a children's book after all) so Dot and Tot passed by easily. The ruler of the Valley, Queen Dolly, would see to it later that if intruders took the same path, the Watch-Dog could transform into a boulder and jump into the river (shades of a galeb-duhr), effectively blocking all entry.
It's something of a moot point anyway; the Queen collapsed the archway after Dot and Tot left, but enterprising adventurers may dig their way back through the portal. There are other ways in and out of Merryland however.
Am ancient fey compact dictates that every year, one clown must be sent from Merryland to the Prime Material Plane to work in mortal circuses. To fulfill this migration, the chosen clown must scale the sheer peaks of the mountain range that isolates the First Valley from the wider multiverse. The climb is an exhausting physical trial, testing the clown's agility and stamina to conquer the near-vertical rock faces. Once the clown reaches the summit, they do not descend; instead, they curl their body into a tight ball and roll down the outward-facing slope of the mountain, tumbling through the planar veil to land directly in a Prime Plane's circus ring.
Theoretically, this is a one-way trip, but it might explain how some adventurers discover clowns in a circus to not really be clowns at all. As harrowing as journey up and thrilling ride down might seem, there are far more dangerous ways in and out of Merryland.
The rift's suction may not be entirely restricted to inanimate objects. Sentient beings who are profoundly "lost"—whether physically displaced, targeted by unstable teleportation magic, or metaphorically lost due to powerful emotional curses—can be swept into these same atmospheric rifts. Such individuals will find themselves suddenly falling from the sky above the valley, facing terminal velocity over a landscape of unpredictable density. The lucky ones land in giant piles of coats and caps. The unlucky ones land on a dense, compacted pile of children's pennies or a mass of broken iron toys and damaged dollies.
Surviving the fall is half the battle. The ground is blanketed by countless lost pins. Walking across this terrain without protection is a painful proposition because the pins easily puncture standard leather boots. To navigate this hazardous landscape, adventurers must scavenge for "overshoes" that have accumulated from the Prime Plane. Because these are lost items, finding matching pairs is virtually impossible. However, the fey logic of the valley dictates that matching aesthetics are irrelevant; as long as travelers can scavenge two thick-soled overshoes that fit, regardless of whether they are mates, they can walk safely across the pin-strewn earth without fear of puncture.
When the nursery becomes overcrowded, the storks transport the infants to deserving parents in the Prime Material Plane. To do this, the Chief Nurse places a sleeping baby onto a transport stork's back, carefully twining the infant's arms around the bird's neck to secure them during flight. The storks then ascend into the high-altitude planar slipstreams to cross the dimensional boundary.
This aerial egress route is fraught with danger. The celestial flyways utilized by the storks directly intersect the turbulent atmospheric rifts that feed the adjacent Valley of Lost Things. When planar rifts open to receive lost items from the mortal world, they generate violent "rift storms". These storms are characterized by swirling winds, torrents of falling debris, and blinding dust from discarded paper and loose textiles.
The storks are man-sized but are accustomed to carrying babies, not full-grown people. Small Humanoids might convince (or trick) the storks to bring them back to the Prime Plane, though expectant parents might be in for a shock!
There's a huge amount of possibility in a simple concept that was surely meant to comfort children. With a few tweaks, it can turn into a nightmarish, wacky realm where candy people eat each other, clowns drink paint, and Queen Dolly turns children into dolls with the wave of her wand ... all elements from the original story!
Your Turn: Tell us of your alternatives to the Feywild!
The demiplane of Merryland represents a highly structured yet volatile pocket of Faerie, composed of seven circular valleys interconnected by a singular, continuous, loop-like river. While many planar cartographers classify this realm as a whimsical sanctuary due to its eccentric denizens, modern eyes see something different: a place with heavily-guarded borders filled with lethal hazards. It's not easy to get into Merryland and even harder to leave it.
The Entrance Archway
The primary route into Merryland is waterborne, beginning as a slow-moving stream in the Prime Material Plane, meandering through quiet country estates (such as the historic Roselawn mansion from Dot and Tot). Adventurers who navigate this waterway in a small vessel will eventually find the current pulls them into a tunnel that cuts directly through a bounding mountain range. This tunnel serves as a natural planar conduit, depositing travelers at the outermost boundary of Merryland, where the river passes under a massive archway that spans the entire channel.The physical entrance is guarded by an elemental entity known as the Watch-Dog of Merryland. From a distance, it's easy to mistake him for a large white bear sitting. Upon closer inspection, however, the Watch-Dog is revealed to be an ancient man with white hair and whiskers of such extreme length that they drape down to the soles of his feet, entirely obscuring his body. This hair would grow infinitely longer were it not for the rough stones of his perch wearing away the ends as he moves. His head is smooth and bald, and his limbs are so thoroughly enveloped by his dense coat that when he stretches his arms, he can only push his hands and wrists through the thick white mass.
The Watch-Dog is not very good at what he does (this was a children's book after all) so Dot and Tot passed by easily. The ruler of the Valley, Queen Dolly, would see to it later that if intruders took the same path, the Watch-Dog could transform into a boulder and jump into the river (shades of a galeb-duhr), effectively blocking all entry.
It's something of a moot point anyway; the Queen collapsed the archway after Dot and Tot left, but enterprising adventurers may dig their way back through the portal. There are other ways in and out of Merryland however.
The Motley Ascent
An alternative, physically punishing entry point exists along the mountainous rim of the First Valley, a domain inhabited entirely by a species of clowns ruled by Prince Flippityflop. In this valley, the inhabitants live on cushioned platforms and practice acrobatic routines on the roofs of their dwellings. They are separate clown species, born to perform, and wear silver bells around their ankles that tinkle delightfully when they stand on their heads to salute guests.Am ancient fey compact dictates that every year, one clown must be sent from Merryland to the Prime Material Plane to work in mortal circuses. To fulfill this migration, the chosen clown must scale the sheer peaks of the mountain range that isolates the First Valley from the wider multiverse. The climb is an exhausting physical trial, testing the clown's agility and stamina to conquer the near-vertical rock faces. Once the clown reaches the summit, they do not descend; instead, they curl their body into a tight ball and roll down the outward-facing slope of the mountain, tumbling through the planar veil to land directly in a Prime Plane's circus ring.
Theoretically, this is a one-way trip, but it might explain how some adventurers discover clowns in a circus to not really be clowns at all. As harrowing as journey up and thrilling ride down might seem, there are far more dangerous ways in and out of Merryland.
The Lost Descent
The Fifth Valley of Merryland, known as the Valley of Lost Things, serves as a planar drain for the entire multiverse. Anything lost or discarded by mortals in the outside world—ranging from pennies dropped by children to caps and coats that boys neglected to hang up—is drawn through micro-rifts in the planar fabric. These items materialize in the upper atmosphere of the valley and fall from the sky, accumulating in massive heaps.The rift's suction may not be entirely restricted to inanimate objects. Sentient beings who are profoundly "lost"—whether physically displaced, targeted by unstable teleportation magic, or metaphorically lost due to powerful emotional curses—can be swept into these same atmospheric rifts. Such individuals will find themselves suddenly falling from the sky above the valley, facing terminal velocity over a landscape of unpredictable density. The lucky ones land in giant piles of coats and caps. The unlucky ones land on a dense, compacted pile of children's pennies or a mass of broken iron toys and damaged dollies.
Surviving the fall is half the battle. The ground is blanketed by countless lost pins. Walking across this terrain without protection is a painful proposition because the pins easily puncture standard leather boots. To navigate this hazardous landscape, adventurers must scavenge for "overshoes" that have accumulated from the Prime Plane. Because these are lost items, finding matching pairs is virtually impossible. However, the fey logic of the valley dictates that matching aesthetics are irrelevant; as long as travelers can scavenge two thick-soled overshoes that fit, regardless of whether they are mates, they can walk safely across the pin-strewn earth without fear of puncture.
The Celestial Flyways
The Third Valley of Merryland functions as a planar nursery, where infants materialize as "baby-blossoms" that drift gently down onto a bed of soft,moss. Upon landing, these blossoms open their leaves to reveal newborn infants, who are then cared for by a specialized order of fey Storks. Under the supervision of the Chief of the Nurses, these storks fill nursing bottles at a magical fountain, sing cooing lullabies to lull the infants to sleep, and manage the valley's population.When the nursery becomes overcrowded, the storks transport the infants to deserving parents in the Prime Material Plane. To do this, the Chief Nurse places a sleeping baby onto a transport stork's back, carefully twining the infant's arms around the bird's neck to secure them during flight. The storks then ascend into the high-altitude planar slipstreams to cross the dimensional boundary.
This aerial egress route is fraught with danger. The celestial flyways utilized by the storks directly intersect the turbulent atmospheric rifts that feed the adjacent Valley of Lost Things. When planar rifts open to receive lost items from the mortal world, they generate violent "rift storms". These storms are characterized by swirling winds, torrents of falling debris, and blinding dust from discarded paper and loose textiles.
The storks are man-sized but are accustomed to carrying babies, not full-grown people. Small Humanoids might convince (or trick) the storks to bring them back to the Prime Plane, though expectant parents might be in for a shock!
An Alternative Feywild
For DMs looking for an alternative to the Feywild, Merryland has it all. The Stony Valley can easily be home to elemental guardians like galeb duhrs and water weirds. The Clown Valley is perfect for performers and satyrs in clown-outfits. Candy Valley can contain candy-flavored oozes of all types, clay golems made of candy, and candy-colored mephits. Stork Valley might be populated by giant eagles (the kind who deliver babies) or giant vultures (the kinds who don't). Homunculi can double as dolls in Doll Valley, while Cat Valley can contain feline monsters of all types (displacer beasts, weretigers, even chimeras and manticores). Finally, the Lost Valley is perfect for junkpunk style scavengers, ranging from needle blights to shambling mounds.There's a huge amount of possibility in a simple concept that was surely meant to comfort children. With a few tweaks, it can turn into a nightmarish, wacky realm where candy people eat each other, clowns drink paint, and Queen Dolly turns children into dolls with the wave of her wand ... all elements from the original story!
Your Turn: Tell us of your alternatives to the Feywild!
