D&D General What’s the story here?
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FitzTheRuke
Legend
The Kaiju Castle.
(I'd give you more, but I must go cook...)
(I'd give you more, but I must go cook...)
GMMichael
Guide of Modos
The House of 1,001 Formerly Sane Architects.
Or just the setting for Dracula 7. Or both?
ezo
Get off my lawn!
The Titan Cathedral of Grog walks alone in the desolate wastes of Barrhymrok. This labyrinthine colossus wanders looking for the one who can wrest control from the legions of fiends and undead who haunt its hallowed passages. At its heart is the Crown of the Cursed King, an artifact of immeasurable power which gives the Titan life, worn on the head of its current lord and master: Verikdane, the Last Vampire Elder Priest-King of Barrhymrok.
Would make a nice "mobile" megadungeon.
Would make a nice "mobile" megadungeon.
MarkB
Legend
It is known only as the Crusade. It started small, just a single church animated by the zeal of its congregation, but as it strides the wastes toward new towns and cities, those that it converts are assimilated into its structure and it continues on its way.
Visually it is a little mind-bending in motion. No matter the orientation of its limbs and torso, its many towers are always absolutely vertical.
Visually it is a little mind-bending in motion. No matter the orientation of its limbs and torso, its many towers are always absolutely vertical.
Whizbang Dustyboots
Gnometown Hero
That's not a city. That's a cathedral.
It's the Cathedral Colossus of the Final God. It wanders the world, disgorging its fanatical Army of the Enlightened on any temple -- or, even worse, holy cities. They kill all they find before grinding the former holy sites to dust.
The Church of the Final God intends to kill off all other gods by killing every believer and destroying all trace that the other gods ever existed.
The bad news is that the church has made good headway on this already, with its home continent now largely in ruins, leaving behind an inquisitorial occupying force to sniff out any remaining heretics.
The colossus has walked across the ocean to the player characters' home continent and has so far only destroyed a temple-city dedicated to a reviled evil god, so most of the continent hasn't yet realized that this is an apocalyptic threat.
It's the Cathedral Colossus of the Final God. It wanders the world, disgorging its fanatical Army of the Enlightened on any temple -- or, even worse, holy cities. They kill all they find before grinding the former holy sites to dust.
The Church of the Final God intends to kill off all other gods by killing every believer and destroying all trace that the other gods ever existed.
The bad news is that the church has made good headway on this already, with its home continent now largely in ruins, leaving behind an inquisitorial occupying force to sniff out any remaining heretics.
The colossus has walked across the ocean to the player characters' home continent and has so far only destroyed a temple-city dedicated to a reviled evil god, so most of the continent hasn't yet realized that this is an apocalyptic threat.
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EzekielRaiden
Follower of the Way
Long ago, in an age when magic was more than it is today--more powerful, more dangerous, more willful--the wizarchitects of Molcanis ruled this land. Theirs was a tyranny, to be sure, but it was not a savage tyranny. It was cold, bloodless, calculating. Even the magocrats were but weights on the scale. Bigger weights, but still--any life could be spent if the prize was worth the price.
In those elden, gilded days, the wizarchitects poured out blood like water, not in war, but in the name of their profane sciences, pushing their occult engineering to its furthest limits. One among them, Zarinaia the Seer-Queen, endured a siege for ten grueling years, with her magic both shield and succor that kept her people alive. "No more," said she. "No more shall we fear the siege. For I shall raise a city that cannot be stopped, the Walls That Walk."
Another decade she lost to this endeavor, but her alchemists fuelled her youth and vigor by tapping the vein of her slaves. Slowly, the plan took shape. Slowly, the winding ways of a palace that could be took shape, a citadel that was a centurion, a footsoldier that was a fortification. Zarinaia knew from before she took quill to draft-paper that the magic to power such a thing would be immense, an undertaking of dozens or hundreds of mages working in concert, so she wrote and wooed, wagered and warred to get the assistants she required, and drew yet further from the bedrock of her nation's people, for a few more lives could ensure the eternal safety of all, and the eternal sovereignty of one.
Finally, after years of effort, after seven days without food or rest, she spoke the final word that should have woken the Walls That Walk. But she felt it, even as the word escaped her lips. The power was not enough. The spell hung, suspended, hungry, yearning for the power it needed to find completion, to end its suspended sentence. Zarinaia cried out for the slaves to be slaughtered, and they were, but still the spell hungered. She ordered the untouchables executed, but still the spell thirsted. She personally slew the dozen dozen of mages, drowning the stones in their blue-sparking blood, but still the spell craved more.
In mad desperation, feeling the spell's hunger as if it were her own, she sacrificed even herself, and all within those damned walls. The spell drank deep, not just of her, but of the thousands that swam in her veins. And it was finally, finally satisifed.
Flee from the Walls That Walk. Flee from the ambition that could not be quenched. Flee from the fortress that wanders, restless and empty, the living cenotaph to the hubris of mortals.
In those elden, gilded days, the wizarchitects poured out blood like water, not in war, but in the name of their profane sciences, pushing their occult engineering to its furthest limits. One among them, Zarinaia the Seer-Queen, endured a siege for ten grueling years, with her magic both shield and succor that kept her people alive. "No more," said she. "No more shall we fear the siege. For I shall raise a city that cannot be stopped, the Walls That Walk."
Another decade she lost to this endeavor, but her alchemists fuelled her youth and vigor by tapping the vein of her slaves. Slowly, the plan took shape. Slowly, the winding ways of a palace that could be took shape, a citadel that was a centurion, a footsoldier that was a fortification. Zarinaia knew from before she took quill to draft-paper that the magic to power such a thing would be immense, an undertaking of dozens or hundreds of mages working in concert, so she wrote and wooed, wagered and warred to get the assistants she required, and drew yet further from the bedrock of her nation's people, for a few more lives could ensure the eternal safety of all, and the eternal sovereignty of one.
Finally, after years of effort, after seven days without food or rest, she spoke the final word that should have woken the Walls That Walk. But she felt it, even as the word escaped her lips. The power was not enough. The spell hung, suspended, hungry, yearning for the power it needed to find completion, to end its suspended sentence. Zarinaia cried out for the slaves to be slaughtered, and they were, but still the spell hungered. She ordered the untouchables executed, but still the spell thirsted. She personally slew the dozen dozen of mages, drowning the stones in their blue-sparking blood, but still the spell craved more.
In mad desperation, feeling the spell's hunger as if it were her own, she sacrificed even herself, and all within those damned walls. The spell drank deep, not just of her, but of the thousands that swam in her veins. And it was finally, finally satisifed.
Flee from the Walls That Walk. Flee from the ambition that could not be quenched. Flee from the fortress that wanders, restless and empty, the living cenotaph to the hubris of mortals.
Sorcerers Apprentice
Hero
That's just a normal day in Warhammer 40K
EzekielRaiden
Follower of the Way
I mean, that's about 95% of why I don't like WH40k.That's just a normal day in Warhammer 40K
Grimdark happened as a backlash against the whitewashed perfection under the oppressive censorship of the preceding decades. Its thesis is fundamentally that a world where everything is at maximum brightness is a world that blinds us, and thus nothing can be seen.
The problem, of course, is that a world where everything is darkness has exactly the same issue. When there isn't any light at all, you can't see!
Grimdark, or at least WH40k, is just the pessimist's view of Father Knows Best, but filmed by Michael Bay.
