One Page: A Dungeon

A cursed page pulls the party into the world of a thaumaturgic diagram. Will they become a footnote in the annals of scriptomancy?

This was a winner in the One Page Dungeon Contest. https://www.dungeoncontest.com/

--Steve Kilian

My Dungeons Are Science

Lemmy

What I Want, or How To Seamlessly Lay Down Some Exposition

GLAAAAR!!!  Feel the bite of my +2 axe, Grimripper!  Know the finality of death as I cleave through your scaly torso and open your ribcage!  Pump the last of your sour fish-blood onto this beach, where you and your kind will be driven back into the sea!  Weep as your plot to melt the icecaps and flood the lands of Cragjaal, our beloved planet, is foiled!  Know that kidnapping the priestess Romava of the Skein-weavers as she passed through the underground passage of the funicular transport system that links the forbidden cloisters cut into the cliffs above Glavenhold to that fair city was ultimately useless, since she was rescued by me and my hardy band of adventurer-scoundrels, including Fenrikkler the rogue (who struggles with lycanthropy), Varloorius Greel, wizard of indeterminate ancestry, and Thudvurk Jerb, half-orc warrior and wielder of Baang, a +3 warhammer forged from black meteoric metal.  Don’t die just yet, Sahuagin scum!  I’m not finished.  Know also that our investigations into her disappearance revealed that the tunnel through which the funicular passed was part of an ancient network linking the surface to a mega-dungeon below the cloisters, and that the fine tilework and other finishes of the well-lit stations at either end of the tunnel soon gave way to dripping caverns infested with troglodytes and the human cultists who worship your fell fish-god.  All will be slain! 

Obviously I will be quitting my job and becoming a professional writer on the internet. 

--Steve Kilian 

Fangosaurus

Henhouse

IST or Loving the Alien

In the hyper-elite subsector of international sex tourism which is our livelihood and passion, it appears that the more prosaic amusements are no longer considered cutting edge.  One can’t wave a run-of-the-mill invitation to an East Berlin orgy factory in front of a true connoisseur and expect to stay in business.  We have moved well beyond that.  Now we do a brisk trade in endangered species zoophilia.  Turtles are particularly prized, often with a clutch of eggs thrown into the mix.  Whole, cracked, just-hatched, no-yolks, yolks-only – whatever is pleasurable. 

But now we have something . . . special.  I am very pleased to offer to you, the Select, this remarkable opportunity.  Recent discoveries in Uzbekistan have led to a great deal of archaeological and military interest.  Fortunately, we have several associates in this region of the world, and have come into possession of two entirely intact specimens of unknown antiquity but incontrovertible quality. 

It appears that these creatures secured themselves in some sort of stasis pod – already determined to be easily breached by mechanical means – shortly before crashing down into the Uzbek forests at some point in the past.  As you can see from these x-ray photographs the creatures have various breathing or eating ports that would be delicious points of sexual entry.  The clefts where the ventral tentacles join the sub-thorax also present exquisite friction sites.  The dorsal protuberances need no elaboration as to their potential. 

Ladies and gentlemen, may I suggest an opening bid of forty-five million dollars? 

--Steve Kilian

The Old-Time Forgotten Demon-God Raaaaaag

My Dungeons Are Science

Dan Kilian and The Million Man Band - Good Help Is Hard To Find

The Dead Tree of Wicked Intent

Any deaths depicted are not desired literally, but are depictions of the death of a soul by corruption, and aren’t about anyone in particular

You can rally the base

You can rally the base

But you can’t face the living truth

Climbing like a vine on your rotting trunk

With its broken limbs

Fingers brittle little twigs

Rotting from within, without leaves, without seeds

Acorns black with mold, split open, spongy in the mulch

The squirrels spit them out

This is the tree where they hanged the witch

Where they lynched the runaway slave

Who returned to run the plantation

Now it strangles in the vine

He dies! He dies!

Orange gelatinous tendrils of the virus blooming

Dripping in the mushrooms of wet sawdust

Shouting orders at the termites

Who serve only the hive

He casts his sickly ghost into our house

Hiding in the attic, howling

Spelling hateful words on Ouija boards

We need insecticide and an exorcist

Replace every beam of wood he infests with worms

We’ll end his curse

Send him back to his rotting log

Send him back to hell

Send you back to hell

Rally the base

You can rally the base
You can rally the base

It won’t save you
--Dan Kilian

I Sell Sea Shells

Amantisa

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Dan Kilian - Get It Right - Live at Freddy's 11-7-2015