Category: Dog Days Of Podcasting

The Kind Dawn

XXI

The lands were ashen, covered in dark woods, dangerous roads, and whispers of shadowy threats loomed upon the wind. But not to this sliver of dawn’s radiance. No matter the dark turnings of the age, her voice of hope is a ward against dwindling times. Through endless cuts sting at her life, she embraces the warmth of the brighter age, of the turning the day and new possibilities.

Her life varies. Sometimes she traverses roads filled with hard work in need of soothing hands. Others are dogged and hunted with fate’s claw constantly just beyond their back. But she persists, lifting up others with a smile, soot covered and mud stained, but a smile none-the-less. It is like an infection of kindness, a warmth that spreads in the hearts of mortals.

The Kind Dawn serves as an aid in dark times, and even in the grimmest and darkest of settings, she will share hope. It is easy to lead them on a path that leads to helping others. The harder challenge is to dissuade her actions. Threats, harm, or loss; none of these are things the Kind Dawn fears for herself. She has experienced much before and know more shadows await her, but she will carry the light within and share it with those who need to see the next dawn’s radiance in their eyes.

As a soothing voice, she can raise the spirit of others. Whatever her creed, she will use the trappings of her life to assist and aid. Should she be touched by powers or blessings, these too will serve to bless her world.

In fantasy, she is the community caretaker, the kind heart of the village. Pain happens, but it need not be endless. Though she is young, she has the heart of her elders and their compassion in her steps.

In fairy tales, she is the fairy godmother, the gift of magical aid, of light against shadows. Her promise is a bond, and her kindness is her oath.

In dystopia, she is sister-hope, the voice amongst the down and out that speaks of a dream that all must hunger for. The technicolor radiance against the sepia of apocalyptic lives.

Many worlds of fancy are driven through challenge, pain, and taxing quests. Days of turmoil that test those that walk the path. But some days can begin with compassion and joy. A bright dawn upon a story’s beginning.

The Spectral Frequency

XIX

Organic life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. There’s danger, there’s food needs, there’s weather, there’s, well there’s a lot. But here? On the other side of the glass? No, it’s safe. Just the warm glow to keep my hearty and healthy. Look at these cheeks? Perfect and ready to go on air. Wouldn’t trade it back for a second. Yeah, I know I only see you lot and maybe a few dozen others who can see what I really am, but I’m fine.

Really.

They might have had a life before their airwave conversion, but they don’t want to talk about it. They’re happy now, that’s the point. Sure, the shows they step into treat them like guest stars, but they’re mostly a wanderer, exploring the various airwaves of television, radio, and beyond once the world starts dabbling into more varied way of showing media. And they like it this way, a digital wayfarer, adrift on the Television dream.

The Spectral Light can glean information from any screen, scope, or viewer that can see the magical world of television. While they spend time as a tourist in the realm of visual fantasy, they still care about what’s going on out there, as that often informs what goes on inside of the realms. They’ll want to communicate to willing friends, especially if the viewer has some good show ideas.

In modern sci-fi, they’re the digital dreamer, Mike Teavee with a bit of influence, whimsey, and odd powers in their shows.

In the far future they’re the living hologram, a specter of the virtual dancing through the world. Here they can manifest, create light illusions, and participate in both realms.

In fantasy, they’re the dream talker, slipping into the imaginations of slumber and seeing what others yearn for.

A voice calls out from the snow of a dead channel. It seeks more than mere witness. Like a performer at the globe, audience participation is not only desired, it’s required.

The Maintenance Crew

XVIII

The enforcer swung at the door again, his fulgur club bursting into arcs of electricity. The lock began to buckle under the onslaught, but then warning chimes went off through the hall. The party moved closer together, facing out to deal with whatever oncoming threat would lash out against them. They saw movements near the ceiling, dozens of little spade shaped creatures poured from crevices. The telekinetic started prepping a mind blast while the enforcer readied another charge in his club. The swarm swept along the walls and surrounded them, before flowing towards the battered barrier. It was the system breaker that halted them when she let out a warning. “It’s not us they’re after,” she said. “It’s the door.” They moved like a kaleidoscope, as the drones fell into odd patterns over the broken latch. Small flakes of material swept from mini-limb to mini-limb until the old piece had been completely torn out and replaced.  The enforced grumbled while the other two watched in awe as the machines worked. Another set of chimes and they dispersed, except for a larger diamond shaped machine that waddled towards them. It held something small, fluttering, that turned out to be a leaflet. It dropped it in front of the party and with a small motion, the telekinetic lifted the sheet before them.

“A bill for damages?” They said in unison. The party looked up at the new lock, shiny, perfect, and open. It was repaired, but not reset. The door hung ajar, ready for them to pass through.

The Maintenance Crew is an annoyance to a party. Whether on space stations, high tech facilities, or luxury living zones, the swarm is a cluster of machines that want to keep things in top shape. They don’t care if the party is there. That’s another system’s problem. But they do care if the party breaks things in the care of the swarm. The crew will watch from a distance, observe any disturbances, announce their presence, and then fix what’s been smashed.

Their behavior is meant to be predictable, as that lies in the heart of manipulating them. As drones they can’t help but keep things clean. They are hyper focused on the task even if it means breaking other protocols. Their job is to fix, not security. Not reporting intruders. Fix.

In sci-fi they’re a swarm of creatures resembling mechanical insects. They beep and chirp and make loud modem noises at the party as they bumble their way through the facility.

In fantasy they’re a swarm of dust motes, moving about an ancient shrine repairing old statues and keeping the torches lit in ancient crypts.

In cyberpunk, they’re a swarm of human faced birds that sweep across digital realms searching out different types of data and keeping a network “clean.”

The swarm is here to do a job, and the characters are the ones in the way. Fix, clean, move on. Let the other systems deal with the problems about intruders.

The Door Keeper

XVII

The passageway should be right here, the map shows it. The wall is even framed with that curled golden lace and ancient script guiding the way. But the insert archway has a solid wall of ancient dust covered brick blocking advancement. Frustrated, the party turns to the guide, and made demands. Xe had been waiting for them to get out of the way and at last, now without them bumbling about xe can. It takes a few tries, but xe finally grabs hold of the passageway that would lead out of the temple. Holding the detached entrance is like staring at a very high-resolution screen, although a bit nauseating at it shows off bits of the foundation and a peek at the floor below the room until at last, the guide slams it into place into the once blocked passage.

Xe smiled at the slacked jawed party and asks if they’d like to proceed to the next chamber through the now open gateway.

Xe is patient and observant, watching xir comrades work their way through their experiences rather than interjecting xir views wontly. The door keeper is a master of Janusian magic, an art of passages, chrono-manipulation, and changes of state, and one which allows xir to shift and change reality to let things flow forward in time. This is reflected in how they deal with others, helping them to change and grow, and move forward in their growth but to do so in the natural progression rather than hastening them through time.

As a guide, the Door Keeper is an enigmatic figure. Xir mastery of doorways and the connection of states of existence serves as the basis of the experience and puzzle with her visitation to a campaign. The door keeper’s first actions are two-fold. First, it should teach the party how to move the doors. Second, it should trap them in the dungeon until they figure it out. Such an encounter should include time locked events that, when triggered properly, will allow the party to move forward to their eventual reward. But the flow of time should always keep moving forward. Time should be manipulated, not broken.

The door keeper’s goal is one of exploration and assisting with unravelling the things that keep the world halted. Xe is drawn to aid those stuck in metaphorical mud, and will gladly be attracted to a mystery in need of unravelling. Xe fears regression, and the loss of hard-fought victories due to stagnation and apathy.

In fantasy, xe is the keep of Janusian magic, a priest of the moving temple. They will use their own quest to aid the growth and change of others.

In sci-fi, xir will is that of the portal master, and seeks to untether a time locked star and free the planets within the frozen system.

In ages of legend, xe is a parrel to Janus, a god of change and passages. Their role is to open a way for ancient heroes to move forward in service to the gods.

Many routes but all take wisdom to discover. Time moves ever forward, and with words and deeds the Keeper will aid those who seek out xir guidance.

The Living Blockade

XVI

The rumbling rattles the walls again. Someone yelps as the surface they leaned against slides away, revealing a passage to the next room, and a surprised fanged and clawed thing. The creature coils itself to leap at the party when the wall bends in towards it, snapping it up in a maw of brick and mortar. The party pulls back, suddenly aware of the different sections of the chamber’s edge that are moving as the stonework thing drags its meal away. Another deep rumble, and then the next surprise lands in the party’s lap.

The wall apologies.

It is a hunter of dark places. Serpent like, long, flat, and camouflaged. The Living Blockade grows in dark places like crypts, cellars, dungeons, burial chambers, any place where it can grow to resemble masonry or carved earth. Any place where dark things congregate under the earth. This one has grown quite large, enough that it has made this once open dungeon a labyrinth of isolated rooms. And navigating this place is going to take delicate negotiation with the creature that is the walls.

The Living Blockade is a sentient creature, and while its own survival is paramount, it is not without compassion and understanding the wants and needs of others. It seeks food and the lure of creatures to its dungeonesque web. Killing commoners and adventurers? This draws trouble and not more food. Beyond that, some may seek to propagate their species, although rare as it brings competition. For a promise of bringing their young far, far away from their parental creature the blockade may aid parties to their chosen path within their hunting grounds.

In fantasy, they’re a living snake of stone and earth that has made the walls of this crypt their home, their shell, and their hunting ground.

In deep space, they’re a station that has gain contro l of their own vast body and may manipulate parties to help with some function or antagonist deep within their hull.

In ages of legend, they’re the great hive of stone that has taken over the city’s sewers and hunts the dark places while the world above slumbers.

A place as an ally or a foe. A creature so vast yet hidden. The Living Blockade is a puzzle NPC whose mood shifts as the party slides through their territory. A thing’s whose hunger will overcome all other desires, whose maw is getting ever closer.

The Displaced Shoppe

XIV

The greeting is warm and inviting, a surprising welcome here in the middle of the crypt. The party had been trudging through worn ancient floors of mud, limestone slabs, and false camena stone. Here, they stood on polished wood slates, arranged in long mosaic hexes. The adornments had been tattered old banners, rusted busts, and the occasional guck covered jewel. Here, vellum printed adverts marked prices, a silken sash was woven between sections of polished display cases, and a platinum chandelier illuminated the room. The wolvenisa standing behind the counter was groomed and powdered from the base of their fur to the tips of their popped collar. The only thing about this sudden shop that seemed as grimy as the crypt around it was that merchant smile on the shoppe keeper’s muzzle.

The Displaced Shoppe is a place and an npc. Located in the middle of a dungeon, a crypt, under the sewers of an ancient city, or any other strange out of the way locale, the shoppe is a travelling space that seeks out wealthy individuals in far reaching cubbies. Since most spaces are rarely visited, it senses the arrival of adventurers in these dangerous spots, and manifests shortly after a conflict or stressful situation of some type, hoping to prey on their need for healing, relaxation, and a hearty meal.

The shoppe specializes in the limited usage market. Potions, scrolls, one time use gadgets, hot and filling meals, drinks, and occasionally even accommodations. The keeper is friendly and warm, so long as it thinks a profit can be had. And profit is the goal. All of the prices are far above reasonable asking value. The store relies on the desperate and needy, and the keeper will ham it up. If the keeper makes a successful sale at all, they will be back at some point in the future of the party’s adventures; again appearing at a time of desperation.

Manipulation of the keeper lies in the art of negotiation. Threats of are of little use, as the keeper has a failsafe. If they take any damage, their entire shoppe will teleport home, as will the keeper and all the goods not purchased. Attempting to halt the departure of the shop will find that most of the things on display are not actually here but are only teleported here after purchase. It’s not impossible to stop the keeper, but it should be hard, and it shouldn’t be rewarding. Even their remains will dissipate away.

In fantasy they arrive by magic. Illusions and teleportation are their means of access, and they will avoid things that might hinder their exodus.

In sci-fi they arrive with faster than light travel typically beyond what the players or their enemies may have access to. A drifter on the far planes of space looking to make credits.

In ages of discovery, their little dinghy seems to show up just off the beach at the right time. No one else seems to notice it, and it moves faster than it should as it departs.

A diversion, a piece of comfort, a smell of fine spices and surprising warmth, the Displaced Shoppe is a wonder to behold amidst the darkness of this mine. How they arrive and how they depart remains a mystery, but the promise to be seen in the future is both comforting, and unnerving. Mostly for the coin purse.

The Depot Thinker

XIII

It was supposed to be a quick layer over. Refuel the ship, grab some snacks, a shower, go meet the client, blast off. Two hours. Three, tops. Yet when the party returned to the depot, mission objective and seemingly reasonable timetable in hand, they found their trusty ride cracked down like an egg, engine picked apart and thrusters detached. And the perpetrator of this act, was still there, running some random part through a cleaning process that should have taken hours to even get to this stage.

Some much for deadlines.

He’s a machine speaker, maybe literally, maybe not, and when he sees a piece of tech that can be improved, he has a hard time resisting. The machines are easier to understand for him. They break, he fixes. They can be better, he obliges. The locals know to keep an eye on him, and his team typically tries to keep him out of other folks engine blocks. But this time, they failed.

The Depot Thinker is a surprise gift horse wrapped inside of a nightmare situation. If the party has the technical skills, they could attempt to put the ship back together themselves, but if they seem game to play along with the events, they’ll find the parts they need to fix the ship aren’t all here. The overthinker saw what could be better and already arranged trades, drop offs, and favors, and will help arrange local transport if the players don’t have access (anymore). After all is retrieved and delivered, the crew will find their vessel working better than new. The ship just sings now. Maybe literally.

The Depot Thinker doesn’t have many interests outside of machines, and the chance to play with a new one is a carrot he’d have a hard time resisting. He doesn’t respond well to threats unless it involves taking away access or damaging things needlessly. He doesn’t really care about money outside of keeping the parts coming in and the lights on.

In Sci-fi, he’s positioned in an off the beaten path way station, probably along a smuggling route where he’d get a lot of chances to tinker.

In ages of exploration, he’s setup in a smugglers’ bay, and the local pirates and privateers find his work charming.

In steampunk, he’s adding strange gadgets to otherwise mundane machines in an air ship depot.

The machines call to him for aid, and his spanner will always answer. With the dash of patience and willingness to explore, he can turn a simple stop over into an unintended upgrade, overhaul, and headache.

The Divided Pet

XII

A shuffle, a ruffle, a pawing at the door. They make their presence known one way or another. And yet again they smell of spices not grown nor traded in these lands, are brushed clean with trimmed and polished talons, and then there’s that odd bow they’re wearing that no one in the party seems to know where it came from. Where has this companion been? And how does it keep slipping into that world?

The Divided Pet is a companion to the party, but not to just this party. They’re a portal jumper, but not one that walks up and down the stream of time; rather they leap cross the blade to other possibilities. And in several of these realities they are companion animals to various loving homes and travelers.

The exact nature of the animal doesn’t matter to the theme, although a cat stepping sideways is fitting, and a charming dog loved by many across spacetime is certainly in vogue. This companion cube is meant to serve as a means of offering relief from managing an animal companion, as well as an engine to deliver interesting parcels or gifts. With an evolved enough relationship, it may even be possible to send messages or gifts to the other parties the pet travels with.

Manipulating this companion is well, like manipulating a pet. So, lots of ear scratches, love, affection, maybe some treats. Dear listener, please give your pets extra love tonight, less they escape to their other dimensional family.

In fantasy, they have the blood of magical beings in their lineage, and with a smooth motion they slip into another realm.

In sci-fi, they’ve managed to find a phasing collar that lets them slip between realities.

In ages of exploration, they fly high above the ship and disappear in a cloud, only to reappear later with a clipping of a strange map.

Not all NPCs need have vast stories, nor the means to speak them. Some come pawed and others scaled, but they are all wonders unto themselves, and share these gifts with those they consider pack.