Why does the dungeon always collapse

lightofcania

He'd meant to quit this whole 'adventuring' business, hadn't he. Messy, confusing, dirty business, filled with far too many bad smells and far too little comfortable places to sleep. If he'd ever had any fantasies for the profession, they have long since been burned away. He wants peace, damn it, is that so hard? It shouldn't be. Why doesn't the world respect his decisions? Veron Chandler, completely ordinary citizen of Neverwinter, no reason at all for anyone to look twice at him; that was precisely what the plan had been.

The last time he'd tried this, the plan had been to be 'Veron Chandler, completely ordinary citizen of Waterdeep,' and look how that went. Conned into going after some idiots that didn't understand the concept of 'waiting,' conscripted to join a war in a place so foreign he didn't feel safe to drink at the local tavern, condemned to the eighth level of Hell itself as someone else's patsy. Hadn't that been fun. He had thought he'd learned his lesson about doing nice things for nice people; sure, everyone thanks you, but no one's there for you when you later have reoccurring nightmares of dracoliches. It's safe to say that he's done his time in the world saving business, he can let the world handle itself for a little while.

Except here he is again, investigating weird shit because a nice person asked him to. Did he say, 'Go ask someone else'? Or perhaps, 'Sorry, I can't help you,' or even, 'Why don't you just move somewhere safer instead of parking near the haunted catacombs of your ancestors'? He did not. He did not say any of those things. Instead he said, 'I'll give it a look,' and now here he is, tromping his way to some haunted catacombs, like he has any business poking at the dead. Ugh. His bleeding heart is going to be the death of him, one day. Possibly today. It could always be today.

"If I meet another kid," he mutters to himself as he stomps through the underbrush, swatting at a mosquito on his neck, "that looks up at me with big earnest eyes and says, 'I want to be an adventurer like you when I grow up!' I am going to tell him the story about the mindflayers." This is a lie. He would never tell any child any stories about mindflayers. He doesn't want to give kids nightmares. But saying this sort of thing makes him feel better, and there's no one here to hear him, so he doesn't feel bad about it.

Stomp, stomp, stomp - oh look, weird magic bullshit, he's so surprised. Guarded by skeletons, how novel. He neither is surprised, nor finds it novel. He decides that he doesn't want to deal with these reanimated cadavers any longer than he has to. He should just start off by shadowstepping to the far skeleton archer, then tripping up the warrior as it runs... but what if someone actually has a legitimate reason to have these corpses animated? He doesn't know the local culture, it could be a thing. Use the ethically sourced dead to work in the fields for the living, or something. There is nothing stopping a necromancer from being good, in theory. Not that he's met one.

Oh blessed Tymora he's going to reveal himself and attempt to communicate out of principle, isn't he. Damn it. That's going to get him killed, too.

"Excuse me!" he calls. "Is there a spellcaster or restless ghost that maybe wants to explain what's going on?"

"Ah!" says an echoing voice through the trees. "An intruder! More materials for my experiments! Slay him, my minions!"

Veron indulges in a sigh. Yeah, that was what he was afraid it would be. This is what happens when you give people the benefit of the doubt. People trying to kill you.

The skeletons are a breeze, the later zombies a cakewalk, and the horrific sewn together monstrosity, ten feet tall and no doubt a treasured favorite of the necromancer, a brief distraction. Very brief.

"So is it the standard 'the fools cast me out and I'll show them all' backstory, or...?" says Veron, when he has the necromancer cornered.

"You think you've won! But I'll show you, you won't be so smart then, will you, think you can kill me -"

"Listen, mate. I don't want to kill you. I wanted to say hello. What's your story, what got you to run off to the woods to play with dead things -"

"Insufferable fool! I'll show you -" the necromancer raises his hand to point a finger at Veron.

The world turns a familiar grey as Veron slides into the in-between of Toril and the Plane of Shadow. The necromancer freezes, his hand nearly extended. Time's not actually frozen, per se, Veron's just moving and perceiving the world fast enough that everything looks still. He can't keep this up forever, not if he wants to avoid getting shunted unpleasantly to the Plane of Shadow, but he can keep it up long enough to slip behind the necromancer before his perception of time rights itself and the world's color returns.

His knife, quite casually, is at the necromancer's throat.

"Pass. Listen, I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here, but you're making it real hard."

The necromancer splutters, and his spell fizzles harmlessly. "W-what?! What, you - you -"

"Yeah. Me. Say one complete sentence that isn't evil, please, I'm begging you here."

"You'll get no simpering from me, fool!!"

Well. Lost cause, he's wasted more than enough effort on this waste of a person. It's obvious he's not going to change his mind, or stop sewing corpses together, and it's obvious he'll graduate to kidnapping people and experimenting on them soon. Can't just leave him alone, and it's not like he has some place to hold him. The Plane of Shadow, maybe, but he's not putting anyone there if he can at all help it. He has a brief debate over if he can get this guy to some place that'll try to reform him, decides that any place that could hold a wizard wouldn't make them very inclined to reform, and promptly slits the guy's throat.

"What a waste," he sighs, at the corpse.

And then, in typical adventurer tradition, he immediately begins raiding the necromancer's stuff.

Halfway through that, as he's sorting through the potion rack, there's a cracking sound from behind him. He whirls around just in time to see the final shards of a crystal ball fall to the ground. He swears just in time to properly express his dismay at the glowing and buildup to exploding that is happening around the enchanted glass shards. On instinct, he shifts to the in-between, planning to dash to the exit before he can get caught in whatever bizarre blast is no doubt about to occur.

Veron Chandler is very fast, but he shifted as the explosion began, not before. It is a very rapid explosion, once it gets going. He is not quite fast enough to escape it.

He starts going through his checklist before he even opens his eyes. Anything injured, if so, how bad? Does he have his pack, where are his weapons, is anyone immediately trying to kill him, does he have anyone else he needs to look out for, does he need to move right now or die.

Not injured, not unless it's bad enough that he doesn't feel it. Pack's there, so are his weapons.

He sits up with a groan, and opens his eyes to see about anyone trying to kill him.

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Eventually the guide dog stops. The forest continues being shapebendy in front of them. Huan makes an exasperated noise and licks his paws.

lightofcania

"I'd try knocking," says Veron, "but there isn't really a door. Should I attempt to ask nicely?"

Amused chuff.

lightofcania

"Taking that as a yes, then."

He clears his throat, attempts to project the meaning and sincerity of what he's saying as loud as possible, then calls, "I apologize for showing up at your borders so well armed, but I mean no harm to you or your subjects. I'm new to these lands, and new to the problems you and your people face. I'd like to help, but I don't know enough of the enemy you face. I'd like to ask for your advice, if you can spare the time to give it."

Elves drop out of the trees. Hello.

lightofcania

"Hello," says Veron, inclining his head politely from atop his horse.

What counsel are you seeking?

lightofcania

"I have some experience fighting powerful enemies, but I'm afraid that I don't fully understand the nature of Ainur, and this somewhat handicaps how much help I can offer. I was told that your Queen was a powerful Maia and would have a clearer perspective on the subject. I understand that she might not be able to spare the time to see me personally," look at how he actually understands how busy someone can be ruling, especially while keeping an entire kingdom safe, "but I would appreciate any advice on the subject that could be offered."

She is observing this conversation. Go ahead and ask your questions.

lightofcania

Veron nods.

"Is Morgoth's power localized to this plane," he sends the concept of a plane and how he's from another one, then how he's been to several others, "or is it possible he's spread out over multiple?"

He also sends why he's asking this question. If Morgoth's contained, then killing him is relatively straightforward, if not precisely simple. If he isn't, then maybe killing him is relatively straightforward, but maybe doing so would cause nasty effects elsewhere that Veron couldn't account for, or maybe Veron would have to go on a plane-hopping god-killing mission, in which case, he needs to know so he can attain the appropriate resources.

The Queen is confident that the Enemy is presently contained on this plane, but if transit between them is now known to be possible he might decide to change that.

lightofcania

"So there's a potential timetable for godslaying. Good to know. Do you know how long it might take him to figure it out without any help on the subject at all?"

Off just the information that there are other planes, a very long time. If he observed your arrival or transit between them, perhaps as little as a few years.

lightofcania

Veron winces.

"... I recommend estimating sooner rather than later, then. I, ah. Arrived in the middle of an orc camp."

In that case we should presume he has started trying to learn about it, then, yes.

lightofcania

"Well. It's better to know than not, I suppose. I understand asking for specifics of an Ainu's strengths and limitations might be seen as contentious, considering which kingdom I am seeking counsel from," Hells, now they've got him talking this way, "but I'm afraid the gravity of the situation prompts me to do so. If you're comfortable answering, what can Morgoth do with his power, and what are his limitations?"

We have to do things with extraordinary attention to detail; they are usually very slow the first time, and can be done much more swiftly afterwards. I can try to show you -

- this is how a Maia takes a physical form, all the things they have to pay attention to, tiny tiny building blocks bent into shape just right, proteins all folded like so, the same project a million times over to make a beating heart -

lightofcania

It's a little dizzying, but he's been through worse experiences and kept his head.

"... That was very illuminating, thank you," he says sincerely, after a brief pause to get his head on straight again. "So, most of anything is possible, but specialization is highly encouraged by the system you work within, and power does not come with understanding of the systems you might want to make. In that case - may I offer you and your people a gift?"

Of course.

lightofcania

He dismounts, fishing through his potion pouch for the appropriate potions.

"This," he holds up a vial filled with an opaque aquamarine liquid, "is a healing potion." He sends with it the impression of what it does, how it can and has saved people from injuries that would have certainly killed them otherwise. "I don't know how to brew it, and I don't have enough to supply a society, but if I'm understanding you correctly, that will not stop you once you've had time to study and recreate it." He offers it to an Elf.

Thank you. That is generous and tremendously valuable.

lightofcania

"You're welcome. Please use it well."

We will. What else do you need to know?

lightofcania

"I - think I'm missing enough context to not know the best questions I could ask. I understand more, but probably not enough. What's the nature of an Ainu, as compared to what I've encountered with before?" He sends examples. A wraith, a lost piece of a dead person's soul, creating and then clinging to its form and dying with it when it dissipates, maybe able to reform it later, but burning itself out as time passes. A baatezu, a being tied to one plane in particular, able to personally, or by less powerful proxy, travel to others, with physical forms that can be killed, but only dying permanently on the plane of existence they're tied to. A god as his plane defines it, spread out over multiple planes, powered by the belief of those that worship them, only truly dying when they're killed and then forgotten.