The Trash Of Dead Empires

“All progressions from a higher to a lower order are marked by ruins and mystery and a residue of nameless rage.”

    -Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian

This is an archaeology-themed post that explores the idea that your dungeons are built in the literal garbage heaps of history. It is inspired in part by Beneath Foreign Planet’s blog carnival from last year.

Here is how it goes: the DM indicates a potential find in a ruin heap or ancient inscription. An interested player can spend 1d4 hours in-game to attempt a DC 10 skill check. Success yields 1d6 “fragments” relating to that culture that can be spent on translating ancient secrets or rebuilding lost artifacts relating to that culture. In the case of a failed check, reduce the fragments by half. The example culture below yields 1d6 fragments on a successful check, though older cultures should yield fewer (and have more powerful effects).

For DMs: place two archeological sites semi randomly in each dungeon, plus a third one somewhere you don't expect the players to go. The dungeon itself doesn't matter: stones with ancient inscriptions can be found as sewer walls, crappy taverns can have a cool tablet installed as the bar, etc.

An example culture is given below with game mechanics from my bespoke homebrew system; swap them out with suitable incentives for whatever you’ve got going on.

The Great Dissolution

The Ctesiphon Civilization

The Ctesiphon Civilization is two thousand years gone. Their decaying monuments are common sights in cities, where it is more convenient to build around them than to destroy them. It must be noted that the stone of that era has a distinctive, black-veins-on-white-marble appearance that is prized as a fashionable building material by moneylenders, among others. No mine for it has yet been discovered. Most of your players have probably heard of the Ctesiphon and know that they built a lot of stuff and then died in a big fire.

Literate characters with an interest in history will know a bit more. The rites of the Ctesiphon lamentation-priests included unique forms of pyromancy accompanied by horrid transformations. Students of history will recall that the Ctesiphon culture ended after their capital city dissolved into a lake of burning slime. Elves call it the "Great Dissolution” and probably remember their grandparents clucking their tongues about it, if nothing else.

Each Ctesiphon discovery results in 1d6 fragments.

Ctesiphon Relics

Carious Curse (2 CC)

You contract an ancient plague whose chief symptom is sores that weep naphtha. This curse is typically contracted through the comprehension of certain Ctesiphon writings, even in part. A character with this condition is vulnerable to fire damage, has +2 mana, receives +1 to CC fragment rolls, and any skill checks made to track you get advantage from you smearing fragrant black oil wherever you go. However, you suffer no social penalty for these sores unless you do not take pains to conceal them. It can be cured by forgetting all knowledge of Ctesiphon language. If you have a boring-ass Remove Curse spell, that cures it for a week.

Ctesiphon Hieroglyphics (4 CC)

You learn a good portion of the triangular Ctesiphon symbol set, though their spoken word remains lost. You get +1 to all future CC finds.

Lacunae Crest (4 CC, 50gp)

Through trial and error you repair a Lacunae Crest, the badge of some kind of religious official. As translated, position is concerned with "ensuring the perforation of the soil” by means of a pretty standard plowing rite. The fragments that discuss the ritual are always decorated in symbols associated with mass conflagrations, though there is no indication how or why those might occur in relation to plowing a field of crops. This badge carries a peculiar charm: it grants resistance against fire damage, but only from area effects, such as fireballs or house fires.

Naphtha Shroud (5 CC, 50gp)

You translate a functional copy of the spell Naphtha Shroud, a 2nd-level spell learnable by arcane or divine spellcasters.

This spell conjures a swirling, oily fog of volatile mist into an area covers a 15'-radius area located within 50 feet. When a creature begins their turn within this area or first contacts it during a round, they must save or suffer 1d8 poison damage. Additionally, creatures within the target area suffer +5 damage from fire damage as a portion of the flammable vapor burns. Finally, creatures that contact the mist halve all range increments for their attacks and spells until the end of their turn as their eyes are smeared with condensed oil. Casting this spell requires the expenditure of 1 Ctesiphon fragment.

At Higher Levels: For each level above 2nd, this spell inflicts +1d6 damage and the diameter increases by 5 feet.

Infection Bore (6 CC, 50gp)

You remake an Infection Bore from salvaged parts.  This machine is used to harvest Solar Ichor. It is about the size and complexity of an aeolipile, but can only be operated in an open, flat area in full sun. For each day of operation, it produces 1 vial of Solar Ichor, see below. It also heatlessly converts a one-foot radius around itself to greasy black embers, cumulatively. This effect extends to a depth equal to its radius. Anybody that operates this machine experiences vivid nightmares in which an agonized personification of the sun begs them to destroy the machine. For each day of operation, the machine has a cumulative 5% chance of breaking down and cumulative 1% chance of drawing a posse of Heliacal Paladins.

Solar Ichor looks like gold dust mixed with motor oil. Quaffing it heals 1d8 hitpoints and prevents aging for 1 month. When evaporated into crystals, it functions as gunpowder.

I'm ready to learn archeology, professor!

 
Scroll Of Lesser Dissolution (6 CC, 25gp, 1 solar ichor)

Using a vial of solar ichor as ink, you record a crude version of ancient lamentation. The resulting scroll can be expended by a willing reader, who transforms into a horrid ooze of swirling black goop, covered with eyes and mouths. In this state the reader is effectively helpless as they are subjected to wild visions of the cosmos and astral realms for several hours. The hallucinations grant a certain insight: they forever have +2 to saves and resist damage inflicted by priest spells and sacred beasts such as temple bulls. Translated writing indicates that the Ctesiphon believed this to be a much-sought-after holy state, reserved for their most pious nobility, and that with repeated use it sometimes becomes permanent.

Something like this.

Ghost Jewelry (7 CC, 50gp)

It was a common practice in Ctesiphon cities to protect expensive goods by rendering them invisible. The enchantments used were robust enough that an item can sit unnoticed in the corner of a disused ruin, lo these many centuries. By repeatedly effecting the counterspell in disused areas, you eventually discover an ancient piece of grimy, unwholesome jewelry. The piece itself is difficult to visually parse, resembling a half-melted creature something like a goat, perforated and pitted with holes, and all wrought in lurid gold. It is not good to look at. Children cry to behold it and cats hiss at it.  The brave soul that wears it as an amulet finds that they resist cold damage and deal +1 damage with attacks and spells.

The Dripping Crown (10 CC, 50gp)

You have laboriously reassembled a functional Dripping Crown, the symbol of high Ctesiphon nobility. The crown as remade is half greasy-looking gold and half ceramic repair materials, but it functions, oh yes it does. To use it, one must wear it for a full day and night, even while sleeping. One knows that it has worked because it begins shining a shallow light and sweating constant droplets of oil.
The wearer is completely immune to spells of 2nd-level or lower, whatever their nature. Once per day as an action, the crown can be made to emit a 30-foot cone of burning oil that inflicts 3d6 damage, save half. Creatures that succeed are covered in a sheen of flammable oil that makes them vulnerable to the next fire damage that they suffer, until cleaned in some way. Rolling in sand is vastly more effective at removing it than jumping in water. Finally, the crown’s light is accurséd, incurring a -1 penalty to random encounter checks.

The Eye Of Omnipitos

Click to enlarge.

The Eye's Agenda

The eye wants what the eye wants. It was crafted by Omnipitos, the greatest diviner of the previous age, who may or may not have originally stolen the art of divination from the gods. It is part palantír, part enigma machine. It has discerned a path of probabilities by which it can survive the apocalypse of the world and collapse of the universe. Any survivor would be a god in the universe-to-come.

Things the eye wants:

• Destroy at least one other artifact that presently exists in your campaign world, so that it can absorb the resulting rush of magical energy and fortify itself against material damage.
• Bathe in moonlight for an entire night, at least once a week. It's been saving up moonlight for hundreds of years. Once it has enough (a process that will take millennia), it will be able to teleport itself to a distant world before the sun becomes a red giant.
• The eye greatly desires that the Book Of Horrid Births be located and destroyed. If the book is allowed to exist for long enough, it will eventually inspire the creation of a vat-born creature that precipitates a grey goo scenario, resulting in the destruction of the eye.
• The eye knows that other sources of divination present a threat: the more of them that exist, the greater the chance that someone or something else will be able to subvert the eye's plans for the world. This means the player needs to eschew divination spells. They are also is encouraged to murder people like the oracle at Delphi (or whatever is going on in your world) and poison your campaign's Norn well.
• Though it does not require them, the eye enjoys a good soak in a goopy paste made of vitreous humors. It prefers humors from sapient creatures but any will do in a pinch.
• Any other arbitrary request can be justified by causality and the butterfly effect.

The eye can't actually tell the players what it wants, per se, but it can give them visions that impart its desires and dislikes, very well.

The fallen angel Aszottiel.

Others' Plans For The Eye

When two fantastical nations make war on each other, it's a good bet that magical espionage and sabotage feature prominently, as will precautions against the same. Because the eye's clairvoyance is not easily thwarted by spellcraft, it is of obvious strategic interest to any national actor that is aware of it and expects that it might someday be involved in a war (all of them). A decent spellcaster with a nation-state backing their research will eventually be able to use the eye to perceive their enemies' plans before their enemies even conceive of them.

The fallen cherubim Aszottiel knows of the eye and desires it. Aszottiel is slow to travel, but many other fallen creatures owe him favors or obedience. It will send these creatures to bedevil the players. The eye does not want Aszottiel to find it.

The eye is coveted by certain magical orders, especially the Many-Angled Sages. Don't forget to use your random monster mutation table to flesh them out. If you don't have a cultist that's incubating face-huggers, I'm going to come to your house and pour wine on your carpet.

The Eye's Displeasure

If the eye feels you are thwarting it or preventing it from achieving its goals, it may curse you. Curses last for the day, regardless of whether you still possess the eye.

1. Afflict The Eyes: Roll a Will save, DC 15. If you fail, you are blind for the rest of the day. If you succeed, you are only blind during the first round of each combat for that day.
2. Bewildering Visions: The eye floods you with more visions than your mind can process. The distracting process gives you disadvantage on initiative (or -5).
3. Meddlesome Little Thing: If applicable, the eye sends a vision of your adventuring party to the boss monster of the dungeon or area that they are presently exploring. The vision makes plain what the players are doing at that particular moment and may or may not be comprehensible to said creature.
4. There is a creature clawing between the worlds, trying to find a way into your reality. The eye can show it the way. The eye will thoroughly investigate the creature to ensure that it poses no threat to itself in the long term, then will beckon it through a nearby reflective surface. The creature will vanish by the next day.
5. Interference: You suffer a doubled chance of botching (natural 2 botches as well as a natural 1).
6. A Chance Encounter: You have double the normal chance of encountering a wandering monster.

The Eye's Additional Properties

If the eye is especially pleased with a player on a particular day, it may give impart one of the following, lasting until the next day (d6):

1. Shared Vision: You can see out of the eyes of any of the other players, regardless of distance. You can cast a touch-range spell on that player regardless of distance.
2. Empowered Spellcasting: You cast spells as though two levels higher. Any spell you cast has a 1-in-6 chance of not being expended.
3. Expose Machinations: You receive a simultaneous vision of the nearest angelic creature and nearest demonic creature, regardless of illusory or other concealing magics. If your campaign isn't really about those sorts of things, please substitute more suitable Secret Masters.
4. You can cast clairvoyance. Just the once.
5. Bon Chance: You have a doubled chance of making a critical hit. Only lasts until you make a critical hit.
6. See The Future: Tell the players a single sentence about the rest of the dungeon they are in that would greatly help them survive and/or plunder it. Something an all-seeing magical orb would relay. Make it good!

(While not especially metal, the eye is probably usable in any edition of D&D, LotFP, or whatever. I like items that modify how you play the game without giving you flipper hands or otherwise totaling your character. I also really like when  you can hand a thing to your players so that they feel like they actually own it.)