What follows is a rare example of me putting something creative on this site. A small stand alone spin-off of my Gothic Rustbelt sword and sorcery Sickle setting. Normally, I would illustrate such a thing myself, but considering this is a short side project not for external publication I took the lazy option instead. This is the recommended background soundtrack. The indirect inspirations for this singular spin-off are the first Diablo, Night in the Woods, and above all the Vermis series of artistic strategy guides for games that don’t exist. One could always use its skeleton to create a tabletop game campaign of modern dungeon delving.

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An order decays. A world comes apart. Adrift and lost, you begin a long-delayed journey home. Inland, back to the brooding wooded hills that made you. Once the Rustbelt drove you away, now it may be your only hope. 

The town of Prospect, in hindsight quite ironically named, lies on the opposite side of Montrose County, West Virginia from its seat of Sickle. The two towns are close as the crow flies, but the broken mountainous terrain means they may as well be across the state. 

But you know a shortcut. Across the abandoned rail trellis. You can leave your car and walk, as you once did many times in youth. It is nightfall, yet the colors of the autumn can still be glimpsed. The season is peaking and the moon is full

It is here, before even entering the town, that you realize your homecoming will be a strange one. For a Goatman is sitting on a stool, plucking a banjo. 

‘You will find nothing as you remember it,’ it says in a bleating voice that keeps an odd cadence with the strings of its instrument, ‘and you will have no respite from that which made you return.’

Are you baffled by this sight? Angered? Afraid? It matters not. To continue you must pass, Which you do in silence. The music fades behind you as you approach the town. You do not look back.

In the morning you awake in town. No memory of the rest of your journey on foot. The seedy motel in which you emerge seems not to have a staff at the moment. You stumble out into a town square you last saw many years ago. It is Prospect. You are home.

Almost no one you once knew can be found. Most left like you did, some stayed only to die of drug overdose or mining accident. Many comment that you are the first tourist they have seen in years. ‘How did you get in?’ People are incredulous that you are coming home. All save The Mayor, who remembers you. He once was your teacher. 

‘The mine closed years ago. Then last year people started going into it anyway. Camping. Dancing. Weird shit. Dangerous, I told them. Don’t know what they were doing there, but no one ever came back. Not even the Sheriff. Now there are reports of dark figures in the night around town. People stay in at night. I’m surprised you came over the bridge last night. Did you see anything?’

As you turn to leave…

‘But there is one person who came back, now that I think about it. You might not want to..well…do you remember the artist, Carver Norwood?’

The Mayor recommends you arm yourself with his recommendation for a local discount at the local Gun Nut’s shop. It is here you may begin to construct your build and choose your background. 

The town’s mechanic, Melissa Norwood, is busy working on a car in her garage. ‘Came to see my brother, huh? Weren’t the two of you in the same graduating class? Well, he’s upstairs…painting as usual. Don’t worry about being shocked, he won’t notice. Anyway, feel free to stop by if you need gear fixed.’

If you converse with her long enough she might drop the rumor that the county cryptid, The Montrose Wolfman, has been seen in the woods outside of town more than usual.

You mount the stairs with some trepidation. As you are about to knock on the door a voice calls from within before your knuckles can even make contact. ‘Ah, [PLAYER_NAME], it’s been too long. Please, do come in.’

Carver Norwood seems older looking than he should be. His wild hair is unkempt as his studio. His grotesque paintings stare into your soul. ‘I came back from the mine. And the mine came back with me.’

Depending on your words he will give the following responses:

‘What goes down there changes. Adapts.’

‘A new world is coming. Those who can face the mine will adapt to it. Those who cannot will scream and howl.’

‘When I close my eyes I am awake. When I open them I am dreaming.’

‘There are many mines in many places. But here, I think, is a particularly strong one.’

‘The mine is killing us. It always did.’

‘The mine will save us.’

‘Like you, I used to hate this town. But I didn’t have the courage to leave. Now I have courage…to stay.’

Carver Norwood can identify artifacts and weapons brought to him. He will always tell the truth about their nature, sometimes to your detriment.

You can feel the call from down below. The mystery is too great. You have nothing left but one town, one mine, and one direction, DOWN.

Laden with gear, you set off into the woods. The path to the mine cutting through the falling leaves. A time of peaceful reverie with nature which comes to a close only when the subterranean mouth looms ahead of you.

The mine is randomly generated. It offers endless possibilities for awe, horror, and everything in between.

There is a chance, depending on the sequence of events you have experienced, that you will be tapped on the shoulder before entering the mine. This forces a dialogue with the Montrose Wolfman.

‘Ah heah you be going down theah. Gonna save the town? Seems moah wike da town gonna save you. Or kill ya. Well, give this to the Disco Gnolls and gimme what they twade back. I’ll give ya somethin wicked-pissah good if ya do.’

You can’t help but notice that despite the name, the Wolfman seems more like a coyote or jackal. It’s breath smells of marajuana and grilled lamb. It’s parody-impedement-Boston accent out of place in these hills.

He hands you a package. STRANGE PARCEL received. Whether this brush with the uncanny further steels your resolve to delve below or shakens it is yet to be determined.

Peering into the depths you see no recourse. You must descend.

From here on out all encounters are randomized. The following are a potential list of things that could happen.

Undead Miners: They died down here. Some over a century ago, some just a decade. They still man their posts, cursed to search for the black gold that brings life to the town while having no life of their own. They do not notice you and will not become hostile unless you impede their work in any way. If you do, their numbers will prove a challenge.

Cult of the Black Worm: Perpetually shadowed, speaking in a tongue only they can understand, the Cult monitors your progress continuously. They appear to shrink from challenge and seek safety in numbers, but may strike in large groups if they disapprove of your actions. Normally, they use their network to modify the mine in strange ways to baffle and impede you. 

Should you be able to isolate or kill enough of them, the mine’s random seed generation becomes more erratic, but in a way slightly less hostile to your mission. Should you antagonize them without being able to winnow their numbers, however, they will summon an unkillable pursuer from old VHS tapes of a British children’s show about a demonic yellow cone. 

The Sheriff: Non-hostile. Says things like:

‘I won’t go back. This is my home now.’

‘There is a new black gold down here, it is not coal.’

‘It seems cool in here, but you have to slow down enough and then you can feel the warmth below.’

‘Send The Mayor my regards. I am waiting for him to join me here. He will, eventually.’

The Bunnyman, it isn’t funny, man. Bunnyman does not speak, and can only be hostile. If you are unprepared for grueling combat or agile avoidance your journey will end here.

Gary. The town’s lost youth. Perhaps a former friend? Now he controls the environment of the mine for the Cult of the Black Worm, though he sees himself as above and independent of them. He taunts you over speakers, but as you progress he becomes more pleading and pathetic, his scorn giving way to envy. If you are able to trace the power lines back to his nest he will not fight. His fate is ultimately up to you. If he dies the way forward will be somewhat easier.

‘Welcome to the Wizard’s lair.’

‘You left, I stayed. I was betrayed…BY YOU!

‘I made my kingdom here, after all.’

‘One day I will be President.’

‘Leave those body pillows alone!’

Has your wandering fulfilled you or merely filled you with despair? No matter the hostility or avoidance you have faced, eventually you will come to the Chamber of the Da A-nis. It may have been inactive earlier if already discovered, but once you have absorbed enough experience the eyes will flash and a portcullis will open. The next layer has begun.

Alone, hopefully steeled to horror and wonder, you advance onward.

Sirens sing, their haunting tones echo in the dark. Ignore them. The journey will end here if you do not.

A flash of scenes in the water before you. Like bioluminescence in the dark. A town that never was prosperous but once provided. Beset by growing horrors ever since it dared to stand up during the Battle of Prospect in 1924. Its loss was the first sacrifice. One future crushed, and a new one opened, feeding on all the blood that seeped down, down. Festering. Growing in power. You find a sealed case of DEMOLITION TOOLS in the shallow waters, the interior sealed and dry.

Finally, a light up ahead. Or is it? You find a hole in the wall. The mine has given way to something else entirely. 

A static glow. A strange home out of time. Someone benefited down here in the depths after all. You enter.

The eerie synths of the dungeon begin to pulse with a distinctively Italian vibe. Up ahead lies a conversation pit strewn with gelatine party food. You have found the Disco Gnolls. 

They regard you with indifference and will reject attempts to join their feast with hostility. If you play it cool, however, and deliver the STRANGE PARCEL to them, they will bestow upon the player an OPIUM PIPE and a warning.

‘To see how things really are, smoke this.’

CACKLING LAUGHTER

‘He who dwells below holds us in thrall. We are treated well but no one else is allowed to follow.’

‘The aspic buffet is reserved only for those of our time and place.’

You exit into another hallway. A holding chamber of sorts. There is a particularly ostentatious door up ahead. A strange tune emanates from a crackling speaker somewhere. 

There is no way to go but forward. You enter the final door. There you find The Senator.

‘It has been a long time since I had visitors. How is the town doing above? Oh, what a shame. That wasn’t the intention of my actions down here.’

‘Well, at least we managed to prosper down here, which is the most important thing.’

‘Come, let me show you the culmination of my many lives’ work.’

If you have imbibed from the OPIUM PIPE, The Senator will instead appear as such:

In the final chamber lies this culmination. The thing that has been absorbing the town above. THE PROJECT.

You can choose to merge with THE PROJECT, giving up everything for acceptance of The Senator’s schemes. If so, the journey ends here. Alternatively, you can run from the mine, permanently insane, with an increased likelihood for deadly hostile encounters on the way out. Canny adventurers, however, will find a way to kill The Senator when he is unprepared, and be able to lay the DEMOLITION TOOLS rigged to blow upon exiting this area. 

Should the demolition ending be achieved, the adventurer is able to exit the mine without molestation. However, the various encounters may now also leave their underground confinement.

 It is dark above and the stars are out. Their presence is the only sign you are no longer underground. 

If the Montrose Wolfman was encountered and gave the quest before the descent, he will be waiting for you outside. If you either do not have the OPIUM PIPE or refuse to hand it over he will attack and will initiate a fight you cannot hope to win. If you relinquish the pipe he gives you stolen keys to a randomized used car in town.

Staggering back into town, exhausted, you seek nothing but rest, feeling accomplished. But no one is about. They all stand in the central square, staring between the hills and up at the sky. The Northern Lights are almost never seen this far south. The beauty of their dance enraptures the townsfolk. The Mayor has enough presence of mind to turn to you and thank you. Carver Norwood nods and says ‘Freed from below, we now may open our hearts to what is above.’

If at any point you partook from THE OPIUM PIPE then when you look at the northern lights with greater detail you see something else in the night sky instead:

END