A nameless orc awoke from nonexistence. He didn’t know who or where he was, but he saw all kinds of monsters around him with the same confused look on their faces. A band of goblins, a tough-looking bugbear, some of his fellow orc kin, a pair of gnolls, and a lone kobold all looked around and at each other with furrowed brows and contemplative eyes.
He was in some sort of tavern made mostly of dark wood, but with a freshly lit brick fireplace in the corner. Several tables and chairs were placed around, and a set of stairs led to an upper floor. He was behind a bar, cups and mugs dotted around, kegs of strong alcohol filled to the brim neatly stacked behind him. Looking outside, he could see the tavern was in a cave, a small tunnel leading out.
He tried to think back to where he was before this, but all he could remember was… nothing.
He had a strong inclination this bar was his. Almost on instinct, he picked up a cup and cloth to begin polishing it. He shrugged with a grunt. It didn’t matter who he was before or even if he was someone before, now he was a bartender. And he had a bar to tend.
A bugbear approached the counter, scratching his head in confusion. “Uh… hey Bartender? Mind gettin’ me a drink? I think I hit my head real hard or something,” he said while eyeing a barrel full of mead.
“Sure. First round’s on me,” the bartender replied.
Bartender… it was what he was and what he had been called. Bartender accepted it as a name; it was just as much a name as any other. And he had a feeling he wouldn’t remember any other name any time soon.
“When you say you hit your head, I’m assuming you mean you don’t remember anything?” Bartender said while grabbing a tankard from behind the counter.
“Yeh, everything before now—well, there isn’t anythin’,” he replied with his thought process clearly showing on his face.
“Call it intuition, but it probably isn’t going to come back.”
Bartender filled the tankard, then slid it across the bar to meet the bugbear, who picked it up with a shrug and looked at his reflection in it for a few moments before drinking. Most of the other monsters, identical looks of confusion on their faces, followed the bugbear’s example and began drinking. After a while, they all seemed just as content talking and sipping as he was serving, all sense of confusion having disappeared.
As the night went on, if you could call the darkness of the cave night, sobriety became an ancient myth. The patrons were quite rowdy. A hobgoblin insulted an orc’s mother, and after a few moments of sadness because said orc couldn’t remember his mother, a fight broke out to protect her honor wherever she may be, the other monsters betting on who would win.
But no bad blood could be kept, it seemed. And before long, they were all back to laughing and chatting. Everyone had gotten over not having memories and seemed intent on making new ones as quickly as possible.
Being the only one sober enough to think straight, Bartender was left alone with his thoughts for the most part. Most of everyone was too intoxicated to walk even to the bar, so he began to ponder.
Why did he exist? He didn’t have any memories, but he did have knowledge. He didn’t even know where he was, yet he was content staying. His only explanation was that either he owned the bar and his memory was erased, or he was created just then with this purpose.
Either way, Bartender didn’t mind. He was more than content to work the bar. Which brought up other questions.
But before he could think to answer them, he saw a figure out the window moving up the tunnel leading to the tavern.
Bartender moved to alert the bugbear, who seemed to be a guard of sorts. But before he could even reach him, the figure was gone. Bartender would keep an eye on that tunnel.
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Jared observed as all he had planned came true for the most part. He hadn’t expected orcs to be so protective of nonexistent mothers, but he couldn’t complain. Not when everything turned out so well.
The previously vicious monsters were now docile tavern-goers. And from the various conversations they had, Jared could tell they were far more intelligent than the normal variants. Other than a few problems caused by some of their mouths, they all spoke fluent Common.
What surprised him the most, however, was how well they had taken to the tavern. He tried to make them as sentient as he could, and as far as he could tell, it had worked. But he had never created sentient creatures, so he didn’t know how content they would be waking up with no memories in a tavern. But they seemed to be more than fine with staying there.
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He might reveal himself to them later… but for now, he had more pressing matters.
Apparently, there weren’t many dungeons like him, or at least ones that could adapt as fast as he could. The delvers had seemed surprised by the sudden appearance of loot. He doubted the leader was standing there gawking because of the value of a gem. And the sight of the tavern sent them running. He highly doubted they would be scared of a few monsters. From the way they effortlessly slew through the First Floor, Jared guessed they could make it pretty far into the Second.
He needed to know more.
Jared had come to this world and acted without gathering any intel. Perhaps he thought he was familiar enough with D&D, which this world seemed to take heavy inspiration from, to not need any, but here was a massive gap in his knowledge, and he wanted to fill it.
He hadn’t thought about it much, but he was in danger. He had a core, he could overexert himself. And in D&D, if it has stats, it can be killed.
Even with a truck flying directly at him, Jared didn’t fear. The only feeling he had was regret. He wished he could’ve made a difference. But now, he had power. He could tell stories he never could have dreamed of back then. Make changes in people’s lives that really mattered. But he was still mortal. He could lose it all.
And in that moment, Jared felt a desire he never noticed before: he wanted to dig deeper, to bar himself from the world above.
He seriously considered it for a moment but decided otherwise. It just wasn’t who he was. He wanted to have an effect on others’ lives, and he couldn’t do that if he was bored stiff and locked up in a room somewhere.
But he would need to be safe about it.
He needed information. He needed a spy on the outside.
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The more Jared thought, the more he knew he didn’t know. It scared him how little information he had gathered. He had jumped straight to expanding his dungeon without even testing his limits or understanding any of the outside world. Now it was time to change that.
Since his rebirth, Jared had only tried to narrate creation. He was curious if he could narrate actions.
Finding a bat on the Second Floor that seemed intent on flying straight into a spider web, Jared gently spoke of it dodging to the side just before coming in contact with the sticky thread and instead flying to the safety of the First Floor.
Just as was spoken, the bat evaded the web and navigated its way to the floor above it, found a nook in the ceiling, and landed there.
It seemed he could narrate things other than creation. And as far as he could tell, it didn’t drain him at all.
Curious to test the limits of this newfound ability, Jared attempted something obviously impossible.
“The bat, having a new hiding spot, pulls out a Colt M1873 Peacemaker, firing nine shots consecutively.”
He tried several variations of this: impossible scenarios, ones that would simply require nonsensical amounts of power, making monsters do feats of strength they couldn’t naturally do. None of them worked, confirming his suspicions that he could only narrate things within reason.
A bat flying around? Rocks falling to block a path? Creating new monsters? It was all within reason, for a dungeon. But anything absurd, like making a god goblin, making an orc punch a mile-sized tunnel, making a worm hold a sword, etc., were no-goes.
He was curious if he could narrate humans, but if the logic followed, he couldn’t. Even if he was in another world, he was still a Dungeon Master, in a sense. He made the dungeon for characters to delve into, he controlled the monsters for characters to fight, and if he guessed properly, players controlled those characters. Not him. Or, in other words, he couldn’t narrate people.
Although that did beg the question of if he could control the intelligent monsters in the tavern. He could experiment with that later. But for now, he needed to find the borders of his territory.
He could “see” as far as the tunnel leading above the First Floor, where his vision cut off suddenly. And from his various experiments, so did his power.
He spoke of a goblin walking out of the dungeon, only returning one minute later. His goblin acted as he had spoken, carefully walking out, but returning only a few seconds later.
He lost control of monsters beyond his dungeon.
Although the goblin wasn’t destroyed or prevented from leaving.
Jared had an idea.
He had created intelligent monsters before; all he needed to do was to recruit one as a spy. Even when he lost control, the monster could still act on its own. And would probably be compelled to obey its creator.
The only question was what monster? He didn’t want to use one of the tavern dwellers. They had a purpose already, and they couldn’t pass as human. He instead had to create something new.
He created a Doppelganger.
They were humanoid monsters that looked somewhat like a grey alien, only a good bit lankier. However, once they saw someone, they could transform to visually appear as them. And they could even read minds a little.
The only problem was how much they cost to make.
When Jared narrated the spy into existence, he felt a strain almost comparable to respawning all the monsters on the First Floor together. Even if he had the energy to create a spy, they weren’t disposable. Luckily, the cocky roguish adventurer had been quite powerful and covered the cost of creating his new spy.
As the threads of magic appeared, then weaved themselves into the shape of Jared’s soon-to-be spy, he couldn’t help but be bursting with excitement.
Jared had always been the one worldbuilding, and while he was more than content to do that, he also loved the idea of exploring another world. One not of his design.
He wouldn’t be experiencing it firsthand, of course, but that only improved it. He felt like the villain, commanding monsters and sending out spies.
The Doppelganger took much longer to form than he expected, but it made sense that more powerful creatures would take longer to form or decay, since whatever magic he controlled had to condense further to form the creatures.
The freshly formed Doppelganger looked around in the confusion that was typical with the intelligent creatures Jared made. It looked at its hands, the cave surrounding it, but something interesting happened when it saw a goblin.
It almost liquified, its facial features disappearing completely and its entire body barely staying humanoid as it grew short and hunched over, solidifying again and turning green. It successfully transformed into an exact replica of the goblin it saw.
Perfect.