- [The Boiler Room Below the Vampire Lord’s Castle] -
Heat and chaos intertwine in the dimly lit basement, the air thick with the acrid scent of steam and super-heated metal. Shadows flicker along the stone walls, where the dim glow of subterranean fires licks the edges of the room, casting everything in a sinister amber hue. The metallic clank of the golem — an amalgamation of boiling cauldron and serpentine pipes — echoes through the labyrinthine space in the depths of the Vampire Lord's castle.
~ [{Boss} The Cauldron Golem] ~
Fueled by the raging fire that is fed on the corpse fat of the dead that plague the dark castle of the Vampire Lord, this clockwork golem made up of elements of the boiler room stands large. It is only partially mobile, as the heated pipes filled with high-pressure steam and water connect it to the castle’s walls like binding chains that it cannot escape. The living fire beneath it roars with raging intensity, swarms of firekin flying out in all directions from it as they protect their home.
Boss monsters are unique creations that will fight in dedicated phase patterns.
Hidden Information
Phase 1, Boiling Phase: Settling down onto the living fire that rages beneath it, the golem will boil the contents inside of itself to recharge its power. During this phase, swarms of fae firekin will lash out to keep any attackers at bay while it gathers heat and power.
Phase 2, Steam Phase: Brimming to the point of explosion with high-pressure steam, the golem activates and rises to its feet. It will strike out as far as its binding pipes allow it to traverse, blasting boiling water and steam in all directions as it chooses a random target to fixate on for the duration of the phase.
Final Phase: The golem will cycle through its two phases three times, until it builds up enough internal pressure to self-destruct, destroying the room and everything inside of it in a non-survivable blast.
Secret Tactic: Destroying the steam pipes that bind the golem is extremely dangerous, as its range of movement will be increased with every broken connection to the walls. However, fully destroying all connected pipes will cause the golem to lose its internal pressure and collapse.
Type: Construct {Clockwork} Rank: S Common Drop: Black Metal Sheet Rare Drop: Inscribed Metal Tablet: [Summon Firekin Familiars]
The group of adventurers stands tense, sweat pooling at their brows, weapons drawn. Their breaths are shallow and quick, the oppressive warmth sapping their strength as thick, saturated steam fills the room like a heavy fog. Each movement is deliberate, muscles straining against both the weight of their armor and the relentless heat enveloping them, as excess efforts could cause one to collapse in the sweltering temperature. The adventurers feel the heat emanating from the golem — an invisible wall pressing against them with each searing wave. Pipes rattle and screech, as if protesting their very existence. The creature’s boiling water sloshes ominously within its massive cauldron torso, threatening to spill over in a scalding cascade. It’s a hideous creation, animated by fire spirits that dart around it like hornets, pelting the intruders with fiery projectiles.
“Damn it! Keep moving!” shouts the party leader, her voice strained but resolute as she runs over the charred corpse of their former party warlock. She dodges a flaming missile, her sword glinting in the firelight — a fine sight but impossibly useless against a golem made out of solid, obscure dark metal. This fight belongs to the casters. Her eyes are fierce, determined — a mirror of the fiery spirits themselves, who are her only real opponents. She’s trying to keep the field clear from those additional minor creatures — which adventurers call 'adds' — while the others tackle the boss monster itself.
Beside her, a man grunts, swinging his hammer with a force that reverberates through his arms. “These little bastards just don’t quit,” he mutters under his breath, his concentration lacking as the chaos all around them makes itself unmistakable — the fog dances with living, shooting embers. He squints through the haze, eyes scanning for any weakness in the golem’s form as the giant rattles their way. The castle shakes with every step it takes. The basement feels alive — a throbbing, groaning entity where steam hisses angrily from every crevice. The stone floor is slick with condensation, and the low ceiling drips. The adventurers’ senses are assaulted by the clamor of battle and the oppressive heat that clings to their skin like a second layer. The noise, scalding heat, and hissing fire all make the fight very disorienting.
Somewhere, deep within the metallic beast, a pressure builds — an angry, volatile energy waiting to explode. It’s going to start recharging pressure again soon.
“Watch out!” cries the group’s mage, her hands a blur of arcane gestures. She conjures a barrier of shimmering ice, temporarily halting the fire spirits. Beads of sweat trace paths down her temples, flying off of her face as she then dives out of the way.
A massive, metallic fist smashes into the stone wall of the room as they dodge just in time, blasting out of the steam.
Stone and mortar scatter violently, revealing a hidden passage from which a torrent of rats bursts forth, their tiny feet a frantic patter against the stone. The adventurers barely register the fleeing rodents, only the wizard doing a terrified, rolling dance on the ground around them as a few of them scurry past her.
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- [Hwa-Young, the Witch] -
The chill of the night seeps into the tower, weaving through the cracks of the ancient stone. A cold breeze flutters through the open observatory, kissing Hwa-Young’s cheeks with its icy breath. Shadows streak long and eerily across the floor, where the dim glow of the moonlight dances on dust motes suspended in the air. The air is crisp, tinged with the faint scent of old parchment and ink. The room is lit only by the soft glow of the moon, casting everything in a silvery light. The telescope — a behemoth of polished brass and glass — stands like a sentinel, pointed toward the heavens, capturing the distant twinkling of stars. The observatory is a space caught between worlds — the eternal sky above and the dirt-bound struggles of the living below. For the scholars of the world, the heavens are a fascinating curiosity, but for people like herself who have insight in deeper matters, it’s like a hallway of sorts between the mortal and the spirit world, and its circular walls, etched with celestial maps and arcane symbols, are the waymarkers.
Hwa-Young peers eagerly through the eyepiece, her eyes wide with fascination. The cosmos unfolds before her, an endless sea of lights. Yet, her brow furrows as she notes the absence of certain constellations. Many of the stars — silent witnesses to their own machinations upon the world — seem to have been swallowed by the void.
How curious.
There is a lot she doesn’t understand. If the powers-that-be have orchestrated the events occurring across the world — such as the Vampire Lord — then why would they destroy their own vision of the events they themselves have created by giving the Master the power to hide them?
The stars have played such games before, during eras in the past of great Demon Kings and such beasts. But to what end?
She scribbles furiously in her notebook, documenting every observation, every anomaly. Her thoughts drift to the dark powers at play.
Oh, how fun!
Suddenly, the metal water pipes running along the walls of the observatory clang and bang with a discordant rhythm, chaos echoing up from the depths of the castle. The vibrations resonate through the tower, a distant roar of an underground battle that intrudes upon the serenity of her work. Some dork is getting his skull bashed against the pipes in the basement again. Hwa-Young pauses, the pen poised above the page, her mind momentarily distracted by the noise. “Just what are those dummies doing down there?” she murmurs to herself in her mother tongue, her voice barely a whisper amidst the clamor. She shakes her head, her thoughts returning to her task as she watches the sky for more dangers approaching.
A blood moon — an omen of ill fortune — draws near, and she must prepare. The Master will be very interested in this, as it pertains to his powers. If he’s really planning on performing the ritual to begin the Night that Never Ends, then this will be the greatest opportunity to do so, as the magical powers in the night will be amplified beyond measure. Blood moons are deeply powerful spiritual events that will feed directly into the castle’s power.
Her notes are scattered — a haphazard collection of thoughts and predictions, held together by the tenuous threads of her forgetful mind. Oddly enough, she can’t help but notice she’s written the same exact page about the blood moon three times now.
Weird.
With a sigh, Hwa-Young gathers her notes, folding them carefully. She decides to continue her work elsewhere, the alchemy laboratory beckoning her with its promise of solitude and focus. The observatory is an interesting place, but when one watches the stars, it makes them notice you back in turn. The last thing she needs is to get too much of their attention. But as she turns to leave, a sudden movement catches her eye. A rat — its fur matted and eyes wild — scurries across the stone floor, disappearing into the shadows. Hwa-Young jumps, a startled yelp escaping her lips. “Of all the...!” she exclaims, hand clutching her chest. Her heart pounds, a rapid drumbeat beneath her ribs. She glares after the creature, muttering under her breath about bothersome guests.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
It’s hard to do good work for the Master with so many distracting noises everywhere. The castle seems very alive tonight.
With one last glance through the telescope, she steps away, the weight of her thoughts heavy on her shoulders.
The blood moon is coming.
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- [Azalea and Cvet] -
Cold drafts snake through the castle corridors. Shadows cling to the stone walls, their dark forms shifting in the flicker of torchlight as if silhouettes, accompanying the two figures. The air is thick with the scent of old wood and damp stone. Each step Azalea takes seems to be following a will other than her own — the castle itself is guiding her deeper into its maw.
She’s determined to figure out why it does this for her. As far as she knows, it doesn’t interact with anyone else this way, not even Lord Inkume.
The elven priestess moves with a sense of trepidation, her robes trailing softly behind her. The castle's intent is palpable, an unseen hand rearranging its innards to lead her toward some unknown destination. Her little brother, quiet and stoic, follows in her wake. His eyes — mirrors of skepticism — watch her with a mix of concern and disbelief. To him, this place is a prison, its maze-like corridors a reflection of Azalea’s unraveling sanity.
— He thinks she’s crazy.
But she isn’t. She’s just excited. Her life hasn’t been this exciting in, well… ever. So maybe she’s a little drunk on all the mystery and new things she’s feeling.
Azalea pauses at a fork in the corridor and stares, the path ahead veiled in darkness. “…Do you feel that?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze is distant, eyes alight with a fervor that borders on madness.
“No,” her brother replies, his tone flat and unimpressed. His arms are crossed, his posture rigid. “All I feel is this damned cold.”
Azalea looks back at him for a second before stepping closer and holding him. She rubs his back and shoulder. “Always cold here, isn’t it?” she mutters before looking back at the long, dark corridor.
The castle hums around them, a low murmur that vibrates through stone and bone. A loud clanging comes from the pipes.
Azalea presses on, driven by an intuition she cannot explain. But her thoughts drift back to their childhood as she grabs her brothers cold hand, thinking of days of sunlight and laughter in their village. “Hey, Cvet, do you remember when Mother used to take us to the river?” she asks, her voice softer now as she looks back at him.
Her brother blinks, his expression softening, but then he looks away in tepid annoyance as if not wanting to restore that old memory. “Yeah. Why?” he asks, his mouth hidden behind his large scarf. “You always ignored me and just tried to catch fish with your bare hands.”
Azalea shrugs. “I dunno,” she smiles, a brief warmth breaking through her tension. “I was just thinking about warmer days.”
Cvet turns his head as she drags him after her. “…You don’t even like fish.”
“No, but I liked trying to catch them.”
“ …Figures,” replies the boy.
“What?” she asks, looking back at him. Cvet rolls his eyes as she pulls him after her.
“— What are we even doing, Azalea?” he asks. “If there’s something here you’re looking for, then why don’t you just ask your new favorite god?”
“Hey!” she snaps. “That’s not okay to say, Cvet,” she says. “My heart belongs to heaven.”
“Uh huh,” he replies. “You’re just doing what you always do,” he replies. She shushes him, peeking around a corner. The hallway they traverse is narrow, lined with ancient portraits whose eyes seem to follow them. The air is cooler here, each breath visible in the dim light. Stone floors are worn by countless footsteps, a silent history etched into their surface. Azalea’s brother shakes his head, a sigh escaping his lips. “You’ve been here too long, Azalea. This place is getting into your head.”
“Maybe,” she admits, glancing at him. “But I feel... I feel there’s something I need to find.” She looks at him. “It wants me to see something, Cvet,” explains Azalea. “I think it’s something that Lord Inkume doesn’t even know about.”
Cvet pulls his hand out of hers, standing there. “Azalea.”
“What?”
“This is just mom all over again,” says the boy plainly, his arms crossed as he looks at her. The elven girl lifts an eyebrow as he shakes his head. “Just like when you had to become a priestess.”
“Huh?!” she asks, offended. “I became a priestess to help people. What are you talking about?”
“Buncha’ shit,” replies Cvet coldly, staring at her. “You know what? You’re my sister, and I’d die for you,” says the boy. “— But you’re a self-centered bitch of a woman, you know that?” he asks emotionlessly. “You really did get mom’s cold, dead heart.”
Azalea gasps, covering her mouth. “Cvet!” she calls out, deeply hurt. She narrows her eyes. “What a horrible thing to say!” she exclaims. “Why would you think that so suddenly? I’m just trying to be a good person here.”
“And there it is,” he says, tired, and then steps toward her. “While you were in here ‘trying to be a good person’, your brother — that’s me, in case you forgot — spent weeks gritting his teeth and battering down doors to try and convince anyone to come and get you out of here,” he expands, hitting the back of his hand into his open palm. “I thought you were dead, Azalea,” says Cvet coldly. “I didn’t sleep for nights thinking about you, but meanwhile, you were just in here traipsing it up like some dumb village girl with a crush on the first man with all of his teeth that she’s ever seen.”
Azalea drops her shoulders, her offended eyes softening. “…It’s not like that, Cvet,” she starts, lifting a hand to try and defuse him. “You didn’t listen to me when I tried to tell you what Inkume really was. He saved my life back then from the wolves, Cvet, and then you locked me in a room.” She grabs for his hand. “I had to go help him. He was hurt. You hurt him.”
But he pushes her hand away. “Of course it’s like that in your head,” he explains. “You’re always chasing stupid shit, Azalea,” he explains. “Sometimes I think you got a dog’s blood in you. It’s just like those dumb fish in the river you always went after instead of just playing with me like I wanted you to.” He jabs a finger into her chest. “Even if you ever caught one, you wouldn’t know what to do with the damn thing,” he says. “It’s the same. It’s why you became a priestess right after mom died, because you were just fucking chasing her too.” He taps the side of his head. “And? Did you manage to catch her? No? I guess not,” says the boy, the agitation in his voice clear to hear. The painting of the emotion is solid behind his cold blue eyes. “Meanwhile, I spent four years in that shitty village by myself without anyone, waiting for you to come back from your latest great hunt because you’re a self-centered witch, Azalea,” he barks, raising his voice. His arm swings back down the hallway they came from. “No. Actually, now that I think about it. There’s an actual witch here, and she seems a lot nicer from what I’ve seen!”
She wants to protest but doesn’t find the right thing to say. Cvet has never been a boy or a man of many words, so this is very disarming for her.
He lifts his arms, gesturing around them, to the empty corridor. “And now you’re here, in some haunted castle that belongs to a monster, chasing some vague nonsense down a dark hallway, and, once again, your brother is standing in your shadow and waiting for you to come home again.”
“Hey! That’s too much, Cvet!” snaps the elf finally, swiping away the finger that had been jabbing into her chest. “I’m not even your real sister, so maybe you don’t need to worry about me so much, asshole! Because I never fucking asked you to!” she argues, suddenly shoving the human boy away.
Cvet stumbles back a step, keeping his balance as his hand grabs the wall. The castle falls quiet, the rattling in the metal pipes on the wall stopping. The two of them stare at each other for a moment as the argument settles in the cold air.
Cvet simply lifts his scarf up a little higher and then turns away, walking back off by himself down the way they came.
Her shoulders and ears droop. “...Wait…” starts Azalea quietly, not sure if she should try to reach after him or not. “Wait, Cvet! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean that,” calls the elf as he walks off, not responding to her as she stays there stuck in place.
Behind her, there comes a loud groaning, the corridor shifting and turning as it diverts into a new passageway that is ready to show her now that she is alone again.
Azalea looks over her shoulder toward the strange entrance to a chamber she’s never seen before and then back toward the now empty spot where Cvet was a moment ago.
“Fuck!” hisses the holy priestess to the world and into God’s ear as she turns away from the strange door and runs after the boy.
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- [The Vampire Lord’s Castle, Clocktower] -
The air is thick with the clamor of grinding gears and the metallic scent of oil. Firelight dances erratically across the intricate machinery. Clockwork monsters move with relentless precision. The swordsman — battered and alone — fights with a desperate ferocity, his blade a silver blur against the mechanical tide. He’s the last one left. Everyone else died in this tower tonight. The new clockwork monsters are insanely strong for some reason.
The clock tower is a labyrinth of gears and cogs, its walls alive with moving metal. A chill seeps into the black gears. His breath is ragged.
He fights not just for survival but for the treasure — his party’s hard-won prize. Everyone else is dead, but he has the loot. If he can get it out, then it’ll be a successful run. Everyone back at the guild is going to call him a hero.
But the tower is unforgiving. A sudden, brutal strike from a clockwork beast sends him reeling, his footing lost on the narrow walkway. He tumbles through the air, the world a blur of shadows and metal. The sensation of falling seems endless until it is proved to not actually be so.
The impact is bone-shattering, his body a broken marionette sprawled at the tower's base. Pain lances through him, a white-hot fire that sears every nerve. His vision blurs, the edges of consciousness fraying into darkness.
Yet, even in his dying agony, he is aware of a presence — glowing eyes staring from the darkness at the very bottom of the clocktower, watching with an unsettling calm.
“H… Help…” he says, his back broken over a sack of Obols.
Help doesn’t come, but the rats do — a teeming mass of fur and teeth. They surge around him, a living tide that swallows him whole.
Silence descends around the castle, the tower’s mechanical heart beating steadily on.
The glowing eyes of something large, something amongst the rats, pull back into the darkness of a grate that leads down into the water channels below the castle. The rats take the body with them, dragging the corpse into the hole.