The Madness of Count Doom and His Impossible Keep
by
Wastrich Tychris
of Port Toli
551 CY
"Sheez, it's all cuttywonkers in here." This is what Biala Frayson said as he stood on a ledge overlooking what appeared to be a vat of batter near a vat of boiling oil. Shortly after the statement he was plunged into the batter, tossed into the oil and eventually delivered to his friends very crispy and lightly dusted in confectioners' sugar. Such madness is the nature of Doomkeep.
Wild magic can be unpredictable and wild mages have to be mad if not at least strange. The great mage Xagyg is the quintessential wild mage being anything from silly and foolish to a complete raving lunatic and yet the power that he controls is unmatched in all the continent. But let's face it, being a mage is hard. Despite the great power and general respect it earns, most wizards' lives are cut short by jealousy, some personal frailty, or bad mistakes. Unfortunately, final soliloquies for wizards do not come so nobly as they do for warriors. Often a magic-user's last words are "Uh oh," "Oops," or "Oh, crap!"
But for some magicians this hazardous work is not enough. Some are chronomancers who are regularly ganked out of time forever. But for chronomancers this is not unexpected. They know exactly the troubles they face and they know how their brothers and sisters become "dead." It's like basilisk hunting. It's dangerous and stupid, but I guess you've got to get your kicks somehow.
Wild mages on the other hand have no idea what will happen next. They are dangerous to their environment, their friends, and themselves and for the most part don't seem to notice. As I understand it, wild magic responds to a sudden need for change and unharnessed it is completely unpredictable. So while choosing a chronomancer's life is akin to basilisk hunting, becoming a wild magician is tantamount to placing your dinner order by lighting your head on fire. So, too, it is also understandable how these goofs attract the most attention. In fact, it's hard to become a proficient wild mage without becoming known.
Initially, I suppose, this might make the wild magician profession more desirable, but its very nature eliminates most in the early stages of education. Even before they become dangerous, students who choose wild magic are immediately expelled if the masters hear a student say, "This makes no sense." or "How am I supposed to understand this gibberish?" while a student who can't alter his or her mindset simply won't progress. It seems you must have a natural proclivity for randomness, insequential events, and dislocation of meaning and value … generally be able to put up with anything without batting an eye. This is often achieved by being completely, and usually naturally, vacuous to the world. Yet powerful wild mages consistently reach a level of infamy not usually associated with the mentally feeble.
Vernin Doom was such a mage. This wasn't his real name. Much to his own discomfort this self-named "Count Doom" was widely known in mage circles as Vernin Chaputnitok. Constantly attempting to redefine himself, he tried to escape his name after graduation in Niole Dra by relocating south to the quiet Duchy of Berghof in 412 CY. The high per capita of spellcasters there meant that already many of his neighbors knew and recognized him by name. The moniker of Doom would not stick. This made him extra whiney.
Vernin was fascinated by dualities and would direct his life by them. But it was comically tragic or sheer genius that would make him misidentify the most common opposites. To him the opposite of day was cat, the opposite of man was jam, the opposite of left was up, the opposite of happy was yellow … except for good and evil. He was very aware of that classic dichotomy and he knew he wanted to be on the side of evil. Nobody knows why he actively pursued an evil image, but it didn't really make much of a difference since his concept of evil was so totally odd. For periods of time he would become infatuated with some new aspect of evil and emulate it as best he could. He would go to extra lengths when he thought he was being particularly evil. At one point he constantly carried a white rose wherever he went. Another phase he experienced had him wearing big floppy shoes. For about a year and a half he magically enlarged his front teeth causing him to be constantly bothered with a speech impediment and uncontrollable drooling. He shaved his eyebrows off, he existed for two years entirely naked, he refurnished his keep with halfling furniture … the list goes on and on and it was all in the attempt to be more evil. It is known that he had lengthy and exacting reasons for his characterization of evil, but those made little sense either, though he believed them totally. It was his shining moment at the Van Arthog Brewfest celebration when buck-toothed, naked—except for the big floppy shoes—and waving a wilted white rose, he publicly and with much bombasity urinated in the beer keg. Cackling with evil glee he was grabbed and carried toward the cliffs overlooking Lake Spendlowe, but vanished before the rowdy mob could toss him off the edge.
Aside from his affectations he was considered by most to be quite handsome. Dark-eyed, tanned, with a rakish mop of curly blonde hair atop his head, even as he aged women found him irresistible to behold. He usually wore dark velvet, sometimes with ruffles, and he carried a thin saber at his waist that he did not know how to use. He was usually polite until he remembered he was trying to be evil and then would dramatically and with obvious intent shift to being snappy and rude. Engaging him in any sustained conversation would immediately reveal his madness as following his course of thought between ideas was impossible.
A few magicians had gleaned some valuable insights from him over the years aiding them in important conclusions in their research, suggesting that random madness sometimes by dumb fortune strikes true, or that Vernin Doom's understanding of magic was superior to most. Being too distracted by his obsession to improve his image as arch-villain might have kept him from exploiting his magical talents to the fullest. It's hard to say since his disappearance in 451 CY has made it difficult to make an inquiry.
Doom moved to Berghof in 412 CY. Hunting bandits on the east side of the Kamph Mountains earned him enough money to build a manor outside of Gannaway. In fact, he was instrumental in defeating a confederated horde of warlords attempting to invade via a pass through the mountains. Passing over first he slicked the precarious road with oil. Any brigands that didn't slip and fall to their deaths were blasted and caught in the conflagration of his purple fireball. The road glowed as a purple ribbon, fed by the oil for hours making it impassable as the other flying mages chased the invaders back to their side of the mountains. Doom's manor was originally created by human hands but over the following years its growth was magical in nature and its extensions continued until it looked more like a small keep. Doom never admitted guests to his home. This excited wild speculation in nearby Gannaway for the duration that the keep haunted the edges of the small town.
He would often venture into Gannaway sweeping and swooshing about sinisterly in an attempt to gain attention and do a little provisioning. For the most part, eccentric wizards ruled the day in Berghof and Doom seemed no more special than the next to the villagers. It did worry some that his attempts were toward an evil intent, but his goofball methods allayed some fears that he would ever be successful. Unfortunately for Vernin Doom at about the time that the Sea Princes sought to take Berghof for their own and Cato's bard was stirring discontent amongst the locals against the mage class (Incidentally, the term "Cato's bard" is an uncommon colloquial term meaning someone who attempts persuasion for personal advantage, example, "Don't play Cato's bard with me, young man."), Vernin decided that the most evil individuals of all filled unsuspecting peoples' pockets with red stinging ants. His extremity was not appreciated as the town became infested with red ants. A local druid was hired at great cost to solve the problem for the people and the next time Vernin appeared in public he was beaten soundly by the men of Gannaway and chased back to his keep. Not being taken seriously, he chose to leave Berghof and take his house with him.
Another thing about this wild mage was that his magic tended to be about summoning and sending. It was not unusual for him to casually pop open a sulphurous flaming and smoking hole in the middle of the air to dispose of an apple core or a plate of food. There were also many reports from villagers who claimed to see him walking and talking with red spiky or flaming beings who would immediately disappear when spotted. And then there were the deaths.
Like one drunken sailor to another, what's done in the depths of one's cups is all a matter of course. Though the bartender and city guards might disagree, a drunken sailor is not responsible for his or her actions. So it goes with wild mages in the magic-using community. Though befriending a wild mage is potentially dangerous, it sometimes has its rewards. Often wild mages don't have the presence of mind to have a value system and will freely give out advice, money, treasure, magic, clean laundry, pudding—anything at all. It's generally accepted, though, that mishaps from wild magic create victims with no recourse. To most spellcasters the practice of wild magic is a new frontier, an untapped resource and its rare practitioners are its saints. Wild mages are protected by the magical community to the extent that they can be. If a wild mage forgets to pay his or her guild dues, the guild lets it slide. If a wild mage forgets to pay his or her city taxes, the magic-users of the community will collect the money together to protect the individual from the law. If a wild mage accidentally releases a pack of dire wolves into the city market square, that individual is on their own. So though about five accidents can be attributed to Count Vernin Doom he is most fortunate that they were all magic-users who suffered the effects.
It was Fenelon Cass seated at supper with Vernin whose fortune failed first. Without warning a rift in space opened where Cass sat, swallowed him up, and closed leaving behind only a puff of smoke and the smell of sulfur. Vernin disgustedly tossed his utensils upon the plate, said loudly, "Fine, if that's the way you are going to be," and stormed out of the tavern. Each of the four other victims suffered similar fates. When two occurred in the same week, the villagers of Gannaway became alarmed and with the red ant infestation beginning a mere week afterwards they were frightened and incensed enough that they were able to impress upon him the urgency to relocate.
It took but one night to vanish himself and his entire keep with him. There was not a trace that would indicate he was ever there. Aged trees and grass grew where once there was a small keep. But more significantly over the years it was learned that he was not anywhere.
But the story does not end there or I would not be telling it, after all, the disappearance of a wild magician should not stop the heart. Five years after the Keep of Doom was moved it appeared suddenly (it quite literally popped into existence) in the middle of a farmer's fields in Little Veluna. It appeared at midday as the farmer was plowing his fields for planting. Expecting the worst (worse than even the local constabulary) he ran away, panicked, to retrieve some guards.
The keep was surrounded by armed guards and scholars were sent for. Nothing emerged so a few of the guards went to greet the inhabitants. Some even went inside as the doors themselves actually welcomed them in. Those that entered did not return and so nobody else entered. In a couple of days' analysis and research the scholars realized that this was in fact the vanished Doomkeep. Prince Dukaque was annoyed that a dangerous wild mage had decided to move his home in the midst of his province. He sent a team to vanquish Vernin Doom. A few hours later, for a total of five days, the keep popped back into non-existence, taking the mercenaries with it who consequently were never seen again.
It wasn't long before Delli Freeforge, a dwarven transmuter with a serious interest in discordant energies, arrived on the scene to take some sample readings. She immediately located a positive energy leak in the field. Speaking with the owner of the land, the farmer revealed, with a little prying, that that section of field had been struck by lightning about ten times in the last year. Also, some of the crops sprouted from the earth as a brittle glass, and once on a sunny day while he was in the field it rained wine. He didn't mention any of this before for obvious reasons.
Delli was not surprised by the farmer's tales. She studied the phenomenon and mapped its growth. Gradually, more magicians came and she accepted some students and donations from sages interested in her work. With this money she purchased the land from the farmer for a handsome price and he was happy to be rid of the cursed plot. With possession of the land, she was able to mark the field as the positive energy field collected and she set observers to count and record strange occurrences. As time progressed for nearly another five years, she was able to recognize a definitive outline in the positive energy pool's shape and with a description of Doomkeep at hand it was clearly the footprint of the building itself. The energy intensified and Delli stayed watchful setting up various magical devices and keeping people out of the growing intensity of the pool. Finally, Doomkeep made its appearance and Delli worked non-stop to determine the Natures of this phenomenon. Unfortunately, commerce began its distraction as several groups of explorers arrived asking to adventure in the tantalizing structure. She allowed them entrance for a fee, which, of course, she could do since she was the legal owner.
I've gone to Doomkeep Hole, a small village that has sprung up to cater to the attraction, though it is more of a cyclic location becoming quite active every five years, of course. The center is the great pit that Delli's workers excavated while mapping the energy growth in the area. It is a barren pit that nobody enters because of its volatile nature and simultaneously marks the area where the keep appears. Delli lives in a large house on the edge of the hole as a kind of acting mayor for the three other buildings and the growing tent city that springs up close to the manifestation time of Doomkeep. She has almost entirely dropped the research aspect of her life in exchange for the exorbitant profit she makes charging entrance fees to foolish adventurers. She makes outlandish claims that great artifacts are housed within its walls or that Vernin Doom has become a godlike avatar who holds great secrets that are there for the asking. Because of the steep price most of her customers are sponsored by a Prince or other wealthy noble who is getting part of the take and Delli stakes no claims upon found items, but she is willing to offer discounts for those able to provide maps and information about the inside of the keep, though she quickly hands such information and research to her cadre of interested spellcasters.
I've gone to visit Delli on two occasions, first in her off-season and then later during her busy time when the keep was there. She has become a fat luxuriant who finds cerebral pursuits now detract from her comfort and mindless pleasure seeking. Overstuffed furniture and expensive glass surround her in her large house and she wears silk robes trimmed with pink ostrich plumes. Five half naked halfling "pleasure boys" attend her at all times and the fumes of skunkblossom waft about her even when she is not smoking. She demands respect, but I think the only thing she could do would be snub any who did not bow and scrape, since I can't imagine she can achieve basemind any more, though her followers do seem to be intensely loyal, especially since they view her as the "mother of Doomkeep" and Doomkeep is good for their business too, so to them she is an integral part of their successful business. In other words Delli is protected by greed.
When I spoke to her she was a bit distracted. She couldn't collect her thoughts and her eyes had trouble focusing on me. Between long sniffs and rubbing her bloodshot eyes, what I could make of what she said seemed to be that only about a quarter of the groups she sees go in come back. Those that do usually have several members missing and those that don't have missing members usually didn't go much farther than the first room as the horrible possibilities seemed more frightening than any actual confrontations. Cackling with glee she told me that anyone who says, "Well, this is ridiculous." or "This is just stupid." or anything along those lines immediately vanishes and is transported anywhere else in the world. Two such adventurers did return five years after their sudden journey to tell her what happened and of their long return journey from other lands. Apparently nine out of ten such victims are never seen or heard from again. But she became weary and insulting after a bit (complaining of the smell of old dusty books) and so I left and sought out the head researcher at the hole, Garlo Bussy.
Garlo is a frantic and kind of spiteful gnome. He didn't malign me but he had nothing nice to say about Delli and his anger seemed to preoccupy him. Like any good researcher he didn't like being under the thumb of such an apathetic and mindless tool. When I asked him about the distant teleportations he said it was true, but the way she tells it is more or less grand standing. After all, most people wouldn't return to Doomkeep Hole after such an experience. Why would they? So nine out of ten people who were teleported to another land didn't come back to Doomkeep, but that doesn't mean most of them didn't get teleported home and are having a pint right now. He also said that a few teams have come back with maps of the inside, and from what he can tell only the entrance room is the same and the rest is different every time. He says that the entrance room is consistently a bare room with one exit and a mural map of eastern Berghof where the keep once stood. Tales he's recorded from survivors are vast and seem to mix the mundane with the odd such as the kitchen wherein the pig was preparing itself or a bedchamber wherein any time anyone touched a piece of furniture the toucher would adopt the perspective of that piece of furniture. I already told the tale of the frittering above.
Doomkeep Hole also has two inns with taverns, Delli's Pit and The Dwarven Dweomer, and a forge, Freeforge Ironworks. These establishments operate all the time, though business only booms for about two weeks every five years. The owners of these establishments are die-hard fans of Delli. They told me that when the keep arrives she puts on a great show and people come from all over not even to go in the keep, but to party with the "pink bitch". When I went back for the keep's arrival, tents and temporary buildings had been set up all around the keep with peddlers and tinkerers selling whatever they had to the throng who had arrived for the event. At night the keep was constantly lit with magical beams of light shining on its towers and walls. When a group was about to be admitted entrance to the keep, trumpets would blare and crowds of people would gather to witness those daring the mystery and danger within, some taking note, some placing bets, some offering commemorative plaques upon their return, … it's a circus. Garlo stands to the side taking names and pertinent information and then the group is led down an aisle through the crowd amongst the cheers and jeers, by two beefy armed guards and then into the entrance. I stayed for the full five days (the event is generally about two weeks all told with set up and wind down) paying high prices for room and beer, being vomited on twice and having my pocket picked thrice. I counted eighteen groups entering the keep. Only two returned and both of those groups had suffered casualties.
Delli herself played the hostess quite well. She was a constant spectacle and was everybody's friend. When one of the tavern owners had made an abundance of turnip broth she got the crowd excited about it until his pot was empty. She offered the services of her halflings for on the spot wagers. She was crazy. She was also whacked out on winterthorn for the whole time as her pale skin, pocked or bleeding arms and blue lips attested. So in my heart I buried a once-great magician and sage and said farewell to Doomkeep Hole for the last time.
What can I say? What can I leave you with, dear reader? Is this a sad story or is it but odd? Fate has not dealt her final hand for Doomkeep. We do not know of Count Doom's end or his continuation. And unlike most sites of historic significance I can't honestly say that what is within the keep will tell us anything at all. Given the wild nature of the keep all points of reference for historic identification have been completely shattered. But maybe there is a core of sanity within where can be discerned Doom's final will or his eventual goal. Maybe what Doom did isn't worthy of being a sideshow. Maybe it's worth much, much more.
May Istus guide you well.
~*~