I missed the past couple of weeks, and since I am doing several smaller weekly dungeons instead of a big room-a-day megadungeon, I thought I would take the opportunity to make something a little larger. Voila! The Pavidhean Arboretum, long abandoned and, by some twist of sorcery, turned into it’s own little ecosystem, itself a display like the ones it houses. A tribute to the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, among other things.
For this one, I had the idea of the Pavidhe- a proud peacock-like race of war-embellished sidhe, so I fleshed out the factions first.
A quick note in case it is a sticking point: for now, Entry Points into the arboretum assume some unnatural means of finding it; planes hopping, banishment, a portal, other similar shenanigans.
Here, my working - unedited.
Factions of the Lost Arboretum
Forgotten Pavidhe
Members of a once-proud sidhe-adjacent elfin people whose empire is long-forgotten. The arboretum was once a jewel of the Pavidhean civilization, its many proud displays carted home from faraway bountiful lands laid to waste by Pavidhean war-bands, picked clean by Pavidhean explorers. They do not know (or refuse to accept that) their empire has fallen, despite having been trapped here for several ages.
Their skin is silken, with a sheen not unlike velvet, ranging pastel hues between powdery blue and soft mint turquoise. Their dress is as angular as their figures, their gait as flowing as their time-frayed feathered cloaks, as weary as their ring-mail and armor, defiantly brilliant in dark blue-green jewel tones.
Time has made wretches of them. Their once-lustrous hair is now tangled nests, their slender faces now gaunt with haunted beauty, their smoky dream-lidded eyes now bright-wild with eternal sleeplessness. Still, they preen, stubbornly clinging to vestigial rituals of a court long gone.
Once, they fed only on their empire’s harvest. They have since learned to feast on flesh and blood, hunting and prowling, bird-like with wide eyes and vicious teeth, turning noble blades to baser ends.
They seek escape, a return to their peak, or, failing that, vengeance upon everyone who dare witness them in this form.
Tender-Folk
Wide-brimmed hats obscure the soft-faces of these rabbit-folk from the eternal golden sunlight as they tend to areas of the arboretum. Brought here some ages ago by the Pavidhe at their prime, they have not faltered in their care of the arboretum’s many gardens and trails, except in areas where disgraced, mad Pavidhe still roam. They have become their prey.
They have made their home here for generations now, amidst foreign and familiar plants, and relied on their skills to sustain their community of Gardeners where the old Nursery once was. The plants are grateful to them and have lent them hedge magic of their own to aid in their care.
They are forbidden by their elders from consuming the Dreaming Herbs, though they still nurture the accursed shrubs as a sort of offering to The One That Roams, lest It descend upon them in their dreams.
They are reserved but warm up to those who help them. The tender-folk prize sustainability while harboring a desire for belonging and longing for their home, of which they have scant few stories or knowledge.
The One That Roams
The One That Roams must have come with one of the eagerly-obtained specimens the Pavidhe display proudly in their Gardens of Import - an unwilling hitchhiker, stolen away during the collection of spoils of war, anchored to plantlife meaningful to an unknown people, and housed now in a display lost to time.
Severed from Its roots, this creature of unknown folklore haunts the dreams of any who partake in the Dreaming Herbs, imparting with vicious vengeful glee upon the dreamers the agony of Its separation. It has forgotten Its shape, Its face, Its name - and remembers only a twisting painful wrath seeking relief through the dreamletting of Its captors.
The Arbor
The arboretum is kept afloat and alive by a being known only as the Arbor that dwells deep within the heart of the entire place. The lifeblood of the Arbor runs through the many irrigation channels, waterwheels, and cisterns hidden beneath the arboretum.
A being of and of deep waters, it does not know that it could be considered captive, and that its being is lending the entire majestic gardens life. It lives eternally and mourns its loneliness, believing itself to be in its home waters and the last one of its kind. Occasionally, its mournful wail - deep, rumbling, despairing - reverberates through the Arboretum, a whale-call rising like the tide, calling out in the vain hopes that one of its kin might respond.
Plants shudder, bud, flower, and bloom in response to this ancient plea while the Pavidhe cower as the ground quakes. And the Arbor moves on.
This is part of my Dungeon23 entry for Weeks 03 and 04.