In honor of the fact that dwarves are the best wizards, and now they're even viable in 5e, I wanted to write a story. I missed you, THP.
It started the same way any magical catastrophe always does.
You woke up in the dead of night, startled to full awareness by a flash of lightning, a clap of thunder, and a smell of ozone.
Oh, and it’s raining. You left the window open. Ya daft idjit.
...but last night you went out on a bender. Three bottles of whiskey in, and you didn’t expect to be up before three in the afternoon. Your headache tells you that it’s three in the afternoon and you didn’t hydrate.
It’s three in the bloody afternoon. It’s dark outside. There’s a distinctly unnatural storm outside. These add up to one inescapable conclusion- this is the apprentice’s fault.
You groan as you throw yourself out of your rather comfortable bed, and meet the hard, cold stone floor with your face. Hello, floor. Feckin’ legs just didn’t want to get under the rest of you, no. A good ol’ stone sandwich to the gob improves your mood every time.
No it doesn’t.
You stumble up and towards the single window in your tower- it’s your bloody tower, and you’re feckin’ right that you took the top floor for your bedroom. It’s about prestige, you know? Family back home’s always going on about oh why can’t you sleep underground, it’s what a proper dwarf would do and magic’s for pansies like humans and elves, can’t you get a real job like your brother Fergus and mine like your father and your father’s father and every bloody other dwarf ev-
Okay, you think, this isn’t getting anywhere. But you’ve worked up a good head of rage and it’d be a damn shame to waste it. So you get your short arse over to the window, poke your head out, and there’s your apprentice. Of course. With a bloody feckin’ magical circle. Around the whole feckin’ grounds.
“WHAT IN THE BLOODY BLUE BLAZES ARE YOU DOIN’, BOY? HOW THE FECK YOU GONNA HOLD THE WHOLE THRICE-DAMNED CIRCLE TOGETHER? GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR FECKIN’ ARSE OR I SWEAR TO ANY GODS LISTENING I WILL JUMP OUT OF THIS DAMNED WINDOW AND BREAK YOUR FECKIN’ GOB, SWEAR ON YER MUM!”
Your apprentice, a reedy-looking human, by the name of Kale, jumps visibly and looks up at you. He’s wearing his ritual robes.
“You told me that we were going to work on the teleportation circle for the tower today!”
“Well I’m not down there with you working on it now, am I, you great bloody knob?!”
“You were asleep!” Kale whines.
“What kind of wizard wakes up in the thrice-damned morning to do things? Are you an early bird now?”
“I-uh-” Kale starts to reply, but his concentration flicks back to the circle. Apparently a little shouting match broke his concentration. Pansy, you think. The circle flickers and sparks. “Hold on a moment, I gotta-”
The storm intensifies. The rain becomes a torrential downpour.
And Kale gets struck by lightning.
A few billion watts of power arc through Kale straight into the circle.
That’s the thing about lightning- it’s great to have, amazing stuff to power a ritual, kick-start an impressive spell, charge your batteries, what have you. Terrible to get struck by, but you have more pressing issues- namely, the fact that the circle lights, and then the lights are a blindingly white cylinder of power. An untuned, untargeted teleportation circle just kicked off.
Good news! Your experiment worked! You have probably successfully teleported your entire tower. Bad news! Have you ever heard of a botched teleportation experimentation going right?
Because you’re pretty sure you can’t remember a single godsdamn time any of your wizard friends who’ve tried, and failed, ever showing up again.
Where do you end up? [ ] Vote for any location in Gensokyo.
What’s your name? [ ]
Where does the tower end up? [ ] Vote again for any location at all.
Where do you end up? [x] Underground, Old Hell. On the one hand, absolutely stereotypical for a dwarf. On the other hand, our Modern Liberated Racial Stereotype-Defying dwarf will probably rage at being dropped back underground. On the other other hand, the oni might just be worthy drinking rivals.
What’s your name? [x] Fargrim Durthane Just rolled on the table from Xanathar's Guide. Sounds good to me.
Where does the tower end up? [x] Crashed right in the middle of the SDM. If you look very, very closely, you might just see the body of another wizard who accidentally into Gensokyo, crushed underneath the stones. Oops.
Oh this is going to be right silly. [x] Underground, Old Hell. [x] Urist Flinthill [x] Three feet over the Hakurei Shrine. As much as SDM Explosions are a thing, Hakurei Shrine destructions are also a time honored tradition.
[x] Underground, Old Hell [x] Urist Flinthill [x] 3 feet above the Hakurei Shrine
On the one hand, your head is attached to your body.
On the other hand, your head is on your body, facedown in the dirt.
On the third hand, at least it doesn’t feel like the sun is beating down on you. So that’s a bonus. You’d never admit it, out of sheer spite to your family, but you always do feel a little more comfortable out of the sun.
On the fourth hand that you just thought of because it felt strange, you’re facedown in the dirt. Not on the stone floor of your tower. In the dirt.
You groan, and roll onto your back. Dirt below you, cave to your sides, softly glowing ceiling above you. Fuuuuuuuuuuck. You lost your apprentice and your tower.
You startle, and pat yourself down. Your spellbook was in your tower. This just gets worse and worse. Your warhammer’s in the tower, too, of course. Because that was dumb.
You’re never going to bed unarmed again.
In happier news, at least you didn’t get yourself transported to the Elemental Plane of Fire again. Though… you feel pretty good.
As in, your headache from the hangover has gone away. It should not be gone without some hair of the warg. Which means something bad has possibly happened. You’ve heard stories of people who’ve gone to the Positive Energy Plane.
People explode from too much energy there.
As if to punctuate your thought, you hear a loud shriek of laughter off in the distance, and your head snaps towards a distant cluster of buildings that you can just barely make out. Suddenly, a sound you’ve never heard echoes off the walls.
This is punctuated by a colorful explosion, and silence. Just the way people are said to die in the Positive Energy Plane. Your guts turn to ice as you realize you don’t have a good way to get rid of the energy that’s flowing into you.
You, Urist Flinthill, son of a mason and a warrioress, are going to die here, and it’s going to be absolutely fabulous.
[X] Try to get the other doomed people who ended up here to DRINK.
Imagine how it must feel to be one of the poor unfortunate souls who got pulled here WITHOUT any booze. Surely the dwarf gods will grant us strength in our hour of need as we attempt to get everyone here drunk before the big kablooey.