Tumbling Down the Rabbit Hole: The Case for Pitcher Plant Dungeon Entrances
Back in February, a call went out via Prismatic Wasteland for hole blogs: blogs about holes. This post is one that I’ve had in the back of my mind for a while, and it felt like a natural fit.
Has this ever happened to you?
Ahem, let me make sure the intonation is correct:
[Infomercial Voiceover] Has *this* ever happened to *you*?
GM: You are deep within the bowels of The Dark Keep, loaded with stolen treasures. The blood of the kobolds is soaking into your clothing and the very structure shakes in response to your intrusion.
Player 1: Yeah I think that’s it for this delve.
Player 2: Definitely, luck has been on our side so far, let’s not push it.
Player 3: Oh also that means I might make the 9:30 bus! We turn back.
GM: Well, you cut most of the trip wires, the kobolds are dead, your rope is still in place at the cliff and you found the door that bypasses the red beam emanating from The Statue of Despair so… we can probably just reduce this down to a couple of rolls or even handwave it.
You can feel the tension evaporating when moments like this happen, and it can easily spiral to “cut to: the town square”. There is no concern of becoming trapped, lost, or overcome because, well, you probably won’t be.
One thing I want to make clear — my proposal in this post is not something that every dungeon, nor every session, should aim to do. In the example above, the players are being rewarded (perhaps with an earlier bus ride home) for their interaction, risk-taking and problem-solving. That’s a good thing! Moreover, a well-developed wilderness can present some risk, even if the dungeon is easy to get out of.
But I’d like to make this scenario less automatic and less common. To ratchet up the tension and especially to give one shots a bit of drama at the end. To create situations that may, entirely organically, swing the session or even the campaign in a different direction.
Consider the Pitcher Plant
For anyone that doesn’t know, a pitcher plant covers a wide range of species that attract insects (via nectar, scent, pigmentation etc), trap them in a bowl-shaped leaf (via a slippery surface, downward pointing hairs etc) and then drown and digest them in an enzyme-rich liquid at the bottom of the bowl.
Thus, the lure is any OSR dungeon with its treasure and magic, but the trap is that once inside it will require the usual risk/time/a smart plan to extricate yourself. And all the while, the dungeon is digesting you (probably a metaphor. Probably.) because you’re lower on resources/HP, burdened with loot and have attracted unwanted attention.
What Defines this Kind of Dungeon Entrance?
A pitcher plant dungeon entrance is simply one that takes more resources to exit than enter. Resources in this context are a broad spectrum — it might mean more time, more equipment… it might be a greater risk of harm/combat (or more severe consequences of that risk). It might even mean you need to find a magic key in the dungeon to get out at all!
Good practice is to telegraph your pitcher plants. Competent adventurers would note the risk of a descent into a dark mineshaft after all. For more obscure/magical pitcher plants, build it into the rumours around the location. What did the sole survivor of the last expedition whisper in their dying breath?
You’ll also need to define your pitcher plants because we anticipate an experienced group of players will want to interrogate them to some degree. Approaching one with a plan and specific equipment isn’t a bad thing, and the GM can still threaten this approach. Are an intelligent group of wandering monsters smart enough to remove door wedge? Would the rope be taken some inhabitants who lack the ability to make it themselves?
Some Examples
Roll 1d10 on the table below:
The hole is incredibly deep, although you do at least fall slowly. The section with the floating clocks is strange, and reminds you that it will be time consuming to climb back up.
A sleeping, chained sentinel. When you pass them, they awaken and remember your face.
The goblin town charges a low price for entry into the caverns beneath, and a much steeper toll on anyone seeking to leave.
This mud pit is slippery, really slippery. Hopefully just with water and not saliva.
Just a big heavy door that swings shut behind you. Maybe there’s a key, a lever, or a big strong guy somewhere inside.
The bridge just bears your weight if you go one at a time. If you return laden with treasure and in a hurry that might no longer be true.
The cave entrance on the beach isn’t a problem if you enter it at low tide. High tide is a different story.
The forest animals are small and harmless this close to town. That is of course unless you’ve been inside the forbidden temple. The squirrels will be waiting when you emerge.
The darkness of the maze can be burned away by a bonfire set at the entrance. On your way back you will need to keep hold of some torches.
The door is tiny, but a nearby potion renders you a suitable size to enter. Of course, once it wears off, you’ll need to find some more to get back through.
But Why?
When making a case like this, it is useful to consider the opposite approach and play the Devil’s Advocate. The image above is the videogame Diablo’s Scroll of Town Portal — the ultimate “we are not interested in the return journey” development decision that conjures a teleport back to the safety of the town.
Why does it exist? I would posit that it’s because the meat of Diablo is in the hack and slash of combat, and you’re aiming to clear a lot of levels of their inhabitants. You still want some sort of player decision making/inventory management, because you are still a hero venturing forth (a Diablo tower defence game where the monsters come to you would not be as exciting). But, all these things are not what we play OSR for – dungeons are typically not cleared, expeditions are carefully organised and magic seldom offers such convenient shortcuts (or if it does, it comes at a price).
But there is something else pitcher plants aim to encourage, in addition to maintaining tension…
The Only Way Out is Through
For all that the Mines of Moria might be considered the Ur-Dungeoncrawl, we actually see remarkably little of the tension that drives that section of the novel in play. The Fellowship are using Moria as a route to get somewhere and thus their exploration is driven by a need to get through and out, but the Watcher in the Water means they can’t turn back even as they wanted to. This in turn adds extra drama from the Balrog’s pursuit of them — they know The Bridge of Khazad-Dum is ahead, but they do not know its condition, only that they must use it.
All of this has tremendous scope for application to larger dungeons, leaving aside the obvious “the only way to bypass impassable terrain above is via the dungeon beneath”. A pitcher plant dungeon can push you towards an alternative exit with potential for interesting gameplay:
Interrogating inhabitants for other routes out, or trying to interpret clues like maps and keys.
Applying OSR problem solving by following underground rivers or fresh air.
Weighing up the daylight in the distance (destination unknown) vs. the known danger behind.
Seeing more dungeon rooms because you know you can’t go back and must push on or perish.
Finding yourself in an unknown wilderness hex, loaded with treasure but trying to use landmarks to determine your location and route to safety.
So go forth and set up your pitcher plants — your players will remember them or the journey they provoke.