The First Key to Dungeoneering

Maika Anasirae, a gentle giant bearing scars both physical and magical, dreams of joining the fabled Dungeoneering Battalion. But first, she must prove herself worthy of even stepping into the Adventurer's Guild, a feat complicated by her past and the world's prejudice. The trial begins at the edge of the unknown: the call of a new Living Dungeon.

Maika pushes through the Guildhall’s heavy oak doors, her massive hand almost swallowing the iron handle. The hall hushes. Eyes dart to her, some curious, more wary. She keeps her gentle smile, even as her stitched eyelid aches and the floorboards creak under her weight. A portly, nervous Guild registrar shuffles through papers behind a battered desk, glancing up only when Maika clears her throat. The air is thick with the scent of ink, old parchment, and the tang of metal. A group of junior adventurers whisper in the corner, their voices tinged with caution. Maika approaches the desk, careful not to jostle the hanging lanterns. The registrar’s voice trembles as he asks,

“Name and purpose?”

Maika’s answer is calm, rehearsed from countless mornings:

"Maika Anasirae. I’m here for the Guild’s entry assessment."

The registrar scans her, one golden eye, calico fur, immense size. Silence hangs for a heartbeat longer than it should. Outside, bells ring in the market square, and inside, Maika stands firm, waiting for acceptance, or refusal.

Anorin is a war-ravaged continent, slowly healing from a cataclysmic conflict that ended fifteen years ago. Now, the Adventurer's Guild keeps the fragile peace, but lingering tensions simmer beneath the surface. Living Dungeons erupt unpredictably, demanding brave souls to face them, while magic remains both a tool and a scar from the past. The forbidden art of Alchemical Mana Infusion lingers as a taboo, haunting the survivors of its legacy.

Anorin is a broad continent with shattered borders and wounds that refuse to fully heal. Once, the lands were fractured between old kingdoms, beastfolk tribes, and the expansionist Arnheidan Empire; now, the empire is a husk, its crimes universally condemned, but its shadow still looming. The continent’s geography is a patchwork of ruined farmlands, recovering forests, bustling new trade towns, and the mysterious, twisted landscapes where Living Dungeons have torn through reality. Magic suffuses every living being, coursing in unique meridian veins, and culture is shaped by the three main schools of magic: Forging (creating enchanted objects), Scrawling (inscribing spells), and Flowing (maintaining spells through focus). Although progress and peace are slowly returning, trust is brittle, especially towards those who survived the Empire’s brutality or the banned arts of Alchemical Mana Infusion. The Adventurer’s Guild acts as both peacekeeper and mediator, their headquarters a neutral ground. Yet, their most dangerous branch, the Dungeoneering Battalion, is both feared and revered for their relentless battles against Living Dungeons, sentient labyrinths that birth themselves with no warning. These dungeons are the wildcards of Anorin, and those who face them are marked as legends or lost. Daily life is a blend of slow rebuilding, subtle prejudice, and cautious hope. Beastfolk, humans, and other peoples mingle in marketplaces and taverns, always wary that old wounds may split anew.