Descending into the Underworld: the Dungeon as Dark Funhouse and Unconscious Imaginings

I'm neither the first nor the most learned to note that the dungeon, the quintessential adventure setting for D&D, is a manifestation of the descent into the underworld found in many myths and legends. It's a subject I still find interesting, regardless of how well-worn it is.

The dungeon is a very practical setting for D&D. It's self-contained, finite, and presents a generally straightforward objective for player characters. It allows a Dungeon Master to control the environment in ways that would seem out-of-place or be impossible in another context.

Those prosaic qualities aside, the dungeon is also a good conduit for evoking a true feeling of adventure on the part of the player characters. Caves, holes in the ground, and ruins all contain an eeriness conjured by dark emptiness. Deprived of sight, our most-relied-upon sense, such places force us to rely on light sources that not only have a limited lifespan, but which also make us a potential target. The fact that such places are not inviting to human life adds to the mystery; what could dwell within? The darkness has long caused us to pause, to imagine, if only for a fleeting moment, that unknown others dwell there.

Evidence of the presence of human life, whether ruins of a long-gone culture or fossilized tracks leading into the depths of an ancient cave, deepens the mystery. Who built the fallen structures, or made the paintings, or delved into these trackless places, and why? Even without the presence of the supernatural, there is a haunting quality to these places.

The D&D dungeon is even more fraught with inherent fear and danger. Adventurers expect something to lie within, waiting for intruders. And the D&D dungeon usually delivers. These delvings are dream-like places, with hidden enemies and, often enough, skewed logic and, occasionally, the presence of magic to alter the laws of physics. In the D&D dungeon, evil wizards concoct malefic spells, the undead lurk beyond each corner, and fairytale monsters given strange forms make their homes. Much like carnival "haunted houses," these dungeons have a variety of horrific tableaus with which to challenge the courage of those who venture within.

Perhaps the oddest thing about the D&D dungeon is how popular they are in their respective worlds. Adventurers flock from all around to test their mettle within the confines of a particularly notorious dungeon. Often enough, the remains of previous expeditions and their members can be found, providing mute and ample evidence for the peril these places contain. Yet adventurers are rarely motivated to leave; the promise of treasure far outweighs the potential risk, at least in the minds of the greedy and overconfident.

When I was a kid and new to D&D, the dungeon was the most intriguing aspect of the game to me. The concept of an underground complex, with successive levels becoming more dangerous the deeper they went, blew my mind. It was, to me, such a strange idea, but strange in a way that made it incredibly fascinating. It seemed to have endless potential. Early D&D imagery and adventure design further bolstered the concept.

For me, two modules blew the lid off the limitations of what could be in a dungeon: Q1: Queen of the Demonweb Pits and S3: Expedition to the Barrier Peaks. Q1 opened up parallel universes as fodder for adventure, while S3 handed over space opera. Combined, the sky was no longer the limit, the universe beyond was just one of many. Both modules have critics. Q1 is often derided as not in line with the what came before it; pitched battles with giants and excursions into underworld cities of evil elves didn't seem to some, including Gygax himself, like they would culminate in the literal chaos of a demon goddess's mechanical spider fortress. S3 draws the dislike of those who eschew any hint of scifi in their D&D. And, honestly, I understand these stances. When it comes to D&D, though, I like the idea of the "wahoo" intruding into the world of heroic fantasy. Q1 and S3 were intrusions that left a lasting impression on me.

Though Gygax may not have been keen on Q1, that didn't mean he didn't enjoy a colorful spectrum of concepts stuffed into dungeons. His own Castle Greyhawk was a wild place, with portals to Barsoom and Wonderland, strange magics, and prisons for demon lords adorning the place. In many ways, Castle Greyhawk became the prototypical dungeon to me, sight unseen. The idea of Castle Greyhawk, forever unknown and unknowable, became an inspiration to me. What I imagined the place to be created a kind of mental blueprint that forever after informed my own adventure design. Perhaps, in that respect, it was, ultimately, a good thing that Castle Greyhawk would never see publication, at least not in full. The idea of it was of more use to generations of Dungeon Masters than an actual hardcopy. Don't get me wrong; I would have loved to see Castle Greyhawk arrive on my bookshelf. I treasure the various bits and pieces that have been brought to light and, in some cases, published. But as the prototypical dungeon (to me), it prompted more ideas and dreams than any book or boxed set ever could.

In the end, that's what the D&D dungeon is: a dark dream, a stray imagining, a nightmare given form. It's an exploration of our imaginations, where our fears and hopes are made manifest. From the darkest depths, our darkest depths, we march to face the perils within to bring the treasure to light.