The Campaign Builder's Guild

From grandiose cathedrals to towering bridges the monuments to society are pillars of engineering wonder that capture the imagination and draw a person more fully into a setting. They are the spices that flavor the cities of our worlds much like they do the cities of the real world. These architectural tributes to the society that built them often stand out, lording over the lesser denizens of their realm like titanic monarchs.

The Contest:
In 500 words or less craft for us an architectural wonder that you could find in another member's setting. This could be a great clocktower, a soaring obelisk, a vast arena, a gigantic statue, or any other marvel that you can imagine. Describe for us its appearance, location, founding and history, or anything else that helps bring your creation to life. Your creation should fit the theme of the member's setting that you have chosen. Please include the name of the setting and the name of the architectural construction you're writing about. The contest will run until the end of the month, if there is a good turnout we'll follow this up with voting for the best creation with the possibility for prizes for contest winners. All entries should be submitted within this thread.

[ic=Cadaverous Earth: The Skyeater]
Few of the inhabitants of the Twilight Cities dare tread in the deep valleys of the Chelicerae mountains, and fewer still return to tell their tales of misery and horror. Cannibal raiders off of the Aurelian tundra descend upon the unwary, tearing still-living flesh from bone. Lords and Ladies of Somnambulon driven mad by the cacophony of voices gnawing away at the fabric of their minds step from shadows unseen to sate their perverse hungers. Great Arachnids grown so fat and immense in their majesty that they can no longer be contained in the caverns of Dolmen prowl long-forgotten tunnels, drooling in anticipation of their next meal. These, and fates far worse, await those brave or foolish enough to venture into the valleys.

On a clear night, if one is unlucky enough to find themselves caught in the darkness of the tundra, a curious sight can sometimes be seen. Every year without fail when the moon leers down closest to the Cadaverous Earth, its hideous scarred bulk huge in the sky, a wavering pillar of light emerges from the depths of the mountains, its path bound slowly skywards. Striking the heavens, it bursts in an aurora whose intensity - for a few short moments - rivals that even of the Skyscar. In seconds, as if drawn in by a great mouth, the coruscating energies of this burst crumple inwards towards the beam. Folding into impossible shapes, they are drawn inexorably closer until they are consumed, and their energies pulse downwards in great waves. It's apparent task completed, the Pillar of Heaven simply vanishes, its constituent energies slowly diffusing into the night.

Some find themselves drawn to this confluence, unable to resist a siren call deep within their souls. They walk without thought of food or rest, thinking only of their ultimate goal. Any attempts at dissuasion are met only with indifference, and those who are halted by force are thrown into a violent rage, killing any who stand in their way. A man restrained will shortly expire, his body tearing itself apart in its efforts at freedom. Those few who reach their goal are met with a curious sight. A cube of immense proportion, half buried in the body of a snow-capped peak, as if the mountain had grown around its form. Its surface is near featureless, composed entirely of some dull metal, reflecting light only weakly. It's only characteristic of note is a comparatively small triangular opening on its skyward surface, from whence the Pillar of Heaven emerges. It is the Skyeater. The Oorls of the utmost north name it the Nex Astrem. Of it they will say only that it is not of this world, that it has lain upon it since time immemorial, and that its curse will deliver onto the Cadaverous Earth either a terrible joy, or a terrible suffering, one perhaps indistinguishable from the other.

Those not called who look upon it are filled with a dread greater than any they have known before, and find they cannot bear its presence. Reduced to mewling wrecks, they stumble away, most never to be seen again. But for those who are called.. They struggle up the treacherous, freezing slopes - many plummeting to their deaths as a loose stone or unstable patch of snow gives way beneath their feet. An arching bridge of stone, barely a span across yet hundreds of paces long stretches out from the sheer side of the peak towards the Skyeater. Driven into a frenzy by the emanations of the Nex Astrem, the afflicted race across. Leaping and bounding across the Skyeater's surface they cast themselves into its yawning interior with abandon. None of the afflicted have ever returned.... save one.

Kiros Samsolev was once a man as any other, a boyar in service to a powerful Baron, vassal to Somnambulon. But his life is dust on the wind, and few now remember his name. Hearing the call, he slew his own wife when she threw herself upon him, begging him to stay his mad course. And that was the last he was seen. That is, until three Eatings had passed. Riding into the fief of Lav on a horse more bone than flesh, he sought audience with his former Lord, and it was so granted. The people of Lav saw him, and hardly knew him. His mien was dark to look upon, and he carried himself with haughtiness, and a look both cruel and vacant was in his eyes. His Lord called out to him, asking why he should not slay Kiros where he stood. Kiros whispered, and the Baron leaned closer, the better to hear. Kiros whispered again, and blood burst from the Baron's eyes, and ears, and mouth, and nose. And he fell to the ground, dead. Silence reigned for a moment. The Baron's boyars cried out, and drawing their weapons, made to strike him. Kiros simply stood, and whispered, and his whispers gained form, and slew all who they came upon, until Lav was awash with blood, and all those who did not flee were reduced to shredded meat and splintered bone.

The Baronies are inundated with rumour of the Whisperer, though none can confirm a sighting since that bloody day. Some say The Butcher of Lav is the Skyeater's gift to the world, but is it one of joy, or suffering?[/ic]

Might be more than 500 words. Also not sure if I posted in the right thread.

[ic="Tartarus:  The Machine-Womb]Even among the greatest living legends of Tartarus, "Machine-Womb" is naught but whispered.  The stories are always similar - somewhere within the evershifting catacombs of Tartarus, deep within its bowels, lies an enormous magical vault where the mechanoids miraculously come to life.  Gleaming and humming with the power of raw creation, scores of scores of chambers connected by conveyors and lined with magical devices and animated arms stretch as far as the eye can see, and at the end of the countless, shining birthing canals, an endless army of mechanoids claw their way out and into the labyrinth.

For the residents of Tartarus, the Machine-Womb is a left-over relic of ancient times when the gods from the Upworld still wandered the tunnels and shafts and strove to create mankind.  In those ancient days, the gods created the mechanoids as angelic servants who, in turn, helped create Tartarus.  The gods and the mechanoids labored to create the vast birthing chambers so that once the Upworlders departed, their first children could continue to reproduce and tend mankind for eternity.

The whispered tails of holy artifacts and magical relics lining the vaults of the Machine-Womb often draw the foolhardy and inexperienced to search for that ancient and almost-forgotten site, but those adventurers almost always fall prey to cruel and clever traps or the sheer complexity of the maze that swarms about the Machine-Womb.  And for those unfortunate enough to gain entrance to the mechanoids' most holy of holies, they must contend with the endless stream of newly-birthed mechanoids, their parents, and the guardians themselves.

Of course, the myths and legends surrounding the Machine-Womb are many and often distort the truth greatly.  Some tell of great pits of murky, oily liquids from which new mechanoids grasp for corrugated metal walkways to pull themselves from the birthing fluids of their machine-mothers.  Others speak of glowing swarms of energy-flies from which the mechanoids seem to materialize in thin air fully formed and fully functional.  Perhaps the true nature of the Machine-Womb has yet to be discovered, but it is always portrayed as gleaming, clean, and buzzing with magical energies, and its vastness outshines even the largest of caverns within Tartarus as a floodlight does a match.

To those who do seek the Machine-Womb, I say good luck, but do not forget your way home, for you will likely pass that way long ere you see the glittering vastness that is the birthplace of the gods' children.[/ic]
Don't know if this is too "mythological location" and not enough "architecture," but I'll toss it out anyway!

[ic=http://www.thecbg.org/index.php/topic,209401.0.html Xathan's Terra Macabre Setting]
The Clocktower That Goes Backward

The Inverted Clepsydra Clocktower constructed in the depths of Atlantis, as the cliffs segue into sea, runs by flow of water and epicyclic gearing regulates its record-keeping. The Clocktower peers out in a sheer glass cauldron as water drip, drip, drips into its grooves and races along lines of pipes and sea-sawing catch-levers, baskets, chains, and mallets. Not only does the Clocktower govern timekeeping for Atlantis, it also powers the elevation level of the island, operating massive pumps that were once constructed by the Great Old Ones before learned, non-bestial humanity walked the lands.

Travelers to Atlantis, coming from the East, first see the Clocktower looming above, its bottom pointed like a needle at them as they coast under the city, heading toward the water-elevators in which visitors are lifted aloft in long tunnels to the surface in the deep grooves that are cut at the side and center of Atlantis, the defensible city of Cliffs that has long withstood the Old One's mastery.

Inside the Clocktower, water flows up, held by vaccuum tubes and other high-pressure suctions that cannot be reproduced by human engineering, even though scientists like Franklin and Spinoza have tried--without the ability to enter and to cast moulds, to more precisely measure, to hold and to analyze the structures, it is difficult for humanity to comprehend the structure. If humanity could unlock its secrets, it could raise other islands from the deep- increasing humanity's territory and reducing the influence of the Old Ones.

The Clocktower's innards cannot be accessed without cutting through its super-hardened glass surface. The 'glass' is like no other glass material known to man. It is tougher than Titanium and even Diamond cannot cut it.

It is said that if the Clocktower falls, then so too will Atlantis, so the Atlantean Guard zealously monitors the tower's health with daily patrols, with technological monitors like barometers and super-tensile wires to detect movement. Several Old One pawns have been captured at the Clocktower, and they have paid dearly for their attempts to meddle. Adventurers may be hired to probe the Clocktower's weaknesses to better protect against assaults, they may assist human scientists unlock the Clocktower's secrets, help the Old Ones with their machinations, or they may hunt an Old One who has managed to enter the Clocktower's innards and who is contending with the machine's ancient defenses, puzzles, riddles, and magic.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Water_clock
[/ic]

For Super Massive
The Grand Haven-Rapids Lakeshore to Inland Super Arcology

One man had a dream.  Wby should I be subject to the vagaries of wind, sun, and rain, when I wish to hit the beach?  Also sidewalks are nice and cities are laid out inefficiently.  What if, we put everything indoors?

In the early days of nanite-fueled proseperity this sounded plausible.  Grab a few nickel-iron Near Earth Asteroids plus some silica ones and use nanites to forge them into the structure of a skyscraper more massive than anything yet built, maybe reinforce it with diamond created by nanites from coal dust, if strength becomes an issue.

It worked for a while.  There was one massive indoor city from where Grand Rapids used to be to where Grand Haven used to be.  The west-facng units had a nice view of Lake Michigan.  Employment was near one hundred percent with most residents working two or three part time jobs in the ground floor shopping and dining concourse to afford their apartments on the second floor or higher.

Now the dream has turned to nightmare.  There are no longer easy access nano-forges to create the latest designer fashions or recycle grass clippings, dirt, and water into pizza.  Nobody works here in the traditional sense of the word, although the squatters spend a lot of their time roaming the halls looking for usable goods and hunting rats.  The windows are mostly broken out.  Electricity is erratic at best.  You don't want to know about sewage.

[ic=Hecate's Forge]
Hecate's Forge refers to a lone, sealed tower buried deep below the land of Arcanum. At one point, the tower rested on the surface of the world and housed the dwelling and laboratory of a wizard named Rastilbaum. Rastilbaum dabbled in most areas of the arcane, but took a very keen interest in imbuing items with magical properties; specifically the raw energies of other planes of existence. The old mage spent decades dedicated to perfecting the art of crafting magical items and the methods through which to do so. He eventually devised Hecate's Forge- a workshop with connections to the inner planes.

The fires of Hecate's Forge were fed directly from the elemental plane of fire and a magical bellows tied to the plane of air. A pocket connected to the plane of earth gave the craftsman immediate access to all manner of metals from the plane of earth and once forged those metals could be quenched in a tub that continually refilled itself from the plane of water. Other tools maintained permanent links to other planes, such as the celestial realm or the abyss and myriad others in order to infuse items with properties of those planes. It was all in all the greatest magical item workshop in existence, and ultimately the most dangerous to the craftsman.
Nobody knows what exactly went awry, but likewise nobody doubts that a disaster was inevitable. With so many portals open to so many planes, there were just too many things that could go wrong. Despite all of Rastilbaum's precautions the tower was torn apart by the multitude of energies contained within the forge. When word reached the Great University, a group was assembled and dispatched to assess the area of the magical disaster and recover anything important from the site.

When outriders from the Great University arrived the tower had somehow managed pulled itself back together into a warped parody of what it once was. The structure itself appears to be constantly in flux, parts burning while completely covered in ice, spires crumbling in to mud flows only to sprout again as enormous horned claws. Gurgling murmurs, divine hymns, and demonic laughter all seemed to be issuing from the depths of the structure simultaneously. The few who dared enter were never seen or heard from again and the tower was sealed and transported deep underground- not only to prevent people from going in but also to imprison whatever lurked within.
[/ic]

Created for khyron1144's Terra setting.

[ic=Arga: The Halls of the Enshrouded]Somewhere in the basalt bowels of Illix-Beneath-the-Shadow, buried in the endless waste of the Black Sands, the lightless tunnels known as the Halls of the Enshrouded wind in maddening prolixity – an extensive labyrinth of impossible complexity known also as the Ebon Maze.  Here, in hidden chambers deep within the knotted, twisted entrails of the Maze, are said to be interred the highest of the Umbral sorcerer-priesthood, tenebrous saints whose bodies are made one with darkness, Enshrouded in a mysterious ritual carried out in the towers of the City of Gold and Shadow.  What exactly this rite entails is known only to the upper echelons of the priesthood.  Some say the sorcerer-priests first have their blood drained and their empty veins filled with black sand from the desert, or with ash gleaned from the smouldering volcanoes of the Mountains of Dust.  The next step, hearsay holds, involves replacing the eyes of the Umbral with black diamonds, then removing the other vital organs and suspending them in jars of tar.  What the final step of this embalmment involves even the boldest rumour-mongers refuse to guess, but at the end of the process the newly Enshrouded sorcerer is taken down to the Ebon maze (dead? alive? or somewhere in-between, in a penumbral state, neither dead nor living?) and placed in one of the secret rooms.

The labyrinth itself is a complicated snarl of passages whose black stone walls are graven with ancient runes, prayers to Innis Illix the half-god.  Persistent claims of fabulous treasures interred alongside the Enshrouded have drawn tomb-robbers from half a world away, foolish souls hoping to relieve the Enshrouded of the wealth supposedly buried in the blackness.  But though most believe the labyrinth is designed to keep such looters out, the truth is far more insidious.  In fact, the Ebon Maze is designed to lure would-be thieves in, to keep them from escaping.   A thousand "hidden" entrances, their locations poorly-kept secrets ("secrets," in fact, revealed surreptitiously by the Umbral sorcerers themselves), draw in greedy despoilers, and the endless, seemingly shifting Halls keep them from leaving, guiding them towards the chambers of the Enshrouded.  What occurs when such defilers reach the innermost depths of the Ebon Maze is as mysterious as the Enshrouded themselves.  Some say the Enshrouded feed on the shadows of these tomb-raiders to sustain their own black vitalities.  Others claim the appetites of the mummified dead are more unfathomable than such a vampirism implies.  Whatever the case, few return alive from the Halls of the Enshrouded (fewer still with their sanity intact); and those who place an ear to the stones of the streets of Illix can sometimes catch the muffled echo of screams, distant and distorted, rebounding through interminable tunnels deep beneath...[/ic]

Contest is now closed, congratulations to all entrants. :)