The Dungeon is Caspia's version of a punitive underworld, a dwelling meant for continual torment, harsh reprisal, perpetual humiliation and endless imprisonment of that disruptive portion of the human race that could interfere with the growth of civilization that Caspian envisions.
In all the environs of the Cosmos, the Dungeon is regarded as the most hostile, the most mysterious and the most dangerous of all places.
The Dungeon is a world unlike other worlds. It is a construct, an artificial asteroid endlessly prowling the trackless voids of space. The implacable God-King has crafted this realm from the hidden fears of the innumerable and shapes reality to reflect their sinister sensibilities.
Those Imperials that have read the cryptic passages in the Lathra that speak of the Dungeon in the same way one would speak of Hell in our time: a place synonymous with imprisonment, torment and execution. Its first prisoners are said to be those who inhabited the world before Caspian’s emergence, and who had turned the world into a house of horrors. It is these survivors of the Great War that opposed Caspian and committed war crimes, and as such were flung into Dungeon’s nine levels where they could no longer challenge Caspian for control of the world and its focus of worship. There, they have to live with each other, where evil turns on evil, all are subjected to a miserable experience of constant killing, fighting, rivalry and ineptitude.
The inhabitants of the Dungeon generally have no knowledge of the true nature or location of the Dungeon. The following are some of the most common speculations given by outsiders:
1. A series of separate planets linked by dimensional gates.
2. A hollowed-out asteroid arranged with nine levels, one on top of another.
3. Within the crust of Caspia, as a series of nine concentric layers, in the manner of a Hollow Earth.
The truth of the matter is this; the Dungeon is arranged in nine levels that range from raging infernos to churning seas to midnight crags, all within a hollowed out planetoid said to be near the borders of the known Cosmos, bound with seals meant to last until the end of time.
Though it is an asteroid, it is a world unto itself, a penal colony that has evolved into its own entity, a dark and colorful society with layers of governance and threat that is often incomprehensible to inhabitants as much as those live beyond its locked ivory gates.
Each of the nine levels of the Dungeon is a unique microcosm usually consisting of a flat plate-like land mass, up to thousands of miles on a side. Each level is a proverbial “flat earth,” with normal gravity, and may at first be mistaken for individual, separate worlds. This assumption is shattered when compasses fail, as every level lacks a magnetic north. If one should travel too far in any direction, they will either encounter natural barriers preventing further travel. Bypassing these will lead one to walls stretching thousands of feet high, walls that support the ceiling that is the sky above. Most of what is seen above is not true sky. While there are patches that rise straight up to the upper part of the level, most of what is above is actually a thin layer of some sticky substance. Forcing flying ships into that layer will inevitably cause their engines to become gummed up with the substance, causing the ships to crash. The stars, sun and moon may be physical objects embedded in that layer, or they could just as easily be illusion.
The Dungeon is not some blood-splattered charnel house. Instead, it is a land apart, strange rather than malevolent. Much of it is exceptionally dangerous, and certainly many of its inhabitants have no love for outsiders. Trespassers should proceed with caution, yet visitors should continually have the sense that they are peripheral to events and that the inhabitants are largely wrapped up in their own unfathomable affairs to which they will return as soon as the intruders have departed.
Each level presents a different face, but some constants exist. Each level has its share of cities, natural features, ruins, etc., all either built in the same instance that created the Dungeon, or built later by the multitude of prisoners in the intervening millennia for whatever purpose that it was required for at the time. The Dungeon is known be constantly updated. If the God-King (or one of the Shining Court) decides to alter a part of the Dungeon, he can do so at his whim. Of course, he could also dragoon huge gangs of enslaved prisoners to do it the hard way. Few parts are ever permanently completed, but many are redressed every few centuries, and brand new regions are created as the fear of damnation provides suggestions.