Randomly Generated Surreal Appartments

    Paradise Mansions is a decrepit old brick complex, crammed into an aged and isolated corner of the city. It has an indeterminate number of stories (roll 5d6 each time you enter), but each floor has 10 apartments (A through J), with identical doors, a stairwell, fire escape, and small custodial closet at the north end, and a central hallway with a window looking out the southern face. The first floor has a (usually vacant) office near the southern entrance. The basement is a labyrinth. The attic is a howling void. The roof sports a treasure-laden temple. 

    The staff consists of a doorman (a silent, staring figure concealed beneath a heavy coat, tophat, and many, many scarves), a secretary ( who is young and confused, middle-aged and flustered, or elderly and crabby, depending on the day of the week), and a custodian (pray you never meet it; run if you hear the squeaky wheels of its cart). 

    The apartments themselves are absurd concatenations of shapes, contents, and occupants; no two are alike. All rooms have a fire escape (as per city ordinance). Rent is $800/month, first and last month’s rent as security deposit, $300 dollar pet deposit for cats and dogs. No smoking (though this doesn’t stop some people).

    To generate a given apartment, roll 1d20 in each of the following categories, filling in the sentence below. NOTE: This table can and should be expanded upon.

 

“A [Descriptor], [Shape] room, filled with [Contents], and tenanted by [Inhabitants], who [Characteristic].”

1d20    Descriptor         Shape               Contents                      Inhabitants                               Characteristic

1          Cramped           Square              Diverse Clay Jars           An Old Man in a rocking chair    Cannot Remember Their Name

2          Dimly Lit            Circular             Child Coffins                  A Little Girl facing a corner         Is perfectly still and silent

3          Moldering          Rectangular        A Rotting Feast               A Family of Dolls                        Only Moves when you aren’t looking

4          Immense           Octagonal          Crammed Bookshelves    An Emaciated Cat                      Has merged with the floor

5          Collapsing          Triangular          Lynched Mannequins      Aged Female Twins                    Doesn’t want you to leave

6          Smoke-Filled      Rhomboid          Specimen Jars                A horrifying mass of spiders        Isn’t real

7          Dazzlingly Lit     Cylinder            Medical Tools                A Ghoul in Surgeon’s Garb        Is convinced the world has ended

8          Flooded             Spiral                Myriad Fungi                 A tangle of orgiasts                     Refuses to acknowledge your presence

9          Dust-Choked      Helical               Nursery Toys                  A happy black dog                     Wants to leave but cannot

10        Damp                Spherical         Torture Devices              A mutilated, male figure             Doesn’t believe you are real

11        Crumbling         Pyramidal          Too Many Mirrors          A bathing woman                       Yells at the neighbors through the walls

12        Immaculate        Torus-Shaped     A Zoo of Statues             A Chorus of Talking Masks          Asks increasingly bizarre questions

13        Tasteful             Hyperbolic       Expensive Furniture        A Class of Students                     Has Been Expecting You

14        Maze-like            Hemispherical    Heaps of Rubbish           A School of Air-Swimming Fish    Is about to die, and knows it.

15        Escherian          Hexagonal         Numerous Cages           A Party of Laughing Nobles         Insists You are Someone You’re Not

16        Narrow             Abstract             Faulty Machinery            A Troup of Living Shadows          Speaks to someone who isn’t there

17        Upside-Down     Star-Shaped       Crackling Radios            An Understanding Bartender       Acts like you’ve met before

18        Stained              Shapeless          Flickering Televisions      A Gang of Noisy Children           Believes it is a dragon, in disguise

19        Rocking             Cruciform          Innumerable Paintings    A giant infant                             Is a god

20        Shifting             Tesseract           A small forest                 A primitive tribal culture              can grant you a single wish, for a price

 

I Don't Like "Lightning Bolt" or "Finger of Death"

Two Tedious Spells

Lightning Bolt is a boring spell; it's just Fireball in a straight line. Finger of Death is also boring, despite the Doom Metal sensibilities of its name, because it lacks any visual appeal. The solution?

The Ruinous Bolt 
LVL 6, MU (Or Wiz, Sor, Storm Cleric, or whatever)
A bolt of lightning cracks from your fingertip, lancing toward its mark. Make a ranged attack roll (use INT bonus if playing a contemporary edition) against a target within 120', ignoring non-magical armor and shield bonuses to AC. If hit, target must make a CON save (or Death/Poison, etc.) or die. Target takes 5d6 damage on a successful save. Human-sized, non-magical objects, human-sized potions of larger objects, and creatures with 4HD or fewer, are obliterated without a save. Bolt automatically hits immobilized targets.

There, a sexy little death-spell with a bit of spectacle to it. It's also kinda logical, since being struck by lightning, irl, carries a significant chance of death (Google says 10-30%, but this is magical lightning, and probably has a higher fatality rate). 

Chain Lightning is a little more interesting, because it hits multiple targets, and isn't just a linear copy of fireball, so I'd keep it as is, but maybe reduce its LVL to 4 or 5.

A friend pointed out that it's a shame to waste such a metal name, like "Finger of Death", so, just make Finger of Death a LVL 7 spell, with no attack roll or line of effect required (the target just needs to be within range, so you can point at them). The target must save or wither into a lifeless husk/explode in a shower of gore (your choice). The target still takes 5d6 damage on a successful save, from residual withering/rupturing. Non-magical plants and creatures of 5HD or less don't get a save.

The Black Ooze: Mutating your PCs for fun and profit

Black Ooze

A viscous, tar-black substance that manifests in subterranean dungeons, streaming through walls or pooling in low pits. Smells like rust and cum, tastes too sweet, feels like body-temp liquid mercury. Any living thing submerged in the ooze undergoes hideous mutations. This explains the proliferation of freakish monsters, in certain dungeons.

·         If a single appendage or extremity is dipped in the ooze, only that extremity will be mutated.

·         The mutated parts of a creature are immune to further mutation by ooze.

·         If imbibed, whole body is mutated as if creature hand been submerged. Black ooze turns to inert dust, after a few minutes, if separated from large mass. Magic might preserve it for longer.

·         Mutated beings sometimes form cults around sources of black ooze. “The Nameless King of the Black Ooze” is depicted as a pillar of black ooze wearing a tarnished silver crown, and worshipped as a god of lepers, monsters, and outcasts.

Example Mutations: Here’s a few mutations I came up with, suitable for PCs. Make more of your own.

Body Cavity: Character’s front may split down the middle to reveal a hollow, tooth-filled inside, like a fleshy iron maiden. May attempt to trap human-sized or smaller grappled foes inside, for 1d6DMG per turn. May retract teeth to disguise a friend, like a suit of skin.

Worm-Gut: Your stomach inverts, projecting outward from your mouth, like a giant maggot, with ivory mandibles. 1d6DMG, 10’ reach. Attacks are acidic and dissolve most living tissue. No ill effects from eating any kind of flesh. Stomach regrows after a few days, if severed.

Weapon Fusion: One of your arms becomes a useless, clubbed stump, but merges with the melee weapon you were holding at the time of mutation. The weapon can retract into the stump, perfectly concealed.

Face Melt: Your head becomes a constantly churning, swirling mass of flesh and sensory organs. You may spend a minute sculpting it into a disguise. You can’t change the color of your features but may alter their size, shape, and position. The disguise begins to melt again, after 10 minutes, unless you spend a minute touching it up.

Parasitic Twin: A repressed part of your personality manifests on your body as a stunted twin, connected by a knot of tissue. Has a handful of abilities appropriate to the part of your psyche it represents- new languages, skills, or even a spell. Has goals of its own.

Black Ooze Monsters: Sometimes the black ooze will mutate the mind as well as the body, producing monstrosities like these.

Living Armor: A knight who exploded inside his full-plate and promptly went mad after merging with the metal suit. Corded veins and displaced organs occasionally leak from the gaps. Screams echo from within.

Crybaby: A feeble, naked adult body bent backwards by the weight of the giant, squalling infant head attached to its neck. Bludgeons anything in its path.

Cannibal Oak: A gnarled oak tree with branches that end in skeletal hands. The large knot in its trunk opens like a mouth, revealing a splintery hollow brimming with blood. Roots serve as tentacles. Hates anything made of flesh.

Longwolf: A mad wolf, as tall as a stag, with an elongated midsection, giving it the appearance of a furred, quadrupedal serpent. Attempts to surround its prey with its long body.

The Ridden: This faceless stallion has the upper body of a deranged human, protruding from where its cock should be. It will attempt to knock victims down so the human-part can tear them apart and devour them.

Anthropohydra: Resembles a headless, crawling giant, with human torsos sprouting from its back: a jubilant chorus which begs the PCs to merge with it.

Ooze Priest: A hooded figure wearing a black robe and thin, tarnished silver circlet. Its features cannot be discerned beneath the robe. Speaks with a calm, even voice. Encourages the PCs to bathe in the ooze. The other monsters ignore it.

The Prison of Kath

The remote town of Kath has failed to pay tribute to the Capital. No one has heard from the town since before the winter. Now that spring has melted the mountain pass, the PCs have been dispatched as an escort to the tax collector. None of the nearby settlements have been in contact with Kath, either, which disturbs those who have relatives there. There are whispers that the people of Kath have found religion and cut themselves off from the outside world. As they approach Kath, the PCs notice that its fields have not been worked and there are no animals grazing in the pasture. Many, small, fresh mounds dot the landscape. The city walls have been hastily fortified, and its gates are bound shut with heavy chains.

·         The town was built near an ancient military fortification, turned prison. The bowls of the prison open up into a cave complex, where a pool of black ooze was discovered. The prisoners, guards, and some of the townsfolk were mutated, many driven to madness and cannibalism. The prison chaplain leads a cult dedicated to the Nameless King of the Black Ooze, kidnapping the remaining townsfolk and hurling them into the slime pit, birthing new monstrosities. The chaplain wishes to overtake the surrounding countryside, creating a Zion of New Flesh, wiping away the cruel, petty vanities of the land’s old order. 

·         The Warden has turned into a corpulent, gluttonous beast, relishing human flesh. He pukes up humanoid slime-monsters. 

·         The Prison supposedly has a hidden vault, containing vast wealth of the old kingdom. (Not quite so vast, but a nice chunk of change.)

·          Also hides the legendary enchanted blade of an ancient general (Actually the cursed sword of the executioner, possessed by a monstrous ghost. The general had a minor, but useful enchanted spear, which PCs may discover.) 

·         One of the prison’s first inmates was a powerful sorcerer and alchemist, who may have been capable of creating a philosopher’s stone. (In truth, a minor magician who accidentally caused the black pool to form, long ago. Left behind a few useful potions and a spell or two.) 

·         The tax collector is actually a researcher for the capital city council and wishes to procure samples of black ooze and its mutated victims so that his masters may create an army of inhuman soldiers. He will only tell the PCs this if absolutely cornered. He explains away his doggedness by the fact that he is a candidate for the next city bursar and isn’t going to let a few freaks stand between him and a promotion.

The mounds in the fields are graves of victims sacrificed to feed an immense plant-creature, resembling a giant heart with adventitious roots.