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
