IS YOUR PARTY TOO CONFIDENT?
Too high-level? Too cocky? Too alive?
Enter... THE PHANTOM!
A masked menace with the dramatic flair of a bard, the cruelty of a tax collector, and the hygiene of a troglodyte.
FEATURES INCLUDE:
Singing Skeletons! That’s right. They don’t bite... they barbershop!
Haunted Hallways! You’re not paranoid if the walls really are whispering.
Trapdoors to Nowhere! Technically it’s somewhere, it’s just full of spikes and regret.
Curtains! Why does a dungeon need curtains? Who knows? The Phantom has taste.
THE PLOT (sort of):
A once-famous opera singer turned lich couldn’t handle bad reviews. Now he haunts this underground theatre of terror, unleashing monologues and monsters in equal measure.
Will your adventurers stop him, or will they join his cast... permanently?
WARNING:
May contain:
Overacting
Overkilling
Overly elaborate traps involving levers, illusions, and that one wizard who never pays attention
AVAILABLE WHEREVER NIGHTMARES AND GRAPH PAPER COLLIDE.
Bring snacks. Bring tissues. Bring someone you’re willing to sacrifice for dramatic effect.
THE PHANTOM OF THE DUNGEON
He’s behind the mask. And your Cleric.
Roll initiative, darling.
__________________________________________
WHAT YOUR FAVOURITE TTRPG SAYS ABOUT YOU
By the All-Seeing Eye of Vecna and the Editorial Staff Who Never Leave Their Mum’s Basement
So you think you're unique because you roll oddly-shaped dice and own a character sheet more detailed than your CV? Think again. Your favourite tabletop roleplaying game reveals more about your inner psyche than a therapist with a +5 insight check. Don’t believe us? Too bad—we rolled a natural 20 on journalism.
Here’s what your favourite TTRPG says about you. Apologies in advance. Or don't. We're chaotic neutral.
DUNGEONS & DRAGONS (Any Edition)
You enjoy arguing about rules more than actually playing. You either love spreadsheets or have never opened one in your life—there is no in-between. Deep down, you believe every problem can be solved with a bigger sword, or failing that, fireball.
Most likely to: Have a backup character named “Brognar the Third” because the first two died in “glorious” PvP.
CALL OF CTHULHU
You consider having sanity optional. You’ve read Lovecraft, own at least one vintage-style map, and believe everything can be solved with more candlelight and softly whispered Latin. Your idea of a fun night is everyone dying or going mad by page three.
Most likely to: Die in the first ten minutes because you touched the thing no one else would.
SHADOWRUN
You believe dice should be rolled in cubic tonnes. You own lore books thicker than war crime reports and still don’t fully understand the hacking rules. You enjoy cyberpunk dystopias because they seem organised.
Most likely to: Spend four hours building a character and die to a guard with a taser.
VAMPIRE: THE MASQUERADE
You definitely wore black to prom, possibly with eyeliner. You love drama, long stares, and asking “But what is humanity?” during pizza breaks. You treat every session like a GCSE performance piece in ‘brooding’.
Most likely to: Cry in character. Then cry out of character. Then make someone else cry.
PATHFINDER
You tried D&D and thought, “This needs more maths.” You can quote rulebooks chapter and verse, but can’t remember your nan’s birthday. You live for character customisation and believe encumbrance is sexy.
Most likely to: Have a Level 6 goblin monk with 13 feats and a three-page backstory written in iambic pentameter.
BLADES IN THE DARK
You like your games fast, dirty, and full of regret. You treat planning like a weakness and flashbacks like divine intervention. You’ve turned improvising poor choices into a competitive sport.
Most likely to: Rob a noble, double-cross your crew, and explode. In that order.
WARHAMMER FANTASY RPG
You enjoy suffering and believe joy is a heresy. You play to see who dies from dysentery first. You love a setting where every town smells like boiled rats and plague, and that’s on a good day.
Most likely to: Be eaten by chaos cultists while arguing over cabbage prices.
FATE
You tell everyone you “prefer narrative systems” because secretly you just hate math. You believe in the power of story, and also in ignoring stats entirely. You’ve got ten index cards and a dream.
Most likely to: Have the best plot arc, the worst dice luck, and the loudest opinions on storytelling mechanics.
PARANOIA
You trust no one. Not even yourself. Especially not yourself. You find betrayal funny, backstabbing therapeutic, and death a mild inconvenience.
Most likely to: Be executed for smiling incorrectly. Then thank the Computer for its efficiency.
HONOURABLE MENTION: HOME-BREWED NIGHTMARES
You invented your own system using bottle caps, string, and tears. You believe rules are for cowards and publishers are optional. Your lore doc is longer than War and Peace and half as coherent.
Most likely to: Force your friends into a 400-year war campaign involving talking horses and sentient furniture. No one knows what's happening. Especially you.
FINAL THOUGHT
Whatever you play, remember: it’s not about the dice. It’s not even about the story. It’s about laughing too loud, crying too often, and wondering how the rogue got hold of another cursed sword.
So roll for initiative, roll for snacks, and most importantly...
roll with it.
Now if you’ll excuse us, our bard has seduced the DM’s notes again. It’s going to be
_________________________________________
WHY THE BOOK OF DRAGONS IS USELESS
By the Dungeon Dunce Kobold Council and That One Guy Who Still Owns a VHS Copy of the D&D Cartoon
So you’ve just shelled out forty quid for The Book of Dragons. Congratulations! You’ve just purchased a glorified colouring book that breathes fire on your wallet and not much else.
Let’s be clear: this isn’t a sourcebook. It’s a snoozebook. A 224-page dragon scrapbook with the practical use of a chocolate longsword in a lava pit.
WHAT’S ACTUALLY IN IT?
• Dragons.
• Art of dragons.
• More dragons.
• A suspicious amount of scale close-ups that look like rejected wallpaper samples.
• Michael Witwer’s third cousin’s uncle’s thoughts on amethyst dragons (probably).
It’s marketed as a “definitive guide,” which is publishing speak for “We ran out of real content and slapped some lore next to recycled pictures.”
USEFUL FOR GAMEPLAY? HA.
This book is about as helpful to your campaign as a gelatinous cube is to interior decorating. Planning an epic boss fight? Need stats? Tactics? Breath weapon radii? Tough luck. This tome gives you zero crunch and all fluff, like a dragon-themed throw pillow that hisses at you when prodded.
Need to know how a blue dragon acts in combat? This book gives you a lovingly-rendered image of one looking contemplative in a canyon, which is lovely if you’re building a vision board but pants if you’re building an encounter.
COFFEE TABLE BOOK? MORE LIKE SLEEP TABLE BOOK.
Let’s be honest; this is just a posh D&D-themed catalogue for people who think reading the Monster Manual is too intense. The only thing it elevates is your furniture.
“Oh, but the art!” Yes, the art is lovely. So is staring into a fireplace for three hours, and that’s free unless you accidentally summon a fire elemental again.
MICHAEL WITWER DESERVES BETTER
This poor bloke wrote Empire of Imagination, which was actually about something. Now he’s been roped into writing dragon bios like a fantasy David Attenborough. I half-expected to read:
“Here we see the elusive copper dragon in its natural habitat: hoarding memes and telling bad jokes while exhaling corrosive gas.”
PRE-ORDER? WHY?
Why pre-order a book you can already recreate by taping together pages from Dragon Magazine, Pinterest, and the inside of your mate’s Trapper Keeper from 1993? It’s £40 to confirm you already know what dragons are and, yes, they are still large, still fly, and still love gold more than your nan loves daytime telly.
ALTERNATIVE USES FOR THE BOOK OF DRAGONS
• Coaster for your Mountain Dew
• Emergency player screen for when the rogue starts reading ahead
• Bludgeoning weapon (1d4 damage, +2 against paper golems)
• Doorstop in the Dungeon Master’s bathroom
• Lining for your Bag of Holding’s bottom shelf
FINAL VERDICT
If you love dragons, buy it. If you love using dragons, save your coin and open your Monster Manual, the book that actually does something. The Book of Dragons is the tabletop equivalent of a dragon plushie. Pretty. Soft. Utterly harmless.
But don’t worry, the next DK book will probably be The Book of Mimics: 300 Pages That Look Like Something Useful But Aren’t.
Now if you’ll excuse us, our DM just pulled out a dragon mini the size of a roast turkey. Time to read a real book and run.
________________________________________
WARNING: THE KING’S ROAD IS A DEATH TRAP
Brought to you by the Department of Monster-Related Mishaps and Poorly Maintained Highways (DMRMPMH)
Travelling down the King’s Road? Oh, good luck to you, brave (read: clueless) adventurer! You’ve just chosen the most scenic, blood-soaked, ogre-infested highway this side of Neverwinter. Strap in your codpiece, sharpen your sarcasm, and get ready for a bumpy ride, mostly over the bones of previous travellers.
DANGERS YOU’LL DEFINITELY ENCOUNTER:
1. Bandits in Disguise
They look like travelling minstrels.
They sound like travelling minstrels.
They are travelling minstrels.
But they also stab you and nick your boots.
2. The Bridge of Toll Regret
Pay in gold.
Pay in song.
Pay in blood.
Whatever you choose, you're still getting mugged by a troll named Derek with a club the size of a wardrobe and halitosis that qualifies as necrotic damage.
3. Mysterious “Helpful” Travellers
Ah yes, a one-eyed man named Gorm offering stew in the woods. Sure, go ahead, take a bite. It’s only mildly poisoned and flavoured with disappointment.
4. Random Weather
Rain.
Then hail.
Then fire from the sky.
Then more rain.
And somehow... locusts?
(Don’t ask. It’s a random encounter table written by a drunk druid.)
LANDMARKS TO AVOID:
• The Screaming Stones – Ancient ruins that whisper your darkest secrets and then rate them out of ten. (Spoiler: You fail the charisma save and the vibe check.)
• The Unblinking Watchtower – Once guarded the realm. Now it just houses a grumpy beholder and a pigeon that won’t shut up.
• Farmer Blip’s Turnip Stand – Innocent enough... until the turnips start biting back.
TRAVEL TIPS:
Never accept snacks from cloaked figures. Especially if they rhyme.
Stay on the road. No really. STAY ON THE ROAD.
If a sign reads “BEWARE THE SHRIEKING WOODS,” don’t go in for a quick look. That’s how Greg lost his spleen. (We still don’t know where it went.)
Always roll for insight when someone says “You look like you can handle yourself.” That’s code for “You’re about to be thrown into a side quest with a 40% mortality rate.”
FINAL WARNING:
The King’s Road is the fastest way to get from Point A to Point “AAAAAAGH.” Bring a sword, a healer, and an up-to-date will. Also maybe a donkey. Just trust us on the donkey.
MAD ADVENTURER'S SAFETY COUNCIL SEAL OF DISAPPROVAL
“You’d be safer licking a gelatinous cube.”
__________________________________________
Random Encounter No. 47: BIGFOOT ON THE KING’S ROAD
Or: “That’s no hairy man, that’s a walking rug with anger issues.”
LOCATION:
The foggy bit of the King’s Road where your DM goes, “Yeah, it’s suddenly eerily quiet.”
PARTY PERCEPTION CHECK:
Roll a d20. On a 10+, you spot something huge and hairy in the trees.
On a 5–9, you hear a distant grunting that sounds like someone gargling rocks.
On a 1–4, you mistake it for your barbarian’s dad on holiday.
YOU ENCOUNTER…
BIGFOOT (a.k.a. Sir Shaggalot the Unwashed)
CR: Depends how insulted he is.
Alignment: Chaotic Hairy
Armour Class: Fluffy but surprisingly sturdy (16)
Hit Points: 168, or however many it takes to make your cleric nervous.
BIGFOOT’S BEHAVIOUR:
Passive Mode: He’s just trying to cross the road. Why? Who knows. Maybe it’s a philosophical thing.
Grumpy Mode: Triggered if you insult his odour, question his foot size, or try to take a selfie.
Rage Mode: Activated if anyone in the party uses the phrase “I thought he’d be taller.”
BIGFOOT’S ATTACKS:
• Tree Club Smackdown™
+8 to hit. 2d10 bludgeoning damage.
Also flings pine needles in your mouth. Disadvantage on charisma checks for the rest of the day due to choking.
• Hairy Hug of Doom
Grapple check. If successful, target is restrained and emotionally uncomfortable.
• Echoing Roar of the Forest Dad
Everyone within 60 feet must make a Wisdom saving throw (DC 15) or feel like they’ve disappointed their father. Again.
SPECIAL ABILITIES:
• Smells Like Cryptid Spirit
Anyone within 10 feet must pass a CON save (DC 14) or be too distracted by the funk to concentrate. Spellcasters lose concentration. Rogues weep silently.
• Vanish into Myth
Once per day, Bigfoot can vanish completely into a bush with a sound like a whoopee cushion full of twigs. He leaves behind a single massive footprint and a lingering sense of confusion.
TREASURE (IF YOU DEFEAT BIGFOOT):
1x Left Footprint in a Jar (Uncomfortable but magical. Casts Pass Without Showering once per long rest.)
1d4 rare mushrooms growing in his back hair. Possibly edible. Possibly sentient.
1x Soggy Wallet (Contents: Two copper pieces, a sketch of Bigfoot riding a unicorn, and a receipt from Ye Olde Buffeet.)
DM NOTES:
Bigfoot is less an enemy and more a tragic figure, just a misunderstood forest hobo with size 36 feet, a complex emotional history, and a love of clobbering people who interrupt his nature walks. If your party befriends him, he may guide them to a hidden glade full of enchanted trees, lost artefacts, and one raccoon that owes him money.
REMEMBER:
Bigfoot isn’t real.
Until he throws a tree at your wizard.
Then he’s very real.
And very annoyed.
__________________________________________
HAVE YOU BEEN MAIMED, MAULED, OR MYSTICALLY MANGLED?
Then YOU need…
SIR LITIGAX, ESQUIRE OF HURTY JUSTICE™
“Your misfortune is our fortune!”
WE HANDLE CASES INCLUDING (BUT NOT LIMITED TO):
Slipped on a gelatinous cube in a tavern loo
Bitten by a mimic masquerading as a privy seat
Cursed with inconvenient horns after kissing a mysterious statue
Burned by "friendly" dragon fire in poorly lit dungeon corridors
Stabbed in the back by your own rogue (we smell insurance fraud)
INJURED BY BIGFOOT? You may be entitled to absolutely no gold whatsoever, but we'll try anyway!
WHY CHOOSE SIR LITIGAX?
✔ 5 gold consultation fee waived if you bring proof of limp
✔ We’ll sue any monster, monarch or mildly magical squirrel
✔ All correspondence delivered by trained raven with a legal diploma
✔ Free neck ruff with every successful claim!
RECENT CLIENT TESTIMONIALS:
“I fell into a pit trap and shattered my coccyx. Sir Litigax got me 300 gold and a formal apology from the dungeon architect!”
– Throg of Clan Smashface
“I polymorphed into a cow and no one helped. Now I moo when stressed. Thanks, Litigax!”
– Clarabelle the Traumatised Druid
“Bigfoot threw a pinecone at me. Sir Litigax made him sign a restraining scroll!”
– Tilda of the Twisted Ankle
LOCATIONS
You can find Sir Litigax in:
Waterdeep (next to the cursed sandwich shop)
Baldur’s Gate (behind the shady tavern that smells of regret)
And now OPEN in Neverwinter—until the ice trolls sue us again.
Call now: 1-800-WHO-SMOTE-YOU
Or send a message via Owl Post with the word “OW!” underlined thrice.
SIR LITIGAX, ESQ.
Because pain shouldn't go unpunished... or unpaid.
Now offering group lawsuits for kobold tunnel collapses!
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