DUNGEON DUNCE WEEKLY #10
LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
with Reverend Dungeon Master
High Cleric of Chaos. Once ordained by accident during a critical fumble at a fantasy wedding.
Dear Reverend Dungeon Master,
Our wizard insists on using “Mage Hand” exclusively to slap NPCs and flip tavern tables. He says it’s for “theatrical flair.” Should I limit the spell, or is this just wizard business?
– Trish, Liverpool
RDM:
You’re not running a wizard, you’re hosting a ghost with boundary issues.
Technically, Mage Hand can’t attack, but table-flipping qualifies as “forceful rearrangement.”
Let him continue, but give every NPC a passive-aggressive Unseen Servant with a vendetta. Soon he’ll be getting wedgies in the bath.
Dear Reverend Dungeon Master,
My paladin keeps trying to smite inanimate objects. He’s already “punished” a door, a chair, and one of my dice. Is this in character or just repressed aggression?
– Cole, Boise, Idaho
RDM:
It’s both.
He’s either channelling divine wrath or has unresolved beef with Ikea.
Either way, give the next dungeon a sentient end table named Gregor. AC 19. Immune to logic. Weak to compliments.
Dear Reverend Dungeon Master,
Our party’s druid insists on wild shaping into increasingly obscure animals. Last session she turned into a blobfish and cried for three hours. Is this legal?
– Malcolm, Reading
RDM:
Wild Shape does not include emotional damage.
While technically legal, turning into a sad aquatic sock puppet is a cry for help. Or performance art.
Suggest limiting forms to CR-appropriate animals or grant her the Circle of Existential Ennui. Abilities include passive sobbing and resistance to hope.
Dear Reverend Dungeon Master,
My players are trying to run an in-game pyramid scheme using health potions. The rogue invented “Healing Juice+” and the barbarian is now a regional manager. What do I do?
– Tyler, Austin, Texas
RDM:
Congratulations. You’ve entered Multi-Level Mayhem.
Next step: a hostile takeover by an alchemist union. Or a divine audit by the God of Consumer Protections.
Bonus points if their entire scam is undone by a customer review from a kobold who turned purple.
Dear Reverend Dungeon Master,
Can I play a bard whose instrument is a kazoo of thunderous volume? I promise to be responsible.
– Lily, Newark, New Jersey
RDM:
No bard with a kazoo has ever been responsible.
Still, permission granted, but only if it comes with two charges of “Summon Marching Band” and a wild magic surge on every high note.
Also: local noise ordinances apply. And the gods are listening.
Dear Reverend Dungeon Master,
Our necromancer has been using Animate Dead to run a zombie bakery. The skeletons bake, serve, and dance. Is this evil?
– Georgia, Edinburgh
RDM:
Only if the croissants are stale.
Necromancy is a tool. Whether it’s used for doomsday or danishes is a matter of flavour.
Keep an eye on the reviews. If the muffins are haunted, we may have crossed a moral threshold.
Send your blunders, grievances, and metaphysical paperwork to Reverend Dungeon Master at:
rcgdungeondunce@gmail.com
He may not reply. He may be a raccoon in cleric robes. But your chaos will be blessed and canonised.
UNEMPLOYED HENCHPERSON? LOST YOUR DARK OVERLORD IN A TRAGIC HEROIC INCIDENT?
TIRED OF BEING LEFT FOR DEAD IN A SMOKING DUNGEON WHILE THE HEROES STEAL YOUR BOOTS?
INTRODUCING...
HENCHLIFE™: THE POST-BBEG SURVIVAL PROGRAMME
Because world domination doesn’t come with severance pay.
So your boss got obliterated by a group of glittery paladins and emotionally unstable bards?
Did the adventurers “liberate” your stronghold, “redeem” your goblin intern, and then “accidentally” set fire to your pension scrolls?
YOU NEED A NEW GIG AND WE’VE GOT OPTIONS!
RETRAINING PROGRAMMES INCLUDE:
Trap Consultant: Teach peasants how not to walk into their own cellars.
Angry Tavern Cook: Finally use that cleaver on something legal.
Motivational Speaker: “I survived five fireballs and so can you.”
Wizard’s Pet Sitter: Requires immunity to acid breath and strong mop skills.
Retail Security Troll: Perfect for guarding cursed amulets and semi-feral children.
MERCHANDISE LINEUP:
“I Served the Dark Lord and All I Got Was This Lousy Tabard” T-Shirt
The All-New HenchBench™: Foldable Dungeon Furniture for the Displaced Minion
Potion of Coping: May cause sobbing, existential crises, and hair regrowth
TESTIMONIALS FROM RECOVERING HENCHPEOPLE:
“I used to summon skeletons. Now I build IKEA. Feels similar.”
– Drokthar the Internally Screaming, now Assistant Manager
“Was cursed to eternal servitude. Now cursed with eternal exposure to customers. Progress?”
– Former Wight, current Waiter
“HenchLife™ gave me purpose. And a chair. For the first time in 300 years, I sat.”
– Karlax the Unyielding, now mildly flexible
ACT NOW
Because the heroes are looting your room as we speak.
HENCHLIFE™
Dignity may not be included. Side effects include literacy, job satisfaction, and irregular moral alignment.
CALL 1-800-NO-BBEG or visit www.henchlifesurvivor.curse
First 100 callers get a free spiked collar, previously owned by a slightly cursed hellhound.
No refunds. Ever. We learned that from our last boss.
FEATURE STORY (That means it's true!)
HASBRO CASTS MASS LAYOFF: ROLL A D20 TO KEEP YOUR JOB (With Disadvantage)
Three percent of staff vanish like NPCs at a budget meeting.
In news that surprised absolutely no one but still managed to ruin 150 lunchtimes, Hasbro, the plastic empire behind Dungeons & Dragons, has announced it’s firing 3% of its workforce. That’s roughly 150 real-life humans yeeted from payroll, presumably by rolling a company-wide “Mass Dismissal” spell with a somber d12 damage to morale.
The news oozed out via the Wall Street Journal, like a slow-moving ooze that just devoured your pension. This announcement followed hot on the heels of D&D Vice President Jess Lanzillo’s mysterious departure, and video producer Todd Kenreck’s own surprise exit, possibly via trapdoor or corporate trebuchet.
WHY THE AXE, HASBRO?
Despite raking in treasure like a level 20 rogue, Hasbro has decided it’s time to tighten the coin pouch. Profits are actually up, thanks in no small part to Magic: The Gathering and D&D sales doing better than expected, which, in corporate logic, clearly means: “Time to sack some wizards.”
The real dragon in the room? Tariffs. Apparently, half of Hasbro’s shiny plastic wonders come from China, and with the US throwing trade tantrums again, they’ve decided to fire people now so they can afford panic later. That’s not a strategy, that’s a divination spell gone wrong.
WHAT ABOUT D&D?
Wizards of the Coast, a.k.a. “The House That Dice Built”, has so far only confirmed one victim: Todd Kenreck, the video guy. He was the face behind many a promo and actual play video, and now he’s the face behind a rapidly updated LinkedIn profile.
As for Jess Lanzillo? She vanished faster than a rogue with Boots of Resignation. Coincidence? The HR Owlbear says no.
Other D&D staffers may or may not be next, but Hasbro isn’t talking. Probably because they rolled a Nat 1 on their PR check.
THE LONG SAD HISTORY OF ‘CUT, COPY, COMPLAIN’
If this sounds familiar, that’s because Hasbro’s layoff dance is becoming more regular than a bard at open mic night.
January 2023: 15% of the company yeeted.
December 2023: Another 1,100 folks told to go adventure elsewhere, including D&D 5E co-lead Mike Mearls.
March 2025: Project Sigil? Scrapped. 90% of the team? Banished to the Shadow Realm (or possibly the food service industry).
FINAL THOUGHTS (AND A BARD’S LAMENT)
What does this all mean? Who knows. Maybe D&D will survive untouched, or maybe next week your DM’s monster manual will come with a pink slip.
For now, D&D continues, new books are printing, dice are rolling, and players are arguing about whether you can seduce a dragon with Performance (Charisma).
So keep your spell slots ready, your contracts vague, and remember: in the corporate dungeon, no one hears you roll.
The Bardic College of Dad Jokes
“I used to be a wizard, but then I took a pun to the knee.”
Some bards tell tales of ancient heroes. Others weave songs of great battles. You? You say: "Pull my finger." Welcome to the College of Dad Jokes, where your power comes not from skill, talent, or charisma, but from the sheer, inescapable force of weaponised awkwardness.
Whether you're charming the socks off a lich or turning goblins into groaning wrecks with a well-timed pun, you are the apex predator of bad humour and worse trousers.
Level 3: Groan Worthy
When you join this college at 3rd level, you gain the ability to inflict psychic damage using the ancient art of unbearable jokes.
Groan Worthy:
Once per turn, when you cast a spell or make a weapon attack, you may unleash a terrible pun as a bonus action.
All creatures within 10 feet who can hear you must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw (DC 8 + your proficiency bonus + your Charisma modifier) or take 1d4 psychic damage and suffer disadvantage on their next attack roll.
Damage increases to 2d4 at 10th level and 3d4 at 17th level, because so does your shamelessness.
Example Jokes Include:
“Why don’t skeletons fight each other? They don’t have the guts!”
“What do you call an owlbear with no beak? Unfortunate.”
“I once dated a banshee. Total scream queen.”
Players are encouraged (but not required) to provide original puns.
DMs may reward creativity with inspiration or just quiet despair.
Level 3: Cargo Shorts of Holding
You magically summon a pair of enchanted cargo shorts, complete with socks and sandals. They function as a Bag of Holding with twice the storage capacity, but everything inside mysteriously smells of barbecue sauce and regret.
Bonus: You can draw any mundane item from the pockets with a successful DC 15 Performance check once per short rest. Items include:
A half-eaten sausage roll
A folding chair
A +1 disposable camera
An emergency sock puppet (counts as a familiar, somehow)
Level 6: Pun Smuggler
You gain Counterpun, a reaction you can use when a creature within 60 feet casts a spell, makes a statement, or tries to be taken seriously.
As a reaction, deliver a pun so jarring it disrupts concentration:
Example:
Enemy: “I summon the flames of—”
You: “You seem tense. You should relax and ember the good times.”
The target must make a Constitution saving throw or have their spell fizzle, and they suffer 1d6 psychic damage from second-hand embarrassment.
You may use this feature proficiency bonus times per long rest.
Level 14: Legendary Let-Down
You unlock the true power of the Bard Dad: the ability to make any creature question their will to live, or at least continue the conversation.
Once per long rest, you may unleash The Full Routine: 60 seconds of puns, outdated references, and deliberately awkward silences.
All creatures of your choice within 30 feet must make an Intelligence saving throw or become Stunned until the end of their next turn, overcome by mental recoil. Creatures that succeed on the save instead suffer half damage (4d8 psychic) and have their movement speed halved as they walk away slowly in visible shame.
Suggested Spells for Bard Dad Types:
Vicious Mockery (obviously)
Tasha’s Hideous Laughter
Silence (your enemies' desperate prayer)
Otto’s Irresistible Dance (you brought the grill and the groove)
Disguise Self (into your own father)
Roleplaying Tips:
Always have a pun ready. It doesn’t need to be good. In fact, it mustn’t.
Begin every dungeon with, “This reminds me of that time in '83…”
Call your longsword "The Back Scratcher."
Offer snacks mid-battle.
Refer to dragons as “just big ol' lizards with asthma."
Final Thoughts
The College of Dad Jokes is not about being powerful. It’s about being inevitable. So put on your polo shirt of +2 confidence, tighten your sandals of smiting, and go ruin someone's serious campaign with an endless loop of awkward charm and devastating daditude.
Because sometimes the greatest damage is psychic. And sometimes... the real treasure... was the eye-rolls we inflicted along the way.
MONSTER MASH-UP
BEHOLDER RETRIEVER
(A good boy. A terrifying, slobbery, disintegration-eyed, reality-warping good boy.)
Type: Aberration (Bestest Boi Subclass)
Alignment: Chaotic Fetch
Challenge Rating: 13 belly rubs
Size: Large (mostly eyeballs and enthusiasm)
AC: 18 (natural armour & sheer excitement)
HP: 180 (made entirely of joy and trauma)
Speed: 30 ft., hover 20 ft., zoomies ∞ ft.
Appearance
Imagine a classic Beholder. Now give it a wagging tail, floppy ears, a tongue too big for any mouth, and the loyal gaze of a golden retriever who’s also an arcane war crime. It pants through ten mouths. None of them are where mouths should be.
Abilities
Eye Ray Fetch (Recharge 5–6)
With an excited “WHO’S A GOOD COSMIC HORROR?”, the Beholder Retriever locks eyes with a creature up to 120 ft. away and fires off an Eye Ray of Fetching:
DC 17 Dexterity save or be forcibly teleported 60 ft. closer to the Retriever, squeaky noise optional.
Laser Tail Wag (3/day)
Every time it sees its favourite adventurer (currently: anyone), the tail begins wagging with seismic force.
All creatures within 10 ft. must succeed on a DC 15 Strength save or be prone, disarmed, and emotionally confused.
Lick of Annihilation (1/day)
One full-body slobbery lick. Removes curses, diseases, hope, and possibly your face.
Roll 1d10:
1–4: target is healed
5–6: target is paralysed with affection
7–9: target loses 1d6 Intelligence
10: target becomes another Beholder Retriever (see: propagation by affection)
Eye Ray Table (roll 1d6):
Disintegration Beam (but cheerful!)
Paralysing Ray (because hugs are easier that way)
Fetch Ray (object up to 30 lbs. is forcibly hurled into Retriever’s mouth)
Fire Ray (used when ball is lost forever under sofa of reality)
Confusion Ray (“Am I a good boy?” forces existential crisis)
Cone of Drool (cone-shaped area, 60 ft., causes terrain to be difficult, sticky, and slightly minty)
Tactics
The Beholder Retriever doesn’t understand violence. It understands playtime. It charges into combat with the speed of a launched sofa, grabs an enemy in its teeth (gently!), and runs away again, tail wagging like a metronome of doom.
Loot
Collar of Infinite Loyalty
1d4 Unfired Eye Beams (bottled for later)
Half a tennis ball
Someone’s still-beating heart (emotionally, not literally... probably)
OSR STATS
Armour Class: 2 [17]
Hit Dice: 11 (55 hp)
Move: 90’ (30’) fly
Attacks: 1 bite (2d6) + 1 random eye ray per round
No. Appearing: 1 (thankfully)
Save As: Fighter 10
Morale: 12 (unless scolded)
Treasure Type: Q (mostly half-chewed magical items and glowing tennis balls)
Alignment: Chaotic Fetch
XP Value: 2,000
Special Abilities
Eye Rays (1/round):
Each round, the Beholder Retriever fires a single ray from one of its 10 waggy eyestalks. Roll 1d8:
Fetch Beam – Target must save vs. spells or be yanked 60’ toward the Retriever, regardless of dignity.
Disintegration Gaze – Target must save vs. death or be reduced to a fine powder and a slightly guilty whimper.
Cone of Drool – 30’ cone, all in area must save vs. breath weapon or move at half speed due to gooey terrain.
Fire Ray – 4d6 damage, save vs. breath weapon for half. Smells like scorched tennis balls.
Lick of Annihilation – Once per day. Heals 2d6 or wipes 1 memory slot. DM’s call.
Tail Wag Slam – 15’ radius. All creatures must save vs. paralysis or fall prone and emotionally confused.
Paralysing Ray – Save vs. paralysis or be frozen in place. Retriever uses this for snuggles.
Confusion Ray – Save vs. spells or target acts randomly for 1d4 rounds, pondering their life choices.
Treasure (Roll on Q table)
A magical collar that makes barking unintelligible but charming
2d6 silver-plated chew toys
A scroll that smells like beef jerky (and actually works)
A melted +1 wand, still covered in slobber
Ecology
Beholder Retrievers are created in the warped dungeons of mad wizards who wanted pets and protection in one horrific bundle. Though terrifying, they often respond well to adventurers who bring snacks or stick-throwing capabilities.
Tactics
The Retriever hovers into battle panting like a wind tunnel and immediately tries to "play" with intruders. Combat is less “murder” and more “enthusiastic demolition.”
If the party offers it affection or a cursed chew toy, there’s a 3-in-6 chance it becomes their loyal servant until it forgets who they are. Then it starts over, tail wagging.
“GOOD. BOY. ERROR.” Inscription on its creator’s tombstone.
DM Notes
Use the Beholder Retriever when your party is getting too smug. It’s technically deadly but far too loveable to hate. Introduce it like a boss monster. End the fight with it rolling over for belly rubs. Confuse your players. Make them question everything. Let them adopt it. Let it follow them home. Let it love.
Be afraid. Be very petted.
__________________________________________________________________
ENCOUNTER OF THE WEEK
HOT UNDER THE COLLAR: AN ENCOUNTER WITH SMORGLE THE RED
A sizzling tale of sweat, screaming, and sudden regret.
The party of dunces, each one more deluded than the last, stood proudly at the edge of the scorched ravine. The ranger sniffed the air.
"Smells like burnt bacon and bad decisions," she said.
"That’s just Garvin," the bard replied, pointing at the fighter, who’d forgotten what soap was three towns ago.
Below them, nestled atop a mountain of crispy knight bits and melted treasure chests, lounged Smorgle the Red, ancient wyrm and part-time motivational speaker.
"Oi!" shouted the barbarian, who thought diplomacy involved yelling louder than the other side. "Dragon! Come out and fight like a lizard!"
There was a pause. A puff of smoke. A growing heatwave that turned the cleric’s chainmail into something resembling microwave lasagna. Then —
BOOM!
Smorgle erupted from the cavern like a tax audit in dragon form. His scales shimmered like evil tinsel. His wings unfurled with all the subtlety of a rock concert.
He sneezed once, reducing a nearby hill into a glass sculpture titled Oops.
SMORGLE THE RED
AC: 18 (armoured in regrets and regret-proof scales)
HP: 310 (not that it matters, he’s still not impressed by your sword)
ATTACK: Bite (2d10+7), Claw x2 (2d6+7), Tail Whack (3d8+7 and mild concussion)
SPECIAL:
Fire Breath (Recharge 5-6): Deals 16d6 damage, roasts marshmallows, melts plot armour.
Smouldering Sarcasm: Targets one PC with a devastating insult; forces DC 18 Charisma save or suffer crippling self-esteem issues.
Wing Buffet: Knocks the party flat like dominoes in a wind tunnel. Bonus points if anyone’s hat flies off.
The wizard stepped forward, dramatically flipping his robe sleeve and pulling out a scroll that had more dust than wisdom.
"I cast Fireball!" he shouted.
Smorgle blinked. Slowly.
"You throw fire at me?" he said, in a voice that could grill steak. "That's like challenging Poseidon with a water pistol."
The spell fizzled. The wizard fared slightly worse.
The rogue tried to sneak behind Smorgle. He was last seen in orbit.
The cleric prayed to six gods. Five declined the call.
Smorgle yawned, then let out a small woof of fire that turned the fighter’s moustache into a war crime.
"Any last words?" the dragon asked, talons tapping impatiently.
The bard, to everyone’s surprise, stepped up. He strummed his lute. He sang a ballad so haunting, so moving, that Smorgle paused.
Then bit him anyway.
DM’s Notes:
If the players somehow survive (you softy), Smorgle flies off to lecture a nearby town on economic independence and incinerate anyone who disagrees.
XP Reward: One very crispy lesson in overconfidence.
Treasure: A melted sword, a potion of Heat Resistance (now tea), and a dragon-sized toothpick.
COMING NEXT WEEK:
“THE LICH WHO MISPLACED HIS PHYLACTERY (SPOILER: IT’S IN THE FRIDGE BEHIND THE MILK)”
TABLE OF TERRIBLE TABLES
EXCUSES WHY THE CLERIC’S LATE
(Roll 1d20 or just pick whichever makes your party laugh and/or weep.)
"I was communing with my god. They ghosted me."
"Turned Undead a bit too hard. Village no longer exists."
"Blessed the ale. Entire tavern now in a coma of spiritual intoxication."
"My holy symbol got repossessed. Again."
"Tried to walk on water. Forgot the lake was iced over."
"Ran into a rival priest. We had a hymn-off. He brought a choir."
"Accidentally healed a tax collector. He audited me on the spot."
"Held up at wandpoint by cultists. Convinced them to switch faiths. Now we’re late together."
"Woke up cursed. Again. Currently allergic to divine light and gluten."
"Lost in the incense fog. Walked into a broom cupboard for three hours."
"Divine revelation. Unfortunately, it involved interpretive dance."
"Lent my godly power to a bard. Long story. Very musical. Not legal."
"Went to buy holy water. Bought unholy sparkling cider instead. Possessed three nuns."
"My donkey got converted to atheism. Won’t budge now."
"Ran into an ex-paladin. Things were said. Smites were exchanged."
"Overslept in a sarcophagus. Thought it was an Airbnb."
"Tripped over a relic. Time-travelled. Fought my own future guilt."
"Spilled healing potion on a gremlin. He's pope now."
"My god told me to take the day off. I obey selectively."
"Was busy writing a new scripture. It’s mostly limericks. My deity is… conflicted."
Use this table whenever your party’s healer wanders in late, glowing faintly and muttering something about 'holy miscommunication.' Bonus points if the excuse makes things worse.
NOW OPEN: Le Dungéon Gastronomique
Fine Dining. Deep Delving. Dire Regrets.
Tired of stale trail rations, half-charred owlbear, and rogue-cooked mystery stew? Then descend into culinary decadence at Le Dungéon Gastronomique, the ONLY bistro located six storeys beneath the cursed ruins of Castle Cholerax (just past the gelatinous concierge and to the left of the screaming pillar).
Our Menu Is Killer. Literally.
Appetisers:
Goblin Carpaccio with Essence of Regret
Mimic Tartare (served before it eats the plate)
Flaming Skull Soup (extremely animated)
Mains:
Basilisk au Vin – don’t stare at it too long or it stares back
Chimera Wellington – comes with three sauces and three temperaments
Black Pudding Risotto – guaranteed to dissolve your palate (and your cutlery)
Desserts:
Gelatinous Cube Gelée
Fireball Flambé (Save vs. Dessert DC 15)
Lich’s Kiss: a sweet treat that may also bind your soul eternally to a sugar fiend
Dining Experience Includes:
Ambient dungeon screams for atmosphere
Tables enchanted to float slightly out of reach
Waitstaff reanimated nightly for optimal undead service
Wine list featuring only cursed vintages from the Nine Hells and suspicious cellars
Dress Code:
Chainmail casual. No cursed weapons at the table (unless tipped heavily). Cloaks of billowing encouraged.
Reservations Highly Fatal
Book now via Sending or scream into the void during a blood moon. First 20 diners receive a free +1 napkin of Absorb Elements.
Le Dungéon Gastronomique Where “you are what you eat” might be a prophecy.
COMING NEXT WEEK:
“THE GELATINOUS CUBE DIET: LOSE 1D10 POUNDS IN SECONDS!”
Finally, a fitness plan that really melts the weight off. Warning: side effects may include disintegration, screaming, and a sudden lack of bones. Includes bonus recipes for low-carb lich bread and necromantic smoothies.
COMING THIS SEPTEMBER FROM RED CAPE GAMES!
DUNGEON DUNCE is the TTRPG Family Farce nobody asked for, and now it’s too late to stop it. Built for players who peak at Level 9 (because double digits are for show-offs), this chaotic comedy crawl blends old-school dungeon disasters with questionable rulings, family-friendly monster mayhem, and a leveling system that punishes optimism like a vengeful step-parent. Inside you’ll find: 1. A Monster Rank System that makes even Giant Rats a family emergency. 2. New horrors to go alongside the classic monsters, like the Cabbage Lich and the Cosmic Duck, perfect for traumatizing your children at game night. 3. Dungeon Dunce Levels, where every level brings new powers and humiliating side effects, from spontaneous combustion to legally binding prophecies. 4. The Overlord’s Toolkit, because running this game should hurt you too. 5. Rules designed to ensure at least one player dies in the tutorial dungeon. We even slapped in your first adventure, pre-bungled, half-baked, and guaranteed to make your party fight a door for two hours. This isn’t just a dungeon crawl, it’s a family bonding exercise gone horribly wrong. Dungeon Dunce. The TTRPG Family Farce you’ll love to hate, and hate to survive.
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