DUNGEON DUNCE WEEKLY #9

LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

With Reverend Dungeon Master
Archbishop of bad ideas, ambassador of anarchy, and sanctified by accident in at least three divine realms and one suspiciously enthusiastic goblin bingo night.

Dear Reverend Dungeon Master,
Our barbarian insists on playing shirtless for “rage efficiency.” He now refuses to wear armour because “the nipples give him advantage.” Is this RAW or just wrong?

– Clara, Brighton

RDM:
Technically RAW: Ripped And Worrying.
While exposed nipples do not confer mechanical bonuses, they do impose disadvantage on restaurant entry and social stability. Recommend offering him magical pasties of Protection (+1 AC, +3 lawsuits).

Dear Reverend Dungeon Master,
Can I multiclass into warlock by swearing fealty to my cat? He stares into my soul, knocks over potions, and vanishes when I roll initiative.

– Greg, Leeds

RDM:
Congratulations! You’ve already formed a Pact of Indifference.
Just take Eldritch Blast, start feeding him only tuna-grade sacrifices, and sign your soul over to “Chair Scratcher, Prince of Shed Fur.”
Bonus: Your familiar now controls the narrative and the curtains.

Dear Reverend Dungeon Master,
My cleric lost his holy symbol during a very intense game of “spin the flask of endless mead.” Can I bless people using interpretive dance until I find a new one?

– Hazel, Cardiff

RDM:
Certainly. Divine power flows best through jazz hands.
As long as your choreography includes finger guns and a pelvic thrust of sanctification, you may perform all standard blessings.
Just beware of smiting the rhythmically impaired.

Dear Reverend Dungeon Master,
Is it cheating if I used Wish to make my character immune to plot?

– Nigel, Manchester

RDM:
Only if you admit it.
You’ve essentially become a narrative speed bump with hit points. I suggest your DM respond in kind with a level 20 Plot Element and a CR∞ Twist.
Best of luck against Lord Retcon, the Editor of Fates.

Dear Reverend Dungeon Master,
My party’s rogue won’t stop stealing from NPCs during emotional cutscenes. Last week, she pickpocketed a grieving widow’s lunch. What do I do?

– Stephanie, Glasgow

RDM:
Have you considered multi-classing her into Vulture?
Alternatively, equip all NPCs with mimic purses. After one bitey baguette and a grapple check from a sentient handbag, she’ll reconsider her klepto-kinks.
Bonus XP if she apologises in character.

Dear Reverend Dungeon Master,
I gave my bard a magical lute, but he uses it exclusively to play Wonderwall. The party’s threatening to leave unless I kill him. Can a cursed song be grounds for PvP?

– Jamie, Belfast

RDM:
Yes.
And not just PvP. Divine intervention. Wonderwall is officially banned in six planar systems. Replace the lute with a Bagpipes of Sonic Retaliation. If that fails, the next boss should be a music critic. CR 12. Resists nostalgia.

Send your complaints, confessions, and cursed correspondence to Reverend Dungeon Master at:
rcgdungeondunce@gmail.com

He may not answer, but your suffering will be canon.

Beadle & Grimm’s Unleashes a Glorious Massacre Anthology for D&D

Subtitle: Everyone Dies, No Refunds

Disclaimer: The author earns a few copper pieces from Amazon when you buy things. Enough for a weak healing potion. Maybe.

Hold on to your wizard hats, because Beadle & Grimm’s, those cheeky goblins of deluxe D&D kits, have just summoned Faster, Purple Worm! Everybody Dies, Vol. 1 into the mortal realm. It’s a murder buffet of 15 one-shot adventures for Dungeons & Dragons Fifth Edition, and the entire point is for your characters to snuff it. Gloriously. Horrifically. Hilariously.

That’s right, dear readers: a Total Party Kill isn’t just on the menu, it’s the main course.

What in the Nine Hells is Faster, Purple Worm! Everybody Dies, Vol. 1?

This 138-page tome is packed with bite-sized misadventures for 1st-level cannon fodder (sorry, “heroes”), each designed to last 1 to 2 hours, just long enough to get attached before getting unceremoniously squashed, exploded, devoured, or banished to a pocket dimension full of sentient cheese.

Spawned from the delightfully unhinged actual play series Faster, Purple Worm! Kill! Kill!, this book features celebrity dice-slingers like Deborah Ann Woll, Seth Green, Anjali Bhimani, and Matthew “Yes, That Guy from Scream” Lillard, who also co-founded Beadle & Grimm’s instead of pursuing a sensible job.

The book includes:

Original artwork and maps (so you can see where you’ll die)
Handouts to distract your players from the inevitable
Behind-the-scenes peeks at the making of the show, so you too can understand how a simple game night turned into full-scale party obliteration

How Much Does a Quick Death Cost These Days?

Glad you asked, you morbid little dungeon crawler.

Print version: $45 USD (plus shipping, handling, and possibly your soul)
PDF: $25 USD (instant delivery, instant regret)
Bundle (both): $50 USD – because maths

Buy it from Beadle & Grimm’s website or grab the digital version on DMsGuild. But don’t go looking for the exclusive Kickstarter edition with the alternate cover, it’s already sold out and probably cursed anyway.

Final Thoughts Before the TPK

Beadle & Grimm’s, normally known for turning existing D&D books into luxury box sets that make your wallet weep, have finally gone off the rails, in the best way possible. Everybody Dies, Vol. 1 is their first foray into completely original content, and they’ve absolutely nailed the landing... or rather, the crash.

If you like your D&D short, sharp, and fatal, like a fireball to the face, then this book’s for you.

So grab your dice, roll up a new character, and don’t get too attached. You’re going to die. Spectacularly.

NECROMANTICALLY YOURS
Brother Bartholomew’s Budget Resurrection & Miscellaneous Miracles
"Because death is only mildly inconvenient!"

Are your party members constantly getting themselves killed in hilariously stupid ways?
Tired of dragging charred corpses through dungeon corridors while the wizard yells “Don’t worry, I’ve got mending”?
Worry no longer, adventurer! Call on Brother Bartholomew, Mystic-for-Hire, Cleric-for-Cash, and licensed in at least one celestial jurisdiction!

Services Include

Resurrection on a Budget
– Guaranteed* to bring your mate back from the dead!
– May return with minor side effects: ghost farts, inconvenient hauntings, or a taste for beetles.
(*Guarantee void in Avernus, under water, or if decapitated.)

Speak with Dead-ish
– Can summon the spirit of your fallen friend (or anyone else with a skull and questionable opinions).
– Also available: “Passive-Aggressive Haunting” package. Great for exes!

Cursed Item Removal (With Fire)
– Got a sword that whispers tax advice at night? We’ll sort it.
– Includes a free cleansing bath in holy vinegar.

Weddings, Funerals, and Weird Hybrid Ceremonies
– Because “Til undeath do us part” isn’t just a suggestion.

“Brother Bartholomew resurrected my rogue in under ten minutes and only charged one goat and a firm handshake!”
– Satisfied Customer, Now Slightly Undead

“It was either him or a proper cleric. He had a sign.”
– Gary, Probably Still Cursed

ACT NOW AND GET A FREE BAG OF HOLY SALT

(*While supplies last. May contain trace demons.)

Look for the glowing tent behind the cemetery.
Open daily, closed during eclipses or audits.
Bookings via messenger raven, crypt whisper, or just yell into the fog.

Brother Bartholomew
"Affordable Miracles for the Questionably Aligned."

New Feat: Scary Face

Frighten foes and toddlers alike!

Prerequisite: A face (preferably yours)

You’ve mastered the ancient art of The Look, the same one that stops misbehaving children, mid-sugar rush, dead in their tracks. Whether you’re a seasoned adventurer or a slightly disappointed parent, your facial expressions now legally count as acts of intimidation.

While taking this feat, you gain the following benefits:

Face of Fear: Once per short rest, you may contort your features into a horrifying expression (bonus action). All creatures within 10 feet who can see you must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw (DC = 8 + your Charisma modifier + Proficiency Bonus) or become Frightened until the end of their next turn.
Terrifying Timing: You can replace one of your Attacks with a Scary Face. Doing so deals 1d4 psychic damage to anyone under 4 feet tall who makes direct eye contact (including halflings, children, and very unfortunate familiars).
Resting Glare: While not in combat, your passive Intimidation equals 15, unless someone offers you a hot drink or compliments your cloak.

“I didn’t mean to make the goblin cry, but in fairness, he was going through my handbag.”
— Lady Picklewhistle, Level 9 Grandmum Wizard

Monster Mash-Up: Displacer Duck

"Quack. But, like... over there."

Medium aberration, chaotically neutral (and deeply confusing)

Armour Class: 14 (displacement blubber)
Hit Points: 45 (6d8 + 18)
Speed: 30 ft., swim 20 ft., waddle 15 ft.

Abilities

STR 10 (+0)
DEX 16 (+3)
CON 16 (+3)
INT 2 (–4)
WIS 12 (+1)
CHA 7 (–2)

Saving Throws: Dexterity +5, Wisdom +3
Skills: Stealth +5, Illusionary Honking +0
Damage Resistances: Force, Piercing
Senses: Darkvision 60 ft., Passive Perception 11
Languages: Understands Common but only responds in quacks
Challenge: 1 (200 XP)
Proficiency Bonus: +2

Displacement Aura (Illusion)

The Displacer Duck appears to be about three feet to the left of where it actually is. Any attack roll against it has disadvantage unless the duck is incapacitated or restrained. A successful hit suspends this effect until the start of the duck’s next turn, after which it re-quacks into place.

Actions

Baffling Beak.
Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target.
Hit: 7 (1d8 + 3) piercing damage and 1 point of existential doubt.

Echoing Quack (Recharge 5–6).
The duck lets out a thunderous, multi-dimensional honk. All creatures within 15 feet must succeed on a DC 12 Constitution saving throw or suffer the following:

1d6 thunder damage
Disadvantage on Perception checks until the end of their next turn due to sonic trauma
An overwhelming urge to say, “What was that?!”

Quack-Lore

Bred accidentally by a half-blind wizard with a poultry obsession, the Displacer Duck is the scourge of birdwatchers, illusionists, and village ponds. Often mistaken for a harmless duck, until you miss it entirely and it bites your ankle from the wrong direction.

Tactics:

Never fights fair. Always waddles sideways.
Steals rations, especially bread.
Will flee at half health, quacking smugly as it vanishes.

OSR STATS

Displacer Duck

Armour Class: 4 [15]
Hit Dice: 4 HD (18 hp)
Move: 90’ (30’) / Swim 60’ (20’) / Waddle 45’ (15’)
Attacks: 1 beak (1d6)
No. Appearing: 1d3 (2d4 in migratory swarm)
Save As: Fighter: 4
Morale: 7
Alignment: Chaotic
XP Value: 135

Special Abilities:

Displacement Aura:
The duck appears to be 3 feet to the left of its actual location. All melee and missile attacks against it are made at –2 to hit. A successful hit suppresses this effect until the duck’s next turn.

Echoing Quack (Once per encounter):
Every creature within 30 feet must save vs. Paralysis or be deafened for 1 turn and take 1d4 damage from sheer sonic nonsense. Deafened targets suffer –1 to surprise rolls and cannot hear orders or spells with verbal components during that time.

Pondshift (Optional):
Once per turn, the duck can teleport up to 10 feet in any direction with a smug POP. It may do this at the start or end of its movement phase.

Description:

A displacer beast walked into a duck pond and never left. Now the villagers live in fear. The Displacer Duck is a vaguely feathery abomination that seems to exist in two places at once, both of which are stealing your breadcrumbs. It honks across dimensions, attacks ankles, and teleports just far enough to remain annoying.

Some claim it is the reincarnation of a cursed illusionist. Others say it’s just a very angry duck.

TABLES OF TERRIBLE TABLES

To be used at your game table, not your mum's dinner table

d20 Things Found in the Bottom of a Wizard’s Laundry Pile

(Roll only if you’re very brave, very bored, or smell something eldritch.)

One sock of Holding. Smells like brimstone. Screams when turned inside out.
A melted potion bottle labelled “Do Not Drink (Again)”.
3d6 copper pieces fused together with stale jelly.
The sentient lint golem known only as Fluffernox.
A love letter to a gelatinous cube, written in lemon juice and regret.
Half a teleportation scroll and the lower half of a frog.
An unwashed robe of Invisibility. Smells visible.
A dead bat wearing sunglasses. Still cooler than you.
A wand with a sock jammed on the end. Now casts “Static Shock” instead of Fireball.
One animate sandwich. Age: unknown. Intelligence: insulted.
A pair of talking underpants with abandonment issues.
2 ounces of pocket sand, now semi-sentient and mildly racist. Cringe.
A cursed laundry token marked “GOOD FOR ONE DOOM”.
A towel embroidered with the phrase: “The End is Nigh and Slightly Damp”.
A mimic pretending to be a sock pretending to be a mimic.
A scroll of “Prestidigistain”—a typo version that only stains things.
A severed wizard’s beard, still twitching, seeking revenge.
Seven enchanted moths arguing over rent.
A bar of soap labelled “MIND FLAYER SCENTED: FOR MEN”.
A note that reads: “If found, return to Merloth the Unclean. Or don’t. Honestly, he’s fine.”

NEXT ISSUE (but probably not)
As advertised in the cursed scrolls and scribbled on the loo walls of Ye Olde Troll Tavern.

In the (allegedly) Next Issue of Dungeon Dunce Weekly
(Assuming the editor survives the gelatinous libel lawsuit and the staff haven’t all been polymorphed into newt pâté)

• Feature Spread: “How to Train Your Ogre (And Still Keep Your Limbs)”
Our handy guide for monster-whisperers who’ve tragically mistaken a death-stare for a cuddle invitation.

• Exclusive Interview with a Mind Flayer
We probe the thoughts of this cerebral cephalopod. Turns out, it’s mostly lunch menus and haiku about brains.

• Goblin Fashion Week Review!
From loincloths to chainmail chic — we rate the trends from “Barbarically Elegant” to “Cursed and Crusty.”

• DIY Necromancy on a Budget
No bones? No problem! We’ll show you how to animate your enemies using string, dark magic, and sheer bloody-mindedness.

• Letters to the Editor
Including:
– A troll complaint written entirely in blood and porridge
– A bard's 9-page ballad about a typo
– Legal threats from the Pixie Union (again)

• Pull-out Poster: Sir Buffalump’s Epic Battle with a Slightly Annoyed Duck
Artfully rendered in crayon by our unpaid intern squire.

PLUS!
– Crosswords cursed by liches
– Spot-the-difference (between two piles of dungeon debris)
– This week’s Dungeon Dating Profile: “Lonely Beholder Seeks Gaze of Affection”

So grab your +1 mug of tea, batten down your beards, and prepare for the next issue, which may or may not arrive depending on wizard-related mail disruptions and/or a plague of sentient ferrets.

Dungeon Dunce Weekly
Funnier than a mimic with dentures.

(Probably not in shops near you.)

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.

Red Cape Games

Search This Blog