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WELCOME TO STAB & STAY TRAVEL AGENCY
"We book holidays you won’t survive!"Fancy a getaway? Tired of sunshine, happiness, and not being drained of blood by a brooding aristocrat in a cape?
Then Ravenloft is calling, and it’s not using its inside voice.
TRAVEL PACKAGE INCLUDES:
One-way coach ride through the mists
(Return trip not guaranteed. Or possible. Or legal.)
Five-night stay in Castle Ravenloft, hosted by Count Strahd himself. He’s charming, mysterious, and definitely not your type.
Complimentary welcome drink
(may contain blood, regret, or screaming souls. No substitutions).
Daily activities, such as:
Screaming in a crypt
Fainting on cobblestones
Running from werewolves in impractical shoes
Tarot readings that tell you you’re doomed (surprise!)
WHAT TO PACK:
Garlic, stakes, and spare trousers
A will, both legal and emotional
A cleric who enjoys long walks and holy water
Therapy. Pre-booked.
CUSTOMER REVIEWS:
"I went to find myself. I did. He was in a coffin." – Trevor, Level 3 Bard (Deceased)
“The Count said I had a lovely neck. Flattered… then fainted." – Sheila, Paladin Mum of 2
“Ten out of ten. Would be resurrected again." – Greg the Wizard, now a hat
BOOK NOW!
Use code: “AAARGH” for 5% off your soul
Call 1-800-FANG-TRIP or summon us by screaming into the fog.
STAB & STAY TRAVEL AGENCY
Because ordinary holidays don’t involve pitchforks.
Feature Article
HOW TO GET GODZILLA INTO YOUR D&D ADVENTURE (Or… Your Players Have Finally Gone Too Far And Now They Must Pay)
By That One DM Who Thinks “Balance” Is Just a Word Used by Quitters
Use code: “AAARGH” for 5% off your soul
Call 1-800-FANG-TRIP or summon us by screaming into the fog.
STAB & STAY TRAVEL AGENCY
Because ordinary holidays don’t involve pitchforks.
Feature Article
HOW TO GET GODZILLA INTO YOUR D&D ADVENTURE (Or… Your Players Have Finally Gone Too Far And Now They Must Pay)
By That One DM Who Thinks “Balance” Is Just a Word Used by Quitters
So your players have survived everything. They defeated the demigod of dry socks. They out-bluffed a mind flayer. They made friends with a beholder through interpretive dance. It’s time to break them. Properly.
Unleash GOR’ZILRAH, THE ANCIENT WOE-BEAST, GENIUS OF OBLIVION™. He stomps, he terrifies Tiamat, and he’s mad that he wasn’t invited to your campaign sooner.
STATS TO REGRET IMMEDIATELY
5E Stats – GOR’ZILRAH, King of the Monsters (CR: "Don't Ask")
AC: 28 (Scales blessed by the actual God of all Creation, because he was bored, and shod in titanium regret)
HP: 1,420 (It’s symbolic. And also horrifying.)
Speed: 80 ft. land, 60 ft. swim, 120 ft. in plot armour
STR: 35 | DEX: 18 | CON: 36
INT: 22 | WIS: 20 | CHA: 18
Saving Throws: Str +19, Con +20, Dex +10, Int +12
Skills: Insight +15, Arcana +18, Intimidation +50, History +17
To Hit: +21
Damage: All melee attacks deal 10d12+15. If you’re within 30 feet, you probably take damage just from the sound.
Resistances: Every known energy type and three that haven’t been invented yet
Immunities: Fire, Psychic, Force, being banished, being nerfed
Legendary Actions: Yes, and he can take yours too
Lair Actions: At initiative 20, the terrain gives up and leaves
Resistances: Every known energy type and three that haven’t been invented yet
Immunities: Fire, Psychic, Force, being banished, being nerfed
Legendary Actions: Yes, and he can take yours too
Lair Actions: At initiative 20, the terrain gives up and leaves
Special Attacks:
Atomic Breath 2.0 (Recharge 5–6): 600 ft. line, 30 ft. wide.
Every creature in range makes a DC 26 Dex save or takes 25d12 radiant-fire-force damage. On a successful save, take half and cry anyway.
Tail of Judgement: +21 to hit, 60 ft. reach. 10d12+15 bludgeoning + targets must make DC 24 Strength save or be launched into another continent. Literally.
Mega Stomp (Recharge 6): Causes a 100 ft. radius quake. All creatures in area must make a DC 24 Con save or take 12d10 thunder + prone + lose faith in dice.
Hyper Intelligence: Knows your real-life address. Counterspells spells you haven’t even cast yet. Makes puns before you do.
OSR Stats – GOR’ZILRAH, Genius of Oblivion (LL/BX Compatible)
Armour Class: -10
Hit Dice: 40 HD (280 hp minimum)
Move: 180’ (60’)
Attacks: 2 Claws (5d10 each), Tail (6d10), Atomic Breath (special, may include nuclear explosion)
No. Appearing: 1 (If more, consult therapist)
Save As: Fighter 27 / Magic-User 20
Morale: 12 (Unshakable. He took a paladin’s vow of self-confidence.)
Treasure Type: Omega
XP: Enough to level up all of Waterdeep
Special:
Atomic Breath: 1/day, 600’ beam. Save vs. Dragon Breath to take half 20d12 damage and wake up in a different campaign setting.
Hyper Intelligence: Immune to illusions, charms, confusion, player schemes, and emotional manipulation. Knows every spell up to level 9, and has opinions about them, not to cast them.
Lair Effect: Each round, terrain reshapes into ironic symbolism. Traps arm themselves. Magic items malfunction from sheer awe.
HOW TO RUN HIM WITHOUT CRYING
Don’t. Let him appear. Let him roar. And when he does make your players roll a Constitution check or lose their hearing. Permanently.
Let them think about your favorite NPC they killed. Let the map catch fire. If someone rolls a natural 20 and “totally hits him in the eye,” let them have it… and then reveal it was his decoy eye, worn for show.
Possible outcomes:
He philosophises the party into surrender.
He eats the villain they were supposed to fight.
They become his new toys. And he loves to play with his toys.
He gets bored mid-rampage and decides to go work in real estate.
CLOSING THOUGHTS FROM THE KING OF THE MONSTERS HIMSELF
“I don’t destroy worlds because I must. I do it because someone rolled a 1 and called me ‘scaly trousers.’”
Let your players face true dread. Let them weep. Let them write fanfiction about it later.
You step into the clearing and immediately regret every life choice that’s brought you to this point. The trees creak like your nan’s knees, and there’s a smell in the air that can only be described as “grandma’s breath after a full English and regret.”
A thatched hut squats in the middle like it’s offended by architecture. Smoke billows from the chimney. And then you see her, leaning over a cauldron, cackling like someone just told her the price of cheese.
She looks up.
“You’ve brought me soup ingredients or new skin, haven’t you?” she croaks. “Oh good. I was getting tired of the old lot. They kept twitching.”
She beckons you inside. She’s got soup on the boil, a deck of suspiciously screaming tarot cards, and what appears to be a pet squirrel with a monocle and a knife.
What you do next is entirely up to you:
Accept her invitation and risk your spleen
Try to outwit her with riddles, lies, or interpretive dance
Attempt to loot her hut while she’s monologuing
Run screaming and leave your slowest party member behind
Atomic Breath 2.0 (Recharge 5–6): 600 ft. line, 30 ft. wide.
Every creature in range makes a DC 26 Dex save or takes 25d12 radiant-fire-force damage. On a successful save, take half and cry anyway.
Tail of Judgement: +21 to hit, 60 ft. reach. 10d12+15 bludgeoning + targets must make DC 24 Strength save or be launched into another continent. Literally.
Mega Stomp (Recharge 6): Causes a 100 ft. radius quake. All creatures in area must make a DC 24 Con save or take 12d10 thunder + prone + lose faith in dice.
Hyper Intelligence: Knows your real-life address. Counterspells spells you haven’t even cast yet. Makes puns before you do.
OSR Stats – GOR’ZILRAH, Genius of Oblivion (LL/BX Compatible)
Armour Class: -10
Hit Dice: 40 HD (280 hp minimum)
Move: 180’ (60’)
Attacks: 2 Claws (5d10 each), Tail (6d10), Atomic Breath (special, may include nuclear explosion)
No. Appearing: 1 (If more, consult therapist)
Save As: Fighter 27 / Magic-User 20
Morale: 12 (Unshakable. He took a paladin’s vow of self-confidence.)
Treasure Type: Omega
XP: Enough to level up all of Waterdeep
Special:
Atomic Breath: 1/day, 600’ beam. Save vs. Dragon Breath to take half 20d12 damage and wake up in a different campaign setting.
Hyper Intelligence: Immune to illusions, charms, confusion, player schemes, and emotional manipulation. Knows every spell up to level 9, and has opinions about them, not to cast them.
Lair Effect: Each round, terrain reshapes into ironic symbolism. Traps arm themselves. Magic items malfunction from sheer awe.
HOW TO RUN HIM WITHOUT CRYING
Don’t. Let him appear. Let him roar. And when he does make your players roll a Constitution check or lose their hearing. Permanently.
Let them think about your favorite NPC they killed. Let the map catch fire. If someone rolls a natural 20 and “totally hits him in the eye,” let them have it… and then reveal it was his decoy eye, worn for show.
Possible outcomes:
He philosophises the party into surrender.
He eats the villain they were supposed to fight.
They become his new toys. And he loves to play with his toys.
He gets bored mid-rampage and decides to go work in real estate.
CLOSING THOUGHTS FROM THE KING OF THE MONSTERS HIMSELF
“I don’t destroy worlds because I must. I do it because someone rolled a 1 and called me ‘scaly trousers.’”
Let your players face true dread. Let them weep. Let them write fanfiction about it later.
ENCOUNTER OF THE WEEK: THE HAG IN THE BAG
You step into the clearing and immediately regret every life choice that’s brought you to this point. The trees creak like your nan’s knees, and there’s a smell in the air that can only be described as “grandma’s breath after a full English and regret.”
A thatched hut squats in the middle like it’s offended by architecture. Smoke billows from the chimney. And then you see her, leaning over a cauldron, cackling like someone just told her the price of cheese.
She looks up.
“You’ve brought me soup ingredients or new skin, haven’t you?” she croaks. “Oh good. I was getting tired of the old lot. They kept twitching.”
She beckons you inside. She’s got soup on the boil, a deck of suspiciously screaming tarot cards, and what appears to be a pet squirrel with a monocle and a knife.
What you do next is entirely up to you:
Accept her invitation and risk your spleen
Try to outwit her with riddles, lies, or interpretive dance
Attempt to loot her hut while she’s monologuing
Run screaming and leave your slowest party member behind
She won't immediately eat you. She likes to play with her food.
OLD NANNY GRIBBLEGRIT
AC: 15 (Warty hide and bad attitude)
HP: 88 (Fuelled by spite and bone broth)
ATTACK:
Claw swipe (+5 to hit, 2d6+2 slashing)
“Kiss of Doom” (one willing or paralysed target, 4d8 psychic damage and mild trauma)
SPECIAL:
Granny’s Gaze: Once per encounter, she can stare at a target and reduce them to a sobbing mess. DC 14 Wisdom save or you reveal your most embarrassing childhood moment aloud.
Living Furniture: Everything in the hut is alive. Yes, even the chair. Especially the chair.
Bargain Basement Magic: She can offer a “favour” in exchange for a finger, a memory, or your ability to pronounce the letter ‘R’. Accept at your own peril.
The choice is yours. Will you charm her? Fight her? Join her coven and get a free ladle?
Whatever you do, just don’t sit on the ottoman. It bites.
A Better Class Department
Granny’s Gaze: Once per encounter, she can stare at a target and reduce them to a sobbing mess. DC 14 Wisdom save or you reveal your most embarrassing childhood moment aloud.
Living Furniture: Everything in the hut is alive. Yes, even the chair. Especially the chair.
Bargain Basement Magic: She can offer a “favour” in exchange for a finger, a memory, or your ability to pronounce the letter ‘R’. Accept at your own peril.
The choice is yours. Will you charm her? Fight her? Join her coven and get a free ladle?
Whatever you do, just don’t sit on the ottoman. It bites.
A Better Class Department
Ranger Subclass: The Petty Pigeonmaster
“Nature is majestic, until you weaponise pigeons.”
Some Rangers tame wolves. Others whisper to trees. But you? You’ve bonded with the most feared, foul-tempered menace to ever haunt a town square: the pigeon. Not noble falcons. Not majestic owls. Nope. You chose the winged rat with trust issues and a beady little stare that says, “I’d nick your chips and your soul.”
As a Pigeonmaster, you wield a feathery army of aggressive avians with an attitude problem, and you are not above using them to harass nobles, scatter thieves, or decorate statues in glorious white shame.
Level 3: Feathery Fury
You gain a loyal pigeon companion. You name it something majestic like “Beakzilla” or “Sir Poopsalot.” It obeys your commands. Sometimes. When it’s not pecking locals.
Battle Pigeon
AC 13 (darts through your enemies’ dignity)
HP: Equal to your Ranger level
Attack: Peck (+4 to hit, 1d4+2 piercing + 1 embarrassment damage)
Special: On a hit, target must make a DC 12 Constitution save or become “Irritated” (disadvantage on next Charisma check due to pigeon flapping in their face like a napkin possessed)
Level 7: Dive-Bomb Brigade
Once per short rest, you summon a Swarm of Petty Pigeons. Ten of them. Possibly drunk.
They swirl around a target, obscuring vision, squawking insults, and occasionally relieving themselves mid-flight.
The target has disadvantage on ranged attacks and must roll a Dexterity save (DC 14) or fall over in a flapping panic.
Pigeons vanish after 1 minute or when bored.
Level 11: Guano Gambit
You’ve trained your birds in precision bombing. Once per long rest, you may mark a 10-foot radius as The Danger Zone.
On your turn, your pigeon squadron dive-bombs the zone, coating it in slick, horrifying guano. It counts as difficult terrain, and anyone entering or starting their turn there must roll a DC 15 Dex save or slip and fall spectacularly.
Falling targets take 1d6 bludgeoning damage and lose any respect the NPCs might have had for them.
Level 15: Lord of the Wings
You are now the uncontested Avian Overlord. Pigeons salute when you pass. Crows mutter in jealousy. Ducks move out the way.
You can speak with all birds, even the really thick ones.
Once per day, you may summon The Sky Mob; twenty birds of your choosing (mostly pigeons, maybe one really cross goose) to aid you.
They perform one task: attack a target, steal something shiny, or cover someone in such an epic barrage of bird business they’ll need divine intervention and dry cleaning.
Roleplaying Advice:
Always have breadcrumbs on hand. Threaten to use them.
Wear a cloak stained in bird droppings. Call it “war paint.”
Demand a pigeon perch in the party’s wagon. Or in the paladin’s beard.
Once per short rest, you summon a Swarm of Petty Pigeons. Ten of them. Possibly drunk.
They swirl around a target, obscuring vision, squawking insults, and occasionally relieving themselves mid-flight.
The target has disadvantage on ranged attacks and must roll a Dexterity save (DC 14) or fall over in a flapping panic.
Pigeons vanish after 1 minute or when bored.
Level 11: Guano Gambit
You’ve trained your birds in precision bombing. Once per long rest, you may mark a 10-foot radius as The Danger Zone.
On your turn, your pigeon squadron dive-bombs the zone, coating it in slick, horrifying guano. It counts as difficult terrain, and anyone entering or starting their turn there must roll a DC 15 Dex save or slip and fall spectacularly.
Falling targets take 1d6 bludgeoning damage and lose any respect the NPCs might have had for them.
Level 15: Lord of the Wings
You are now the uncontested Avian Overlord. Pigeons salute when you pass. Crows mutter in jealousy. Ducks move out the way.
You can speak with all birds, even the really thick ones.
Once per day, you may summon The Sky Mob; twenty birds of your choosing (mostly pigeons, maybe one really cross goose) to aid you.
They perform one task: attack a target, steal something shiny, or cover someone in such an epic barrage of bird business they’ll need divine intervention and dry cleaning.
Roleplaying Advice:
Always have breadcrumbs on hand. Threaten to use them.
Wear a cloak stained in bird droppings. Call it “war paint.”
Demand a pigeon perch in the party’s wagon. Or in the paladin’s beard.
Ranger: Pigeonmaster. For players who’ve stared into the eyes of a city pigeon and seen true malice… and thought, Yes. This is power.
Monster Mashup
Monster Mashup
DROLL
(Troll + Drow = A hideous combo with zero table manners)“He’s ugly, he’s sneaky, and he smells like wet mushroom stew.”
WHAT IS A DROLL?
Imagine someone tried to crossbreed a cave-dwelling goth elf with a warty garden bridge gremlin, and succeeded, horribly. The Droll is what happens when a Drow noble’s weird science experiment gets too personal with a regenerating Troll.
The result? A towering, greasy-skinned brute with silky white hair, glowing eyes, and a penchant for poetry about pain. He wears half a corset, carries a meat cleaver, and insists he’s “misunderstood.” No one asked.
WHY IS IT A PROBLEM?
Because it’s:
Sneaky like a Drow
Hard to kill like a Troll
And dramatic like a theatre student with a sword
It skulks in the Underdark, writes passive-aggressive cave graffiti, and ambushes adventurers with monologues and meat-hooks.
DROLL – MONSTER STATS
AC: 16 (hardened skin and emotional damage)
HP: 140 (regenerates 10 HP per round unless hit with fire, acid, or harsh criticism)
ATTACK:
“Sulky Slash” – +7 to hit, 2d8+4 slashing + 1d6 poison
“Brooding Stare” – Target makes DC 13 Charisma save or loses their next action to ponder the meaning of life and whether they’re the real villain
SPECIAL:
Darkness Mood Aura: Can cast Darkness once per short rest, usually during a tantrum
Whiny Regeneration: Regains HP while muttering things like “No one gets me…”
Dramatic Leap: Once per day, leaps 30 feet and lands in a pose, gaining advantage on his next attack due to sheer flair
OSR STATS
Chaotic Monstrosity of Moody Mayhem
HD: 7 (Average 31 HP, or 7d8)
AC: 5 (Warty skin, plus it’s constantly flinching from imagined betrayal)
Attacks: 1 cleaver (1d10) or 2 claws (1d6 each)
Move: 120’ (40’)
Morale: 9 (drops to 6 if you mock its poetry)
No. Appearing: 1 (thank the gods)
Save As: Fighter 7
Treasure Type: C (includes black eyeliner, half a locket, and a dagger named “Mum”)
Alignment: Chaotic
XP Value: 650
SPECIAL ABILITIES
Regeneration: Heals 3 HP per round unless struck by fire, acid, or blunt emotional honesty. Does not regrow feelings.
Spell Use: Once per day each:
Darkness 15’ radius (used during tantrums)
Charm Person (used on anyone who compliments his hair)
Brooding Gaze: 1/day – Forces all within 30’ to save vs Spells or be stunned for 1 round, caught in a haze of self-doubt and existential crisis.
Drama Leap: May jump 30’ once per day to land dramatically atop a crate, stalagmite, or emotionally significant outcrop. Gains +2 to-hit on next attack due to sheer theatre.
DROLL TACTICS:
Opens with Darkness, then monologues.
Uses Charm Person on the most gullible PC.
Retreats if wounded badly or mocked in a haiku.
If killed, leaves behind a smudged journal with entries like “Pain is the only candle in the endless Underdark of my soul.”
ENCOUNTER HOOKS
The local bard’s gone missing, last seen praising “the misunderstood poet-beast of the deep.” Guess who?
Someone’s been scribbling sad sonnets in blood on the dungeon walls and you just found the autograph: “XOXO, Droll.”
A goblin theatre troupe claims their director ran off with a “beautiful beast made of shadows and rage.” Right.
DROLL DIALOGUE SAMPLES:
“You wouldn’t stab a tortured soul, would you?”
“All I wanted… was to be loved. And to eat your spleen.”
“This isn’t a phase. This is me.”
DM TIPS
Play the Droll like a mix of Gollum, Severus Snape, and a very clingy ex. Make it dangerous, but deeply annoying. Lean into the tragic backstory. Then hit them with a cleaver.
The DROLL.
Because sometimes the worst monsters are the ones that cry and regenerate.
Table of Terrible Tables
OSR STATS
Chaotic Monstrosity of Moody Mayhem
HD: 7 (Average 31 HP, or 7d8)
AC: 5 (Warty skin, plus it’s constantly flinching from imagined betrayal)
Attacks: 1 cleaver (1d10) or 2 claws (1d6 each)
Move: 120’ (40’)
Morale: 9 (drops to 6 if you mock its poetry)
No. Appearing: 1 (thank the gods)
Save As: Fighter 7
Treasure Type: C (includes black eyeliner, half a locket, and a dagger named “Mum”)
Alignment: Chaotic
XP Value: 650
SPECIAL ABILITIES
Regeneration: Heals 3 HP per round unless struck by fire, acid, or blunt emotional honesty. Does not regrow feelings.
Spell Use: Once per day each:
Darkness 15’ radius (used during tantrums)
Charm Person (used on anyone who compliments his hair)
Brooding Gaze: 1/day – Forces all within 30’ to save vs Spells or be stunned for 1 round, caught in a haze of self-doubt and existential crisis.
Drama Leap: May jump 30’ once per day to land dramatically atop a crate, stalagmite, or emotionally significant outcrop. Gains +2 to-hit on next attack due to sheer theatre.
DROLL TACTICS:
Opens with Darkness, then monologues.
Uses Charm Person on the most gullible PC.
Retreats if wounded badly or mocked in a haiku.
If killed, leaves behind a smudged journal with entries like “Pain is the only candle in the endless Underdark of my soul.”
ENCOUNTER HOOKS
The local bard’s gone missing, last seen praising “the misunderstood poet-beast of the deep.” Guess who?
Someone’s been scribbling sad sonnets in blood on the dungeon walls and you just found the autograph: “XOXO, Droll.”
A goblin theatre troupe claims their director ran off with a “beautiful beast made of shadows and rage.” Right.
DROLL DIALOGUE SAMPLES:
“You wouldn’t stab a tortured soul, would you?”
“All I wanted… was to be loved. And to eat your spleen.”
“This isn’t a phase. This is me.”
DM TIPS
Play the Droll like a mix of Gollum, Severus Snape, and a very clingy ex. Make it dangerous, but deeply annoying. Lean into the tragic backstory. Then hit them with a cleaver.
The DROLL.
Because sometimes the worst monsters are the ones that cry and regenerate.
Table of Terrible Tables
d12 Random Events: You Rolled What, Now?!
For when the dungeon’s too dull and your players are too smug.
1. A Goblin Talent Show Erupts Nearby
A group of goblins has set up a stage and insists you judge their interpretive dance, chicken mimicry, and something they call “bagpipe jousting.” Refusal causes sulking. And javelins.
2. Your Sword Starts Talking
It now offers constant, unhelpful commentary: “You missed again? Maybe try closing your eyes next time.” It demands a name and weekly compliments.
3. A Wandering Bard Mistakes You for Celebrities
He sings your heroic tale completely wrong. You’re now known in three kingdoms as “The Flaming Trousers of Tickleburg.” You gain 1 reputation and 2 restraining orders.
4. The Ground Sneezes
The earth beneath your feet rumbles, snorts, and sneezes, launching your party 10 feet into the air and coating everyone in ancient subterranean pollen. Constitution save or allergy-induced disadvantage.
5. A Flying Saucer Crashes
Not magical. Not planar. Just full of confused, slightly aggressive space hamsters in jumpers. They want to barter for biscuits.
6. Potion Roulette
You find a mysterious table of unattended potions. One cures all wounds. The rest cause hiccups, glowing knees, or random burping in Draconic. One just smells like wet dog.
7. You’re Mistaken for the Tax Collector
A mob of peasants surrounds you, trying to bribe you with turnips and livestock to avoid paying their taxes. Local lord now wants a word.
8. The Moon Insults You
Everyone suddenly hears the moon’s voice. It’s smug. It knows your secrets. Mostly mocks your haircut and choice of armour. Wisdom save or develop a lunar complex.
9. Everything Turns Musical for 1d4 Minutes
You must sing all your actions. Spellcasting becomes interpretive opera. The barbarian does jazz hands. Initiative is now called “tempo.”
10. You Trip Over a Dramatic Reveal
Literally. You fall face-first into a hidden scroll revealing a massive plot twist. You may not understand it, but now everyone’s acting suspicious and calling you “the key.”
11. Your Backpack Has a Social Life
It’s been sneaking off at night to party with other bags of holding. One morning it refuses to open unless you apologise. For what, it won’t say.
12. A Royal Chicken Demands Trial by Combat
You have grievously offended Cluckles the Beheader, heir to the Cluckenstein throne. He is armed. He is noble. He is furious. And he’s got a tiny crown.
Roll once when things get too serious. Twice if the rogue is being smug.
WANTED: UNDERDARK CHICKEN FARMER
Position: Chief Poultry Handler / Crisis Negotiator
Compensation: One stale mushroom loaf per week. Exposure to spores included at no extra charge.
DO YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES to raise livestock in the world’s darkest hole full of psychic worms, screaming fungus, and moody Drow landlords?
Squawking Hollow Farms is hiring brave fools (sorry, farmhands) to manage our rapidly expanding flock of Deep Chickens (now with bioluminescence and murder instincts).
THE PROBLEM:
Cluckzor, the Abyss-Born Rooster, has claimed the cavern as his domain. He crows in Abyssal. He breathes spores. He’s formed a cult.
You’ll be expected to collect eggs without making eye contact, negotiate with feathered zealots, and possibly survive the Clucking, a psychic scream that echoes in your dreams and smells faintly of sulphur and omelette.
DUTIES INCLUDE:
Herding flightless birds that levitate anyway
Cleaning nests that periodically teleport
Avoiding the brood pit (the eggs have teeth)
Explaining to passing Myconids why the rooster is glowing and vibrating
TESTIMONIALS:
“They told me it was just poultry. They didn’t mention the chanting.”
– Durn, ex-cleric, current mushroom-based lifeform
“I now fear eggs.”
– Anonymous survivor
TO APPLY:
Send a scroll of intent, your will, and a sturdy pair of boots to Squawking Hollow Farms, Underdark Sector 7-G, just past the lava chute, before the tunnel that screams.
Or just show up. The chickens will know.
SQUAWKING HOLLOW FARMS
Feeding the Underdark. Regrettably. Proudly blacklisted by the Dwarven Agriculture Guild.
"Where the yolks are dark, and so are your chances."
COMING 5th SEPTEMBER FROM RED CAPE GAMES!
Because your children weren’t confused enough already.
DUNGEON DUNCE is the tabletop tomfoolery your family never asked for, but you’re getting anyway. It’s a family-friendly TTRPG misadventure for parents daring (or daft) enough to lure their kids into the cardboard jungle of dice and despair.
Designed for players who peak at Level 9, because anything higher cuts into nap time, Dungeon Dunce brings classic dungeon nonsense crashing into bedtime routines, school-night sugar crashes, and arguments about who gets to play the talking teapot.
Whether your kid becomes a Slayer with a kazoo or a Mage powered by biscuits, Dungeon Dunce is the chaotic bedtime storybook you never meant to open.
And yes, the first adventure is included. And yes, it's already going horribly wrong.
DISCLAIMER:
Red Cape Games accepts no liability for the moment your darling offspring turns into a tactical genius and begins quoting the rulebook at you like a tiny legal barrister in dragon-print pyjamas.
We are not responsible for:
Children outsmarting their parents.
Parents rage-quitting after losing a duel to a sock puppet dragon.
Emotional damage caused by being out-roleplayed by a six-year-old holding a juice box.
Play at your own risk. Lose at your own peril. And if it all goes horribly wrong?
Don’t blame us, mate. We warned you. Right here. In small, sarcastic print.
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