D100 Tables

Wild Magic Surges

Chaotic side effects when a spell slips its leash.

1 A plume of harmless multicolored sparks bursts from your hands for one minute.
2 Your skin turns a vivid shade of teal for 24 hours.
3 You float three inches above the ground until the end of your next turn.
4 Every word you speak is echoed one second later by a tiny spectral voice.
5 A gentle rain of flower petals falls in a 20-foot radius around you.
6 Your hair grows a full foot and braids itself.
7 For one minute, you can only speak in rhyming couplets.
8 A spectral butterfly follows you for one hour, landing on anyone who lies.
9 You smell strongly of cinnamon for the rest of the day.
10 Your shadow acts out your movements a heartbeat too late for ten minutes.
11 All unlocked doors within 30 feet slowly swing open.
12 A mug of warm, excellent tea appears in your free hand.
13 Your voice drops two octaves until you finish a long rest.
14 Nonmagical flames within 30 feet turn blue and give off no heat for one minute.
15 You are convinced, for one minute, that your name is Gerald.
16 A random pocket of yours fills with exactly 37 copper pieces.
17 For the next hour, birds within 100 feet find you fascinating and gather nearby.
18 Your eyes glow faintly silver in the dark for one week.
19 You hiccup a small, harmless soap bubble every time you speak for ten minutes.
20 The nearest ally briefly sees you as their childhood hero, then laughs.
21 You teleport 10 feet in a random direction to an unoccupied space.
22 Every coin you touch today comes up heads when flipped.
23 A faint fanfare of trumpets sounds whenever you enter a room for one hour.
24 Your footprints glow softly for one minute after each step, fading behind you.
25 You can taste colors for the next ten minutes; blue is disappointing.
26 A harmless illusory duplicate of you appears and applauds you, then vanishes.
27 Grass and small flowers sprout in your footsteps for the next hour.
28 You become weightless for six seconds; jumping is inadvisable.
29 For one minute, you understand the chatter of nearby rodents.
30 Your clothing changes to formal evening wear until the next dawn.
31 A small rain cloud follows the nearest creature that insulted you today.
32 You cannot say the word 'the' for the next ten minutes.
33 Everything you write for the next hour appears in flawless calligraphy.
34 A spectral hand politely dusts off your shoulders, then dissipates.
35 You glow like a torch until the end of your next turn.
36 Your reflection waves at you the next time you pass a mirror today.
37 For one minute, all your spoken words appear as floating illusory text above your head.
38 The next fruit you touch turns to gleaming, edible gold worth 1 gp.
39 You sneeze glitter for the next ten minutes.
40 A friendly, illusory cat winds between your legs and vanishes after a minute.
41 Your ears become pointed for 24 hours, or rounded if they already were.
42 You gain the perfect memory of a recipe for outstanding mushroom stew.
43 Everyone within 20 feet hears faint, pleasant harp music for one minute.
44 Your boots squeak melodiously in the key of C for one hour.
45 You know, with certainty, which direction is north for the next week.
46 A single duck appears in the nearest body of water and regards you with respect.
47 Your fingernails grow into elegant claws for one hour; they are useless in combat.
48 For ten minutes you must narrate your own actions in the third person.
49 The temperature within 10 feet of you drops pleasantly on a hot day, or warms on a cold one, for one hour.
50 You burp a small puff of green smoke that forms a smiley face.
51 All nonmagical rope within 30 feet ties itself into neat coils.
52 Your hat, or hair if you have no hat, is briefly on fire; it is harmless and smells of toast.
53 You can hop twice your normal jump distance until the end of your next turn.
54 An illusory banner reading 'HUZZAH' unfurls above you for six seconds.
55 Your tongue turns black for a day; it tingles when someone says your name.
56 You gain the irresistible urge to bow dramatically after every sentence for ten minutes.
57 The next door you open leads into the same room from the opposite side; the effect then ends.
58 Small motes of light orbit your head like a halo for one hour.
59 You are certain a fish is watching you. Somewhere, one is.
60 Any drink you hold turns into fresh, cold spring water for the next hour.
61 Your voice sounds like a chorus of three of you speaking in unison for ten minutes.
62 A gust of wind swirls around you, scattering loose papers within 20 feet.
63 You shrink three inches for 24 hours; your gear does not.
64 For one minute, you can walk on water but not stand still on it.
65 A spectral quill writes down everything you say for one minute, then the page vanishes.
66 Your next sneeze is thunderously loud, audible 300 feet away.
67 All buttons, buckles and laces on your outfit undo themselves.
68 An illusory rainbow arcs from your position to the nearest treasure, visible only to you, then fades.
69 You forget the last joke you heard but remember one twice as good.
70 For ten minutes, your hands glow when within 5 feet of anything magical.
71 You radiate an aura of calm; nonhostile beasts within 10 feet are docile for one hour.
72 Your beard grows a foot; if you cannot grow one, you now temporarily can.
73 Every shadow you cast for one minute is shaped like a small dragon.
74 You taste a phantom flavor of your favorite childhood meal and feel briefly homesick.
75 The next word you shout echoes seven times regardless of surroundings.
76 Your armor or clothing polishes itself to a brilliant shine.
77 A tiny illusory storm cloud rains over one random coin pouch within 30 feet.
78 You can breathe a puff of harmless frost once within the next hour.
79 All dice, cards and game pieces within 30 feet rearrange themselves into a winning position for you.
80 Your left hand and right hand swap dominant roles for one hour.
81 A faint smell of ozone and lavender follows you for the rest of the day.
82 You involuntarily wink at the next person who speaks to you.
83 The ground within 5 feet of you becomes springy and moss-like for ten minutes.
84 You hear the distant, encouraging cheer of a crowd whenever you succeed at anything for one hour.
85 Your teeth chime softly like tiny bells when you laugh, for one day.
86 A perfectly ripe pear materializes on the nearest flat surface.
87 For one minute, you can see through your own eyelids; blinking is unsettling.
88 Ink within 30 feet briefly rises off the page and swirls like smoke before settling back.
89 Your voice carries perfectly to every corner of the room for ten minutes, as if on a stage.
90 You know exactly how many beans are in any container you look at for one hour.
91 A ring of mushrooms sprouts around you in a 10-foot circle.
92 Your next yawn releases a swarm of harmless illusory moths.
93 For 24 hours, cats trust you implicitly and dogs are suspicious.
94 One item in your pack is now lovingly gift-wrapped.
95 You feel the sudden certainty that today is somebody's birthday nearby. It is.
96 Your hair changes to a color of your choice; it fades back over a week.
97 A gentle breeze follows you indoors for one hour, ruffling your cloak heroically.
98 For one hour, your reflection in any surface smiles warmly at you, regardless of your mood.
99 You may immediately ask the DM one yes-or-no question about the current room; the answer arrives as a whisper on the wind.
100 Roll twice more on this table; both effects occur.

Trinkets & Curiosities

Odd little things found in pockets, chests and market stalls.

1 A brass key that hums faintly when held near locked doors it cannot open.
2 A glass marble containing a slowly swirling wisp of grey smoke.
3 A wooden duck with one wheel missing and a name carved underneath: 'Sir Pond'.
4 A dried rose that never loses another petal.
5 A tin soldier whose painted face looks slightly different every morning.
6 A cracked monocle that makes everything viewed through it look freshly cleaned.
7 A small bell with no clapper that you can still somehow hear in dreams.
8 A river stone with a perfect spiral groove, warm to the touch.
9 A deck of cards missing every queen.
10 A tiny portrait of a frowning halfling; the frame smells of pipe smoke.
11 A silver locket that refuses to open on rainy days.
12 A vial of sand that always settles into the shape of a mountain range.
13 A candle stub that burns with a green flame but is never consumed on holy days.
14 A whistle carved from a dragon scale; it makes no sound, but horses hate it.
15 A left-hand glove of fine make; the right hand was reportedly buried with its owner.
16 A ceramic frog with a slot in its back and exactly one copper inside that cannot be shaken out.
17 A map of a city no one can identify, drawn in a child's hand.
18 A pocketwatch that runs backward on the anniversary of its maker's death.
19 A braid of three different colors of hair, tied with wire.
20 A wooden nesting doll; the innermost doll is missing and the second-smallest is always slightly ajar.
21 A bar of soap that smells like a different flower each week.
22 A pressed four-leaf clover between two panes of cracked glass.
23 A thimble sized for a giant's finger.
24 A love letter written in Dwarvish, unsigned, never sent.
25 A fishhook made of bone that always points toward the nearest body of water when hung from a string.
26 A domino with nine pips on one side and a tiny painted eye on the other.
27 A patch of cloth from a famous ship's sail, or so the previous owner claimed.
28 A brass button embossed with a tower that does not match any known heraldry.
29 A vial of perfume that smells wonderful to you and terrible to everyone else.
30 A stone finger from a statue, wearing a copper ring that will not slide off.
31 A miniature hourglass in which the sand falls upward.
32 A jar of pickled onions with a label reading 'DO NOT EAT UNTIL THE WEDDING'.
33 A child's drawing of a knight fighting a turnip.
34 A tuning fork that rings on its own once a day, always at the same hour.
35 A dried starfish with six arms painted gold.
36 A tiny book of blank pages; page 54 has a corner folded down.
37 A horseshoe nailed to a small piece of driftwood, labeled 'my luck, do not touch'.
38 A clay pipe carved to look like a sleeping fox.
39 A single earring shaped like a crescent moon that is always cold.
40 A ball of twine that never tangles but is always exactly one foot too short.
41 A set of six teeth, none of them from the same kind of creature.
42 A snow globe containing a miniature lighthouse; sometimes the light is on.
43 A wooden spoon burned with the words 'second place'.
44 A folded paper bird that slowly unfolds itself over the course of a day.
45 A shard of mirror that reflects the room behind you as it looked ten years ago.
46 A cork with a tiny door painted on it.
47 A signet ring bearing the crest of a noble house that was erased from all records.
48 A dead beetle the size of a fist, iridescent and smelling faintly of vanilla.
49 A skeleton key made of ice that never melts but is too slippery to turn.
50 A ticket stub for a theater performance dated fifty years from now.
51 A lump of wax with a perfect thumbprint that matches no one's.
52 A tiny anchor on a chain, far too heavy for its size.
53 A recipe card for 'Widow Hemlock's Forgiveness Pie', with one ingredient scratched out.
54 A bronze compass whose needle points at the holder's strongest regret.
55 A doll's porcelain hand, palm up, holding a real seed.
56 A flat stone that always lands face up, no matter how it is thrown.
57 A tarnished spoon with a hole in the bowl and 'TRUST ME' engraved on the handle.
58 A moth preserved in amber; its wings bear markings like a screaming face.
59 A coil of copper wire that slowly straightens itself when no one watches.
60 A tiny grave marker for 'Bartholomew, Best of Rats'.
61 A bottle cap from a brewery in a city that burned down a century ago.
62 A pair of dice that always roll a combined seven when rolled by moonlight.
63 A quill made from a feather too large to be from any known bird.
64 A knot of red string; untying it reportedly ends a friendship somewhere.
65 A music box that plays a lullaby your mother sang, no matter who your mother was.
66 A jar of honey that never crystallizes, from hives no one can find.
67 A tin containing one hundred needles, each bent at the same angle.
68 A wooden coin stamped 'good for one favor' with an illegible signature.
69 A tiny ship in a bottle; on stormy nights, its sails are furled.
70 A cat's collar with a bell and a tag reading 'IF FOUND, DO NOT RETURN'.
71 A fragment of stained glass showing a single closed eye.
72 A chess pawn carved to look like it is sprinting.
73 A seashell that whispers yesterday's weather instead of the sea.
74 A leather bookmark stamped with the words 'you were here'.
75 A pewter tankard the size of a thumb, engraved 'World's Smallest Problem'.
76 A braided bracelet that tightens gently when someone nearby says your name.
77 An acorn that is warm in winter and cold in summer.
78 A stub of chalk that only draws doors.
79 A dried inkwell; whatever is scraped from the bottom smells of the ocean.
80 A small brass sun that can be screwed onto something, though nothing fits.
81 A cracked egg shell, glued back together, slightly heavier than it should be.
82 A funeral card for a man whose portrait winks in candlelight.
83 A silk handkerchief embroidered with a map of a single room.
84 A wooden top that spins for exactly as long as you hold your breath.
85 A hollow tooth with a rolled slip of paper inside reading 'not yet'.
86 A pincushion shaped like a plump devil; the pins never rust.
87 A slate pencil that writes faintly on air, the marks fading in seconds.
88 A badge naming the bearer 'Honorary Militia of Fowlbrook', a village no map shows.
89 A rabbit's foot that twitches when hounds bay.
90 A miniature painting of a door, and behind the paper backing, a tiny key.
91 A knuckle bone etched with a rune that no scholar recognizes but every child can read.
92 A green glass fishing float that glows dimly when the tide is highest.
93 A stick of sealing wax that smells like a campfire and old stories.
94 A tiny scarecrow, expertly made, wearing a scrap of genuinely fine silk.
95 A coin with a hole in the middle; through the hole, stars are visible even at noon.
96 A folded flag of a nation that surrendered before its first battle.
97 A clockwork cricket that chirps only when it is safe to sleep.
98 A tin of mints from a shop called 'The Last Laugh'; there is always one mint left.
99 A plain gray pebble. The previous owner insisted it was the most important thing they owned.
100 A ring of seven keys; each opens something you have already lost.

Tavern Events

Something is always happening when the party sits down for a drink.

1 A bard begins a ballad about a recent deed of the party, with most details wrong.
2 Two farmers argue loudly over whose turnip won the harvest fair; both turnips are present.
3 The cook bursts from the kitchen chasing a cat that has stolen an entire trout.
4 A hooded figure in the corner has been nursing the same drink for six hours.
5 An arm-wrestling contest starts; the reigning champion is a stout grandmother.
6 Someone left a baby basket by the fire with a note: 'back in ten minutes', an hour ago.
7 A dwarf challenges the room: drinks are free for anyone who can out-sing him.
8 The tavern dog, Biscuit, will not stop staring at one specific floorboard.
9 A traveling merchant auctions a 'genuine wyvern egg' that is clearly painted stone.
10 A round of drinks arrives at the party's table, sent by someone who has already left.
11 The barkeep quietly asks a party member to taste a new stew and be honest.
12 A courier stumbles in, exhausted, asking if anyone can read Elvish.
13 Dice players in the corner are cheating each other simultaneously, and both know it.
14 A local claims his cousin saw lights over the old mill again last night.
15 The fireplace pops loudly and briefly burns green; only the party seems to notice.
16 A halfling stands on a table and announces she is retiring from adventuring, effective now.
17 Someone posted a new bounty on the notice board and misspelled the monster's name badly.
18 A ship's crew celebrates a survived storm by buying the whole room a round.
19 An old woman offers to read fortunes; she refuses to read one party member's palm.
20 The serving lad drops a full tray, and the whole tavern applauds mercilessly.
21 A wandering priest blesses each table, but skips one without explanation.
22 Two nobles slum it in bad disguises; their 'commoner' accents are atrocious.
23 A drinking song starts, and every verse adds a new name of a fallen local hero.
24 The tavern cat drops a still-twitching coin purse at a party member's feet.
25 A man sobs into his ale over a letter; the seal on it is from the royal court.
26 Musicians strike up a reel; an unexpectedly agile old man dances everyone under the table.
27 The barkeep rings a bell: 'Last keg of the summer ale! When it is gone, it is gone!'
28 A ranger in the corner is quietly feeding a hawk pieces of her dinner.
29 Someone has carved fresh initials into the party's table since they sat down.
30 A guard patrol enters, scans the room, apologizes for the intrusion, and leaves fast.
31 A very small dragonborn child is going table to table selling painted rocks. Business is good.
32 The tavern's famous 'bottomless stew pot' runs empty for the first time in living memory.
33 A tiefling wins a card game with a hand no one at the table can prove is impossible.
34 An arm slams the bar: a stranger wants to buy the tavern, tonight, in gold.
35 Someone tuned the house lute perfectly overnight, and the resident bard is deeply unsettled.
36 A hunter shows off a pelt from a beast no one can identify. It smells of cold iron.
37 The party overhears a whispered price for safe passage across the border, per head.
38 A brewer begs patrons to try her experimental nettle beer. It is genuinely excellent.
39 A drunk patron insists he used to adventure with one of the party members. He did not. Probably.
40 Every candle in the room gutters at once as the door opens, but no one enters.
41 The notice board has a new posting: a reward for the return of a stolen wedding cake.
42 A gnome sets up a tiny puppet theater and performs the fall of an empire in nine minutes.
43 Two rival caravan masters begin loudly poaching each other's guards across the room.
44 The barkeep discreetly waters down the ale of a patron who has had enough, with the ease of long practice.
45 A young couple asks the loudest table to please keep it down; the loudest table adopts them instead.
46 A trapdoor behind the bar is opened for a delivery; the cellar below is much deeper than it should be.
47 An off-duty executioner drinks alone; the stool beside him stays empty all night.
48 A patron pays with a coin from a kingdom that has not existed for four hundred years.
49 The tavern parrot recites a string of numbers, and one merchant abruptly leaves.
50 A militia sergeant recruits for a night watch; pay is bad, but she throws in breakfast.
51 Someone's pet mimic incident from last year is retold, again, with the burn marks pointed out.
52 A storm knocks out the shutters; the whole room works together to rescue the dartboard first.
53 The kitchen announces free bread ends for anyone who can bring firewood before dark.
54 A masked patron tips extravagantly and asks the barkeep to simply pretend they were never here.
55 A dwarf funeral party arrives to drink the departed's tab dry, as written in the will.
56 Local kids press their faces to the window until the cook chases them off with a ladle, then sneaks them pies.
57 A wizard's unattended drink slowly stirs itself. The wizard is asleep.
58 The dartboard's bullseye has been stolen. The prime suspect is a magpie with a known record.
59 A stranger buys the oldest patron a drink and asks him to talk about the town 'before'.
60 An arm-wrestling table collapses mid-match, and both contestants claim victory forever.
61 The bard passes a hat 'for the orphanage'; the barkeep confirms, surprisingly, that it is legitimate.
62 A cloaked figure asks the barkeep for 'the usual', though no one has ever seen them before.
63 Tonight only: the cook's legendary firepepper chili. A waiver must be signed.
64 A ratcatcher displays tonight's haul and is paid by the tail, to general applause.
65 Someone challenges the party's most intimidating member to darts. Loser sings.
66 The town clerk works through a stack of papers in the corner, stamping each with visible hatred.
67 A soaked messenger arrives with news that the bridge is out, stranding everyone until morning.
68 A retired knight tells war stories; the details change with every ale, growing sadder and truer.
69 The tavern runs a lottery for a smoked ham. There is one ticket unaccounted for.
70 A patron quietly slides a folded note under the party's door key at the bar.
71 A washed-up prizefighter offers lessons in the yard for a copper a swing.
72 The house special tonight is named after a party member. No one will say why.
73 Every mug in the room briefly frosts over; the barkeep pointedly does not comment.
74 A caravan guard recounts, shaking, what the wolves outside town did NOT do. They just watched.
75 The bard's love ballad accidentally names a patron's secret sweetheart. Chaos.
76 A monk breaks a drinking record without saying a single word, bows, and leaves.
77 A merchant tries to pay her tab with 'exposure to her wealthy clientele'. The barkeep is unmoved.
78 The party's table wobbles; under one leg is a folded, sealed letter addressed to no one.
79 A goblin in a tiny waistcoat enters, sits properly at the bar, and orders warm milk. The barkeep serves him like a regular.
80 A birthday is announced, and tavern law demands the honoree stand on the bar for one song.
81 A patrol drags in a captured highwayman who cheerfully greets half the room by name.
82 The stew tonight tastes better than usual. Noticeably. Suspiciously.
83 A hedge witch sells charms by the door; hers is the only dry cloak in the room.
84 Two bards begin a duel of escalating insults in perfect meter. Bets are taken.
85 An apprentice smith shows off her first sword to the room. It is bad. The room is kind.
86 The tavern's founding charter is read aloud, as it is every year, including the clause about the goat.
87 A traveler asks too many casual questions about the town's night watch schedule.
88 A weeping man is gently ejected; he keeps insisting the tavern was not here yesterday.
89 The kitchen cat has kittens behind the ale barrels, and all commerce stops for an hour.
90 An overloaded pack mule outside finally sits down, and its owner concedes, ordering two hay bales and an ale.
91 A scarred mercenary buys the party a round and says only: 'For the road you are about to take.'
92 The candles burn low and someone begins a ghost story that names a real, local house.
93 A halfling matriarch inspects the premises; the barkeep sweats. She nods once. Relief.
94 Someone has chalked a crude but accurate map of the local caves on the privy wall.
95 The last patron of the night pays for a room, walks upstairs, and is not there in the morning.
96 A festival float is being built in the yard; volunteers are conscripted with free cider.
97 The barkeep flips the party's coin, studies it, and asks where exactly they got it.
98 At midnight, everyone raises a glass to 'absent friends' without being prompted, all at once.
99 A regular quietly checkmates the town's chess champion using a set that is missing its white king.
100 Roll twice more on this table; both things happen at the same time.

Dungeon Dressing

Details, debris and strange discoveries for any dungeon room.

1 A tidy stack of forty tin plates, licked perfectly clean.
2 Chalk tally marks on the wall: 4,749 strokes, the last one half-finished.
3 A rusted cage, door open, with a cushion and a tiny knitted blanket inside.
4 Scorch marks on the ceiling in the shape of a perfect circle.
5 A boot, standing upright, laces tied, in the exact center of the room.
6 Dozens of keys nailed to the wall; none fit any lock in this dungeon.
7 A mural of a feast where every painted face has been carefully scratched out.
8 A cold draft that smells of pine forest, far underground.
9 An abandoned campsite: bedrolls for five, packs for four.
10 Water drips from the ceiling into a bucket that should have overflowed years ago.
11 A chalk hopscotch grid, its squares numbered in Infernal.
12 The skeleton of a large fish, wall-mounted, with a small plaque: 'ALMOST'.
13 A door frame with no door, and hinges polished bright from frequent use.
14 Someone has swept this room recently. The broom leans in the corner, still warm.
15 A pile of clothing folded with military precision, decades out of fashion.
16 Deep claw gouges in the stone floor, all leading away from the far wall.
17 An hourglass on a shelf, mid-flow. No one has been here in years.
18 A wall niche holding a shrine to a god of doorways, its candle freshly lit.
19 Hundreds of dead moths arranged in a spiral on the floor.
20 A message in soot above the arch: 'IT COUNTS YOUR FOOTSTEPS'.
21 A rocking chair, gently moving, facing the entrance you came through.
22 Barrels of pickled vegetables, still good, stamped with a royal quartermaster's seal.
23 A game of cards abandoned mid-hand; the winning hand is face down.
24 The far wall is warm to the touch and hums faintly, like a sleeping animal.
25 A rope ladder leads up into darkness; its top is anchored to nothing visible.
26 Six pairs of shoes by the door, arranged smallest to largest. The largest are enormous.
27 A stone face in the wall, its mouth worn smooth by centuries of whispered secrets.
28 An overturned inkwell; the stain has soaked into the floor in the shape of a running man.
29 A cauldron of wax with hundreds of wicks: a candle that is also a trap of sentiment.
30 Fresh flowers in a vase. Nobody can say what is keeping them fresh, or who brings them.
31 A wall covered in children's height markings, the highest one seven feet up.
32 The remains of a beautiful door, lovingly demolished with an axe from the inside.
33 Rat nests built entirely from shredded love letters.
34 A silver dinner bell on a velvet pillow under a glass dome, with a sign: 'ONLY IF DYING'.
35 Perfectly preserved footprints in old mortar: two people dancing.
36 A well shaft in the floor; the splash of a dropped stone comes far too late.
37 An empty picture frame hung on the wall, the stone behind it worn from being looked at.
38 A workbench of half-finished wooden toys, each with one detail lovingly perfected.
39 The word 'BEHIND' scratched hastily into the floor, pointing at nothing.
40 An enormous fireplace with a spit sized for an ox, ashes still faintly warm.
41 A row of iron hooks: seventeen lanterns, all shattered, one missing.
42 A stone bench worn into a smooth groove by a lifetime of the same person sitting.
43 Mushrooms growing in the perfect outline of where a body once lay.
44 A locked chest with its lid pried off beside it; inside the chest is a smaller locked chest.
45 Piles of coins fused into a single lump by ancient dragonfire, worth less than the story.
46 A curtain of chains hangs across the room's center, each link etched with a name.
47 Someone has repaired the ancient masonry here recently, and expertly.
48 A dressmaker's dummy wearing chainmail tailored for a serpentine body.
49 An altar cracked cleanly in two, both halves scrubbed clean and dusted.
50 A trail of dried mud footprints that begins abruptly in the room's center.
51 Wine racks stretching into the dark; every bottle is empty and re-corked.
52 A stuffed and mounted owlbear, moth-eaten, posed mid-pounce over the doorway.
53 The ceiling is painted as a night sky with constellations no astronomer would know.
54 A privy with a bookshelf beside it, the books well-thumbed and surprisingly scholarly.
55 A grinding wheel and a bin of swords, every one sharpened and every hilt removed.
56 Deep grooves in the floor where something circular and heavy was rolled, daily, for years.
57 A birdcage containing a nest with three stone eggs, one of which is cracked from inside.
58 An empty pedestal with a note in fresh ink: 'Borrowed. Sorry. Back soon. - V.'
59 Someone's collection of interesting rocks, labeled with names like 'Gerald' and 'The Duchess'.
60 A tapestry showing this exact room, including the tapestry, including you looking at it.
61 A latrine bucket polished to a mirror shine. Someone here had standards, or a curse.
62 Ancient graffiti: 'THE COOK DID IT', crossed out, then rewritten with three underlines.
63 A pool of still water; its reflection shows the ceiling of a different room.
64 Practice dummies made of straw, each stabbed exactly once, perfectly through the heart.
65 A dumbwaiter shaft; its ropes have been cut and retied dozens of times.
66 A candle burned down into a mound of wax the size of a barrel, one wick still lit.
67 A neat pyramid of forty-one skulls; a small card names each and thanks it for its service.
68 The floor here was once a mosaic map of the region; boot traffic has erased everything but the mountains.
69 An iron maiden, door open. It has been converted, very carefully, into a wardrobe.
70 A chess table mid-game; black is winning, and both chairs face away from the board.
71 Meat hooks on ceiling chains, each hung with a wreath of dried herbs instead.
72 A stone door with three hundred keyholes; only one shows scratches around it.
73 Buckets of whitewash and a half-painted wall, covering a mural of an open eye.
74 A spider web spanning the corridor, spun to mimic the pattern of a stained-glass window.
75 Bones sorted by type into labeled crates: femurs, ribs, 'miscellaneous'.
76 A gong the size of a wagon wheel, wrapped tightly in seven layers of blankets and rope.
77 An open ledger on a lectern, recording tolls paid, the last entry made this morning.
78 Roots have broken through the ceiling and grown around an old lantern, holding it aloft.
79 A row of seven cell doors; six are rusted shut, one is oiled and swings freely.
80 A shrine of stacked river stones, and beside it, someone's carefully mended left boot as an offering.
81 The temperature drops sharply at a precise line across the room, straight as a ruler.
82 A dozen mousetraps, all sprung, all empty, arranged facing the same wall.
83 A wardrobe standing alone; inside hang thirty identical grey robes and one red one.
84 Scratch marks tally the days on a cell wall, grouped in sevens, ending in a drawing of a boat.
85 An anvil with a sword blade sunk deep into it, hammered in backwards out of what looks like spite.
86 A basin of clean, hot water. Steam rises. There is soap.
87 A library of stone shelves; every book is fused shut with age except one, which is bookmarked.
88 An enormous pawprint set in the ancient mortar of the floor, deliberately preserved with a border tile.
89 Wind chimes made of old spoons hang from the ceiling in a room with no wind. They are ringing.
90 The whole room lists slightly, like the deck of a ship, though the walls are true.
91 A mummified cat sits atop a pillar with a plaque: 'STILL WATCHING'.
92 Chalk outlines of tools on the wall, so each could be re-hung in its place. Every tool is missing.
93 A copper bathtub full of sand, and in the sand, the impression of someone sleeping.
94 A doorway bricked up from this side; a copper pipe protrudes at ear height, mouthpiece polished bright.
95 Moths circle a lantern that is not lit and has no fuel.
96 A market stall, fully assembled, deep underground, stocked with jars of preserved starlight. Probably paint.
97 Names carved into the wall by the door, in dozens of hands, under the words 'WE GOT THIS FAR'.
98 The room is empty. Perfectly, deliberately, suspiciously empty. Even the dust has been removed.
99 A staircase descends exactly three steps, ends at smooth solid stone, and shows centuries of wear.
100 Roll twice more on this table; this room has both.

Road & Travel Encounters

Flavor and light encounters for days on the road.

1 A merchant's cart has lost a wheel; she offers a discount for a strong pair of hands.
2 A milestone reads a different distance depending on which side you read first.
3 A funeral procession passes in silence; the mourners nod thanks when you stand aside.
4 Fresh wolf tracks parallel the road for a mile, then simply stop.
5 A pilgrim walking barefoot asks to share your fire and pays in remarkable stories.
6 The bridge ahead is out; a local kid offers to show a ford 'for a copper and a sweet'.
7 A tax collector's booth stands empty, its ledger open, its coin box untouched.
8 An oxcart driver dozes while his ox follows the road perfectly without guidance.
9 You find a traveler's boot print in dried mud with a coin pressed neatly into the heel mark.
10 A crossroads gallows stands empty, and someone has planted flowers all around it.
11 A messenger gallops past, shouting an apology over her shoulder.
12 The smell of baking bread drifts across the road, miles from any dwelling.
13 A tinker's wagon jingles into view; he sharpens knives and trades gossip at fair rates.
14 Two farmhands drive a single enormous pig to market. The pig has a name and opinions.
15 A roadside shrine's donation bowl holds a gem worth a fortune. Everyone has left it.
16 You pass a field where every scarecrow wears real, battle-scarred armor.
17 A patrol stops you, checks a sketch against your faces, sighs with relief, and moves on.
18 A wandering priest offers blessings for travelers; his donkey wears tiny sandals.
19 Distant on a hilltop, a rider watches your group for a long moment, then vanishes.
20 An overturned honey cart has made a stretch of road gloriously, hazardously sweet.
21 A signpost has been turned; the moss on its north side gives away the trick.
22 Children race alongside your group for a while, awarding you all secret titles.
23 A caravan camp invites you to share their fire, on the condition you bring a new song.
24 The road passes through a tunnel of ancient trees that hush all sound completely.
25 You find a dropped satchel of letters; each is addressed, stamped, and undelivered.
26 A herd of sheep floods the road; the shepherd is nowhere to be seen, but the dog is in charge.
27 An old battlefield borders the road; farmers plow around one patch nobody touches.
28 A rain squall hits with impossible suddenness and stops the same way, leaving double rainbows.
29 A fellow traveler offers to trade rations: his dried fish for anything that is not dried fish.
30 A toll bridge's keeper waves you through free: 'You will pay on the way back. Everyone does.'
31 You camp near a stone circle; the night is utterly, unnaturally peaceful.
32 A courier with a broken ankle begs you to carry a sealed letter one town onward.
33 Someone has hung dozens of wind chimes in a dead tree by the road.
34 A traveling barber-surgeon offers haircuts, tooth-pulling, and legal advice, all mediocre.
35 Wild horses pace your group at a distance for an hour, then wheel away as one.
36 The road is lined for a mile with cherry trees in full bloom, out of season.
37 A hunter shares your road and points out three ambush spots you would have missed.
38 An abandoned wagon holds a locked strongbox and a note: 'It is not worth it. Trust us.'
39 A ferry crossing is delayed; the ferryman insists the river 'is in a mood'.
40 A galloping horse without a rider passes; ten minutes later, a furious knight on foot.
41 Your group is overtaken by a walking library: a giant tortoise fitted with bookshelves and a librarian.
42 A village en route celebrates a festival for a saint no one outside the village has heard of.
43 Lightning splits a tree a field away; in its trunk, something metallic glints.
44 A beggar at the crossroads asks not for coin, but for one honest compliment.
45 You find yesterday's campsite of another party: neat, cold, and arranged exactly like yours.
46 A stretch of road is paved with old gravestones, names down, by ancient decree.
47 A goose pursues your party with focused hostility for a quarter mile, then loses interest.
48 Riders escort a veiled noblewoman past; she drops a glove and does not look back.
49 A farmer swears the standing stones in his field moved closer to the road overnight.
50 The next mile of hedgerow is full of songbirds all singing the same seven notes.
51 A road crew fills potholes with suspicious speed and skill; their foreman is a stone giant, on contract.
52 You pass an inn burned down years ago; fresh horse tracks lead into the ruin, none lead out.
53 A peddler sells maps of the road ahead 'as it was, as it is, and as it will be'. Only one is cheap.
54 An escaped festival bear naps in the middle of the road, wearing a tiny hat.
55 A wandering sword-for-hire walks with you a while and pays for the pleasure with camp songs.
56 Migrating birds fill the sky for an hour, flying, unmistakably, in formation.
57 The road forks around an ancient oak; locals kiss their palm and touch it as they pass.
58 A mud-caked adventurer trudges the other way, muttering: 'The map is wrong. It is all wrong.'
59 You cross paths with a census taker who asks each of you your occupation, and blinks slowly at the answers.
60 A roadside grave is decorated with fresh flowers and a full, corked bottle of good wine.
61 An apiarist's wagon has spilled; the road hums, but the bees are strangely gentle.
62 A watchtower on a hill flies a signal flag that a passing veteran mutters is fifty years out of date.
63 You find a ring of mushrooms neatly encircling a milestone. The distances on it change if you step inside.
64 A rival adventuring party passes with painful cheerfulness, heading the way you came.
65 A tollkeeper accepts riddles in lieu of coin, by ancient charter, and is starved for good ones.
66 Thick fog rolls in and every sound arrives from the wrong direction until it lifts.
67 A drover's cattle refuse, absolutely, to cross a certain shadow on the road.
68 You pass a chain gang repairing the road; their guard reads them poetry, badly, to pass the time.
69 A hot spring steams beside the road, with towels drying on a line and a carved sign: 'HONOR SYSTEM'.
70 A local lordling and his hunting party thunder across the road, ruining a farmer's fence and not caring.
71 An ancient milestone has been lovingly recarved; the mason left their name and the year, 300 years ago.
72 A string of ponies carries cheese wheels the size of cart wheels; the smell precedes them by a mile.
73 A quiet stretch of road where your own footsteps sound like they belong to more people than you have.
74 A wandering scholar pays a silver for each local legend your party can recount to her.
75 The road dips through a hollow where it is, briefly and inexplicably, autumn.
76 A knight errant guards a bridge against all comers, per an oath he clearly, deeply regrets.
77 A caravan of tinkers passes; one wagon's silhouette has too many elbows, and waves anyway.
78 You find a coin purse in the road with a note: 'If you need it, take it. If not, add to it.' It is heavy.
79 A field of sunflowers all face the road as you pass, instead of the sun.
80 An old soldier plants trees along the roadside, one for each name in a list he keeps.
81 A downpour forces everyone under the same oak: your party, a merchant, two thieves, and a constable.
82 The village ahead rings its bells as you approach; it is not for you. Probably.
83 A troupe of actors rehearses a play by the roadside and begs an audience; they are performing your last adventure.
84 A little girl sells 'guard geese' at a roadside stand. The geese take their profession seriously.
85 For an hour, your shadows point the wrong way. Nobody on the road mentions it.
86 A dust cloud on the horizon resolves into hundreds of riderless, saddled horses, running hard.
87 A hermit by a cairn offers each traveler one true thing about the road ahead, and one lie.
88 You pass under an aqueduct; someone far above is singing, and the arches carry it for miles.
89 A merchant caravan flies plague flags, but the guards wave you close: the flags just keep bandits away.
90 An enormous footprint has become a pond beside the road. Ducks live in it now. There is a bench.
91 A star falls in daylight, trailing gold, and lands beyond the hills exactly where you are headed.
92 A gravedigger walks the road with his spade, tipping his hat to each traveler and counting under his breath.
93 The king's road crew is repainting every milestone; the old paint, chipped away, reveals older numbers underneath.
94 A silent monk walks the road planting a bell at every crossroads 'for later'.
95 A wedding party spills across the road and absorbs your group as honored guests before you can object.
96 You reach the crest of a hill and see the road wind ahead through country that matches no map you carry.
97 A black cat crosses the road, stops, looks at your party, and visibly decides not to bother.
98 At dusk, lanterns light themselves along a mile of road that no lamplighter has walked in decades.
99 Every traveler you meet for an hour greets you by name, apologetically, as if mistaking you for someone else.
100 Roll twice more on this table; the road provides both.

NPC Quirks

Habits, tics and traits that make any NPC memorable in seconds.

1 Always speaks in a near-whisper, forcing everyone to lean in.
2 Collects buttons and openly appraises yours mid-conversation.
3 Refers to themselves in the third person, but only when nervous.
4 Constantly polishes something: a coin, a badge, a single spoon.
5 Laughs a beat too late at every joke, then far too long.
6 Quotes their grandmother for every occasion; the quotes contradict each other.
7 Is convinced they have met you before and will not be told otherwise.
8 Ends every sentence with a small, satisfied nod.
9 Keeps a live snail in their breast pocket and consults it on decisions.
10 Never sits with their back to a window, and rearranges chairs to avoid it.
11 Chews fennel seeds and offers them to everyone, twice.
12 Uses grand titles for everyone: 'my lord baker', 'her excellency the stable girl'.
13 Cannot start a task without cracking every knuckle in order.
14 Wears a mourning band for a pet that died fifteen years ago.
15 Corrects everyone's grammar, apologizing profusely while doing it.
16 Hums sea shanties despite never having seen the sea.
17 Counts coins by stacking them into little towers before paying.
18 Keeps glancing at the door as if expecting someone specific.
19 Introduces their weapon by name before introducing themselves.
20 Has a firm, wet handshake and total confidence in it.
21 Insists on paying for everything in exact change, slowly.
22 Speaks to animals as equals and to nobles as animals.
23 Smells faintly of a spice nobody can quite place.
24 Writes down everything anyone says in a tiny, battered notebook.
25 Claims every scar has the same story, told differently each time.
26 Never says 'yes' - only 'we shall see', even to obvious things.
27 Wears gloves indoors and eats with them on.
28 Whistles through a gap in their teeth when thinking hard.
29 Names every price in eggs first, then converts to coin.
30 Blinks conspicuously rarely.
31 Apologizes to furniture when bumping into it.
32 Has memorized the local law code and cites paragraph numbers casually.
33 Always stands exactly one step too close.
34 Sniffs any coin before accepting it, and rejects one in ten.
35 Keeps their hood up indoors 'because of drafts'.
36 Talks with their hands so much that drinks nearby are in danger.
37 Believes firmly in an ointment that fixes everything, and carries it.
38 Refuses to say the name of the local river; calls it 'that one'.
39 Wears seven rings and turns a specific one when lying.
40 Greets everyone with a different, elaborate secret handshake they invented.
41 Is aggressively proud of their handwriting and finds excuses to show it.
42 Sings the last word of a sentence when in a good mood.
43 Has strong opinions about soup and shares them unprompted.
44 Repeats the last three words anyone says, quietly, like an echo.
45 Never blows out a candle without saying a tiny farewell to it.
46 Keeps a tally of every favor owed to them, sealed in wax.
47 Wears their belt over their coat and will defend the choice.
48 Calls every young person 'sprout' and every old person 'captain'.
49 Cannot pass a mirror without straightening something.
50 Chews on a wooden toothpick carved like a tiny sword.
51 Describes distances only in 'days of walking with my knee'.
52 Taps any doorframe twice before walking through.
53 Openly narrates their own haggling: 'and now I act insulted'.
54 Has an obviously fake accent that slips when startled.
55 Feeds crumbs to birds mid-conversation without breaking eye contact.
56 Refers to their spouse only as 'the administration'.
57 Cries easily and freely, especially at good news.
58 Cracks their neck before answering any hard question.
59 Insists a rival merchant is behind everything, including the weather.
60 Uses 'we' exclusively; nobody has ever seen the other person.
61 Wears spectacles with one clearly plain glass lens.
62 Recites a short blessing over every meal, weapon, and doorway.
63 Is always slightly out of breath, even when sitting.
64 Collects foreign curses and deploys them with scholarly precision.
65 Draws little maps to answer any question, even 'how are you'.
66 Keeps their coin purse inside a second, angrier-looking purse.
67 Compliments strangers' boots as an icebreaker, always boots.
68 Claims to be retired from a profession they clearly still practice.
69 Snaps their fingers when remembering something, loudly, both hands.
70 Refuses to whisper; their 'quiet voice' is a stage mutter.
71 Always eats dessert first, citing mortality.
72 Has named their wheelbarrow and speaks well of it.
73 Interrupts themselves constantly with 'but that is another story'.
74 Wears a flower matching the day of the week.
75 Distrusts anyone who does not like dogs, and says so.
76 Answers questions with questions, apologizing every time.
77 Keeps exact count of how many times each person has laughed at their jokes.
78 Folds anything foldable: napkins, letters, other people's maps.
79 Stares into the middle distance mid-sentence, then resumes perfectly.
80 Claims their left ear can hear lies; it is their right that twitches.
81 Offers everyone tea, has never once actually had tea available.
82 Ends negotiations by spitting in their palm; nobles find this distressing.
83 Remembers everyone's name but assigns them the wrong professions.
84 Speaks of the town's founding as if they had been there. They might have.
85 Carries a chair leg 'from the old place' for luck.
86 Practices their signature in the air during dull moments.
87 Always positions themselves nearest the exit and denies it.
88 Grades every sunset aloud; standards are exacting.
89 Has a bell on their belt and jingles when startled, which is often.
90 Quietly stacks anything unstacked on the table while talking.
91 Talks to their coin purse to reassure it during purchases.
92 Uses nautical terms for everything despite living inland: 'aft door', 'port stool'.
93 Keeps pressing small useful gifts on people: string, nails, a raisin.
94 Never finishes the last bite of any meal, 'for the house spirits'.
95 Absolutely will not discuss cheese, and everyone knows not to ask.
96 Introduces every story as 'a short one' - none are.
97 Has perfect posture that becomes alarming when they finally slouch.
98 Points with their chin, hands firmly in pockets.
99 Memorizes one fact about each stranger and opens with it next meeting.
100 Roll twice more; this NPC has both quirks, and they are related.

City Events

Street scenes and urban happenings for any town or city.

1 A parade for a guild anniversary blocks the main street; confetti is mandatory.
2 Pickpocket! A halfling child bounces off a party member and apologizes twice.
3 Two street performers wage an escalating turf war of juggling and flame.
4 A noble's carriage has thrown a wheel; servants hold up traffic and tempers.
5 Town criers from rival broadsheets shout contradictory versions of the same news.
6 A cat burglar is chased across the rooftops by three winded constables.
7 The fish market erupts: someone found a ring inside a very expensive cod.
8 A wizard's chimney releases smoke rings shaped like polite apologies.
9 The beggars have organized and now issue receipts.
10 A building inspector condemns a tavern mid-lunch; patrons carry their table outside and keep eating.
11 A wedding party spills out of a temple straight into a funeral procession; both stop, awkwardly.
12 Someone is selling 'genuine dragon eggs' that are clearly painted melons.
13 The town clock strikes thirteen; everyone pretends it did not.
14 A pigeon race ends at the square; fortunes change hands over birds.
15 Apprentices carry a ludicrously long ladder through the crowd, chaos pending.
16 A sinkhole opens neatly around a shrine, leaving it untouched on a pillar of earth.
17 Guards conduct a checkpoint, searching every cart for 'contraband cheese'.
18 A street artist draws unnervingly accurate portraits of passersby, including one of a party member, already finished.
19 An escaped circus monkey redistributes hats with a strong sense of justice.
20 The bakers' guild is on strike; the smell of no fresh bread hangs heavy.
21 A crier announces a curfew starting tonight, reasons 'to be disclosed'.
22 Two nobles duel with extreme politeness and dull swords over a carriage spot.
23 A rooftop gardener's prize pumpkin breaks loose and descends the high district stairs with gathering speed.
24 Sewer workers emerge mid-street, pale, and vote unanimously for early retirement.
25 A merchant's talking parrot is under arrest for slander; the hearing is public.
26 A troupe of masons repairs the fountain while it runs, out of pride.
27 A locksmith demonstrates an 'unpickable' lock; a bored child picks it.
28 The night soil cart and the perfume cart have collided. The street votes with its feet.
29 A statue in the square has been dressed, overnight, in full formal wear, expertly tailored.
30 A landlord and tenant argue in the street; the crowd scores each point aloud.
31 Foreign sailors ask directions to a street that was renamed eighty years ago.
32 A fortune teller's booth has a line around the block after three predictions came true.
33 The lamplighters' guild performs their evening rounds in perfect choreography; locals time it.
34 A house is being moved. The whole house. On logs. Everyone has opinions.
35 A pie-eating contest ends in a draw and a nap.
36 City workers repaint street names; half the district is briefly nameless.
37 A crowd watches a chess match between the harbor master and a dockside automaton.
38 A young noble hands out invitations to a masquerade to strangers, including the party.
39 Someone has chalked arrows on walls all over the district; they all converge on an empty lot.
40 The bell tower's bell is missing. The ringer rings anyway, out of habit, mouthing 'bong'.
41 A rat piper leads a modest procession of rats toward the docks; he waves cheerfully.
42 Guild examiners test a journeyman's bridge model by standing on it in the square.
43 A tax amnesty is announced; the line forms with remarkable, suspicious speed.
44 An upstairs argument concludes with a lute exiting a window, still ringing.
45 A street kitchen feeds anyone who chops one onion; the line chops a mountain of them.
46 Two temples hold competing festivals on the same square, escalating in incense and volume.
47 A courier collapses; her satchel holds letters addressed to twelve different names, same handwriting.
48 The fountains run faintly pink today; the dye guild issues a smug non-apology.
49 A landslide of barrels escapes a brewery wagon; volunteers 'rescue' several.
50 A masked figure hands a party member a coin, whispers 'for the ferry', and is gone.
51 An orphanage choir performs; the constable conducting is tone-deaf and beloved.
52 A window display of clockwork toys plays out last year's scandal in miniature, to a gathering crowd.
53 A ladder brigade rescues a wizard's familiar from a weathervane, again.
54 The market's oldest stall changes hands; the whole street pauses for the handshake.
55 A herald mispronounces a royal name and is corrected by two hundred people at once.
56 Street kids run a betting ring on which chimney the stork lands on. It is rigged. The stork is in on it.
57 A funeral for a beloved innkeeper closes three streets; the procession serves drinks.
58 An alchemist's shop vents glitter; the block will sparkle for weeks.
59 A duel is announced for dawn; by evening, vendors sell commemorative mugs.
60 The city's oldest tree is being pruned; citizens catch falling branches like relics.
61 A tailor displays a coat 'woven from rumor'; it looks different to everyone.
62 Dockworkers unload a crate that growls; paperwork says 'cabbages'; nobody argues with paperwork.
63 A public reading of a new law devolves into a poetry slam of objections.
64 The gutter kids have adopted a retired guard dog as their sergeant; patrols are conducted.
65 A hot air balloon drifts over the city; half the crowd cheers, half files complaints.
66 An artist unveils a mural of the city council; the likenesses are actionable.
67 Someone rings the old plague bell as a prank; the city's response time is impressive and furious.
68 A ghost is reported in the bathhouse; attendance doubles.
69 Rooftop laundry lines flutter with hundreds of white shirts; from above, they spell a word.
70 The bridge toll is waived today in honor of a saint nobody can find in any calendar.
71 A merchant prince walks unguarded, giving away apples; his bodyguards, disguised as fruit sellers, are conspicuous.
72 A five-year-old sells 'maps to treasure' for a copper. One buyer returns hours later, shaken, and buys ten more.
73 A street preacher forecasts doom; his little sister follows behind, forecasting mild inconvenience.
74 The night watch trains a new recruit; the whole street quietly conspires to make his first patrol easy.
75 An eel cart overturns. The resulting scene defies summary.
76 A widow releases her late husband's message pigeons; they circle once and roost on her roof, all of them.
77 A councilman is egged. The crowd's silence is somehow unanimous approval.
78 Scaffolding collapses slowly enough for everyone to watch, point, and shout advice.
79 A silk merchant drapes his entire stock across the square 'to air it'; the effect is accidental art.
80 The gong of the fire brigade sounds; it is a cat in the gong again.
81 A famous retired adventurer signs autographs; her prices are listed and firm.
82 A produce stall's scale is publicly tested by the weights office; the tension is theatrical.
83 Someone has taught the fountain fish to gather when a bell rings; a wizard takes notes.
84 The mad cartographer sells maps of the city 'as it will be in 200 years'; the harbor is a garden.
85 A guild initiation requires the initiate to serenade the fish market at noon. It is today.
86 A locked, unmarked carriage has been parked in the square for three days. Fines accumulate on its door like snow.
87 The lantern festival's test run turns the canal into a river of drifting lights, a month early.
88 A pickpocket returns a stolen purse with interest and a note of apology, the third this week.
89 The astronomer's tower opens to the public; the line is long and one visitor's disguise is not fooling the pigeons.
90 Bricklayers uncover a mosaic under the street and refuse to pave over it until 'someone important' sees it.
91 A soup vendor achieves local sainthood by feeding a teething griffin hatchling without losing the ladle.
92 Chalk graffiti of a smiling sun appears on doors that will receive good news within a day. It is on your inn's door.
93 The debt collectors' office burns its oldest ledgers in a public ceremony; the crowd is festive.
94 A theater rehearses a sword fight on their balcony; the street below critiques the footwork.
95 A child's kite string has caught the weathervane; an impromptu committee forms below.
96 Every dog in the district points, once, at the same manhole, then carries on as if nothing happened.
97 A street sweeper finds a gold tooth and posts a notice: 'Owner may claim. Bring gum line for matching.'
98 The census taker's route today includes a house that, according to records, burned down twice.
99 Musicians on four different corners accidentally sync into the same song; the square applauds the coincidence.
100 Roll twice more on this table; the city does both at once.

Magic Item Quirks

Harmless personality traits for magic items of any kind.

1 The item hums a single low note when drawn or used, always slightly flat.
2 It is always two degrees warmer than the room.
3 It smells faintly of rain on stone.
4 The item refuses to touch the ground; dropped, it lands on something else, however small.
5 Its surface shows yesterday's sky instead of reflections.
6 It purrs almost imperceptibly when praised.
7 Any knot tied around it unties within an hour.
8 The maker's mark rearranges into the current owner's initials over a week.
9 It grows lighter the further it travels from its birthplace, and it is very light now.
10 Moths are drawn to it but never land.
11 It casts the shadow of a slightly grander version of itself.
12 Once a day it clicks softly, as if satisfied.
13 The item cannot be drawn quietly; it insists on a faint dramatic chime.
14 Frost never forms on it, and snowflakes swerve.
15 It tastes of honey. Everyone eventually checks. Do not ask.
16 Small print appears on it in moonlight: care instructions in Celestial.
17 It sulks when stowed for more than a day, going dull until handled.
18 Dogs salute it. Not bark - salute.
19 It weighs exactly the same as the owner's guilt that day; mostly unnoticeable, occasionally alarming.
20 The item repels dust and redirects it, pettily, onto the owner's other possessions.
21 When lost, it whistles once per hour, like a bored child.
22 It becomes briefly transparent when its owner lies.
23 Every full moon it is, for one night, left-handed. Nobody knows what this means, but it is.
24 Rainwater beads off it in perfect spheres that roll uphill for a foot before remembering physics.
25 It absorbs the first sip of any drink left within reach. Only the first.
26 The item collects static and delivers one tiny vengeful spark each winter morning.
27 Its color is slightly different in every painting or drawing made of it.
28 It vibrates near unmarked graves, faintly, like a held breath.
29 Birdsong pauses when it is drawn, out of professional respect.
30 It remembers being dropped and creaks accusingly near that spot ever after.
31 The item warms when its previous owner is mentioned by name.
32 In total darkness, it glows just enough to be unhelpful.
33 It smells of a campfire exactly one hour before rain.
34 Spiders build only symmetrical webs within ten feet of it.
35 The owner's name, whispered near it, sounds like a chord.
36 It leans. Stood upright anywhere, it settles at four degrees. Always four.
37 Ink spilled near it forms brief, flattering sketches of it before drying.
38 It is always dry. Lakes, storms, soup - always dry.
39 Once a year, on its forging day, it rings at dawn like a small bell.
40 It does not appear in the memories of people who met it briefly; they recall an umbrella.
41 Cats sit facing it, at a respectful distance, in shifts.
42 When pointed north it trembles slightly, like a dog told to stay.
43 The item polishes itself, but only while genuinely unobserved.
44 It picks favorites among the party and is warmer to the touch for them.
45 Its scratches heal, but scars from meaningful battles remain, arranged tastefully.
46 Held to the ear, it plays the muffled sounds of the workshop where it was made.
47 It disapproves of haggling and grows heavy in the hand during negotiations.
48 Every gem or stud on it counts as one eye; the party is being watched, fondly.
49 Sand near it arranges into concentric rings overnight.
50 It hates a specific, common word and buzzes when anyone says it. The party will find the word.
51 Bread sliced near it never goes stale that day.
52 It dreams. Left overnight, it is found turned to face east.
53 The item casts no shadow at noon, having presumably better things to do.
54 Former owners' faces appear briefly in polished surfaces nearby, nodding approval or wincing.
55 It counts. Tallies of everything it deems important appear as tiny notches that fade weekly.
56 Wine near it improves; ale near it takes offense and goes flat.
57 It is magnetic only to keys, and coy about it.
58 Songs sung near it stay in tune, whether the singer cooperates or not.
59 When the owner sleeps outdoors, it rotates slowly to face the nearest road, standing guard.
60 It has a rival: one other object in the owner's pack keeps ending up wedged beneath it.
61 Its inscription translates differently in every language, and each version is a compliment.
62 It flinches near cheap imitations of itself.
63 Rust on other items within a foot migrates to their least visible side. It has standards.
64 Once, someone cried on it; salt crystals still form on that spot each anniversary.
65 It prefers being carried on the left and works its way there through the day.
66 Struck in anger it sounds like a gong; in defense, like a bell; nobody can explain the difference.
67 It is haunted by the world's least ambitious ghost, who occasionally sighs contentedly.
68 Children can always find it, no matter how well it is hidden. They will not say how.
69 It grows imperceptibly. Records disagree with measurements. Measurements disagree with each other.
70 Its previous owner's to-do list is embossed inside, with one item unfinished.
71 Lightning within a mile bends one degree toward it, politely declining to commit.
72 It sweats before earthquakes, once per decade or so, so this is useless until it is not.
73 Bees treat it as a flower; this is occasionally beautiful and occasionally a problem.
74 Any glove, wrap or case made for it wears out in nine days. It wants to be held.
75 It despises being appraised and reads as worthless to any who ask its price.
76 On holidays it smells of a feast no one present has ever attended.
77 Its weight doubles in the temple of a god it dislikes. It dislikes exactly one god.
78 The item's reflection is always cleaner than the item.
79 It keeps time: tapped twice, it taps back the hour, close enough.
80 Held by a liar, it develops a visible smirk in its grain or filigree.
81 It is followed, at a distance of years, by letters addressed to its previous owners.
82 When the party argues, it grows dull and gray until someone apologizes.
83 It cannot abide an empty scabbard, holster or stand nearby, and topples toward any it finds.
84 Copper coins kept beside it turn heads-up overnight.
85 It once belonged to a saint, and knows it, and reminds people, somehow, constantly.
86 It refuses to be gifted: given away freely, it returns within a tenday. Sold, it stays sold, sulking.
87 It is warm when facing the nearest dragon, which so far has meant nothing. So far.
88 Its shadow arrives a half-second before it does through any doorway.
89 Water rings left by cups near it form tiny perfect maps of the local coastline.
90 Once per tenday it hops. Once. Half an inch. Never witnessed.
91 Mirrors show it three seconds into the past; this has never mattered and is deeply unsettling.
92 It smells of the sea to sailors, of soil to farmers, and of paper to scribes.
93 Its maker's ghost visits it annually, tuts about maintenance, and leaves.
94 Held aloft dramatically, it produces a faint, sourceless wind. It cannot be stopped from doing this.
95 It is fluent in blame: dropped, it lands pointing at whoever is at fault.
96 New owners dream its entire history on the first night; most remember only a color and a debt.
97 It preens near artists and will hold impossible angles of light for a portrait.
98 Nothing can write on it, but chalk near it writes better.
99 It is exactly as old as its current owner, according to every spell that has ever checked.
100 Roll twice more; the item has both quirks and is, frankly, a little much.

Quest Hooks

One-line adventure seeds ready to drop into any session.

1 The miller's daughter sleepwalks to the standing stones every new moon; last night she did not come back.
2 A bounty board names a wolf 'Old Sorrow' with a reward that has tripled overnight.
3 Every clock in town stopped at the same minute; the clockmaker has locked her shop.
4 A noble hires food tasters at triple pay, weekly. The position keeps opening.
5 The village well now echoes with two splashes for every stone dropped.
6 A merchant will pay handsomely for an escort - not for his goods, but for an empty, locked wagon.
7 Children have started drawing the same tower, and no such tower exists. Yet.
8 The old lighthouse keeper signals in code to a sea that has no ships on it.
9 A wedding invitation arrives for the party by name, from a couple they have never met, in a town they have never visited.
10 The temple's eternal flame has begun burning green when certain people walk past.
11 A prisoner due to hang insists he will be gone by morning. He has said this six mornings in a row. He is always right.
12 Farmers report their scarecrows are one field over from where they left them.
13 A cartographer pays for escorts to map a forest that is, according to her older maps, growing.
14 The graveyard's newest headstone bears tomorrow's date.
15 A guild of chimney sweeps suddenly has more gold than the bank, and impeccable manners.
16 Someone is buying every mirror in the district, paying double for cracked ones.
17 A retired adventurer begs the party to return an idol he stole forty years ago - quietly, before 'it notices it is almost home'.
18 Livestock born this spring all have the same white marking: a crescent with a notch.
19 The ferryman's toll has changed: he now asks each passenger for a secret.
20 An abandoned mine has started producing smoke, on schedule, twice a day, like shift changes.
21 A letter arrives for a party member from themselves, dated next month, containing only: 'Do not sell the horse.'
22 The baroness's portrait ages; the baroness does not. She wants the painter found. So does the portrait.
23 Bandits robbed a caravan of nothing but salt, leaving gold and silks untouched. Third time this month.
24 A hermit predicts the weather with perfect accuracy but has begun refusing to predict next Thursday.
25 Sailors swear the new sandbar in the bay was not there at dusk and is shaped like a hand.
26 The librarian will pay for the retrieval of an overdue book. The borrower died sixty years ago. The fine is itemized.
27 Every rat in the city crossed the river last night, heading east, in silence.
28 A dying knight asks the party to deliver his sword to his squire - and to lie to her about how he fell.
29 The village festival needs a fourth judge for the pie contest after the last three vanished. The pies are widely praised.
30 A stranger pays the party to attend an auction and bid on lot 17, whatever it is, at any price. He cannot enter the building himself. He will not say why.
31 Wanted posters appear overnight with a face matching no one - until the innkeeper's son wakes up wearing it.
32 The town's wishing well has started granting wishes, with the precision of a tax auditor and the mercy of one too.
33 All the crows in the region now roost on one dead tree, in shifts, guarding something beneath.
34 A woman hires the party to break INTO prison: her brother is inside, and something else is in there wearing the warden.
35 Milk sours in one specific house within an hour, no matter its source. The family is asking. The house is not telling.
36 The duke's hounds refuse the north woods - all but the oldest, blind one, who pulls at his chain to go.
37 A mapmaker's new map shows a village that no one, including the mapmaker, remembers drawing. The ink is his.
38 A troupe of actors seeks guards; their last three performances ended in weeping and one small riot. They refuse to cut the second act.
39 Each dawn, one more statue stands in the market square. The sculptors' guild denies everything, enviously.
40 A halfling matron wants her stolen recipe book back before the harvest fair; the thief has already opened a bakery. The bread is better. This makes it worse.
41 The monastery bells rang last night. The monastery has been a ruin for a century. The bells were sold decades ago.
42 Fishermen keep catching bottles containing pages of the same diary, in order.
43 The gravedigger wants to show someone something in the oldest grave, but only someone 'who did not grow up here'.
44 A tax collector vanished on the moor road; the crown wants his ledger back. The ledger, per rumors, wants to stay lost.
45 A child's imaginary friend has started leaving real footprints.
46 The alchemist offers a fortune for one honest bottle of tears of joy. Fakes, she says, taste of onions and ambition.
47 Two villages celebrate the same hero's death day - with different bodies in different tombs. Both were just robbed.
48 A courier stumbles into the inn with an arrow in his pack and an urgent letter - addressed to whoever pulls the arrow out.
49 The stars over the valley are correct, say the astronomers, except one, which is new, and getting closer.
50 A ghost politely haunts the bathhouse, but only on days the mayor bathes. The ghost holds a grudge and excellent evidence.
51 The blacksmith's apprentice forged a horseshoe that will not cool. The horse it fits has not been born yet, says the witch, buying drinks, waiting.
52 A caravan seeks guards for the mountain pass; the last convoy arrived safe, on time, and two people larger than when it left.
53 Someone has been paying the town's debts anonymously, in old coins, from a mint that drowned with its city long ago.
54 Hunters found a clearing where autumn never arrived; green leaves, spring birdsong, and a tent, breakfast still warm.
55 The oracle's answers have started rhyming, which she says only happens 'near the end of a verse'. She wants to know whose.
56 A widow will pay someone to lose at cards, convincingly, to her grandson, who has bet the farm against a stranger nobody else can see.
57 Roadside shrines along the king's highway are turning to face away from the capital, one per night.
58 A dragon has requested, in writing, on excellent paper, a meeting to discuss 'a matter of inheritance'.
59 The harvest doubled in every field but one, which grew a spiral of black wheat the birds will not touch and the miller will not grind.
60 A knight stands vigil at a bridge, awaiting a challenger who died before the knight was born. His order pays well for a resolution. Any resolution.
61 All the town's dogs are digging at the same spot in the churchyard, taking turns, working in shifts, quiet and organized.
62 Someone sold the tavern a barrel that pours a different vintage each night, improving steadily. The innkeeper wants ten more; the seller's trail ends at a cliff.
63 A message in a dead language appears on the schoolhouse slate each morning. The teacher has begun to understand it, which should not be possible, and also it is a countdown.
64 The ratcatchers' guild posts a contract for a single rat: white, one eye, answers to 'Chancellor', last seen reading.
65 A pilgrim caravan needs protection to a shrine that moves - reliably, a mile per year, and this year, for the first time, backward.
66 Every portrait in the manor now looks slightly to the left. The lady of the house has stopped entering the west wing, where 'left' points.
67 The city fountain's water tastes of iron on days someone will die by violence. Today it tastes of iron. It is barely dawn.
68 An entire village writes with the same handwriting now. New arrivals take about a week to match.
69 The old fort's garrison of six reports for supplies every month. The muster rolls say the fort was decommissioned, and the six died defending it.
70 A moneylender forgives all debts, closes shop, and books passage to the coast within one frantic hour of receiving a small parcel. The parcel is still on his counter.
71 Beekeepers report red honey and unanimous swarm decisions. The bees have begun escorting certain travelers and turning back others.
72 The bell in the mine rings from below now, at shift end, though the lower levels flooded years ago and the crews, they say, all got out.
73 A famous sword hangs in the guildhall; its plaque changed overnight from 'slayer of the beast' to 'borrowed'.
74 The orphanage cellar door has grown a second lock, on the inside, installed by no one; the matron wants an armed adult present when she asks the children about it.
75 A comet returns generations early; the astronomers' guild offers a fortune for the notes of the one dead scholar who predicted it.
76 Someone is un-robbing graves: refilling tunnels, returning bones, restoring goods. Last night they left a note asking for help with 'the big one'.
77 The spymaster wants a package delivered without the courier being told what it is or who takes it - they will simply know, she says, when they see the recipient.
78 Snow fell on one house in midsummer and melted everywhere except the outline of something large on the roof, sitting.
79 The village speaks in careful, practiced praise of the new lord. All of it in the same words. All of it, on reflection, in meter.
80 A fisherman's net brought up a locked door. Just a door. Through the keyhole: candlelight, and someone humming.
81 The theater's understudy knows lines from the sequel the playwright has not written yet, and the playwright is losing a race against her own dreams.
82 Border guards report the neighboring kingdom's watchtower mirrors their flag signals perfectly, half a second early.
83 A saint's relic finger has started pointing. The church would like to know at what before the congregation does.
84 This season's ale shows brief images in its foam; the brewers want it studied, the tavern wants it advertised, and the images want, apparently, to show a location.
85 Someone taught the market's mynah birds a name, and a thousand birds now say it when a certain hooded woman passes. She pays the party to find out who, before the birds learn her other name.
86 A plague doctor arrived in a town with no plague, rented a room for a month, and asks each morning if anyone has 'started dreaming of the yellow field yet'.
87 The stone bridge's seventh arch drips upward on holy days.
88 A gnome sells insurance against a disaster she will not name; her previous three towns collected in full.
89 The royal mint reports one die striking coins a year older than they should be - and the extra coins keep surfacing with someone's teeth marks in them.
90 All the candles in the sealed chandlery burned down overnight, and the wax pooled into a single word.
91 The huntmaster's lodge displays a trophy nobody remembers mounting; its glass eyes track the youngest member of any group.
92 A village's ancestor festival went long: the ancestors have stayed a second week, doing chores, and the food is running out and nobody is brave enough to be rude first.
93 Two identical strangers arrived at opposite gates at the same hour, each carrying half a map and a fresh grudge for the other.
94 The old windmill turns against the wind when the miller's widow sings, and she has been paid in gold to sing every night this week by a man she is fairly sure was made of moths.
95 A treasure map is being sold openly, cheaply and legally by the city: to the winner of tonight's riddle contest at the courthouse. The magistrate looks exhausted.
96 Someone replaced the inn's cellar wall with an identical wall, one brick of which is warm, sounds hollow, and has been mortared with, on inspection, cake.
97 The town's oldest resident turned 111 and began speaking a language older than the founding - fluently, mid-sentence, and only to her cat, who has started answering.
98 The night watch found the same man asleep in three locked towers in one night; he remembers only 'the sorting'. He is terrified of being sorted again.
99 A god's statue wept last spring and the temple sold the tears; now every buyer is having the same dream, and one of them offers a fortune to make it stop before the seventh night.
100 Roll twice more on this table; the two hooks are secretly the same story.

Minor Curses

Inconvenient afflictions for cursed loot, angry witches and bad decisions.

1 Your shadow points the wrong way, and dogs notice.
2 Bread turns stale at your touch; toast, inexplicably, improves.
3 You can no longer say your own name aloud; it comes out as a sneeze.
4 Every hat you wear migrates slowly to the left.
5 Coins you flip always land on edge, unsettling everyone present.
6 You smell whatever the nearest person fears, faintly, at all times.
7 Doors do not stay open for you; each drifts shut with a disappointed click.
8 Your reflection is always yawning, regardless of what you are doing.
9 Any song you hum lodges in every head within earshot for a full day. They know it was you.
10 Candles gutter when you tell the truth and burn tall when you lie; dinner parties become dangerous.
11 Your left boot is always slightly wet.
12 Cats say your name. Just your name. Only when others can hear.
13 You cast the shadow of a chicken at exactly noon.
14 All ale served to you arrives flat, with a faint air of judgment.
15 Ink smears only under your hand; your signature is now legally 'the smudge'.
16 You cannot cross a threshold without knocking first; your knuckles do it without permission.
17 Every chair you sit in creaks a note of the same dirge.
18 Your pockets accumulate sand from a beach no one can identify.
19 Birds land on you as if you were furniture, and are offended when you move.
20 Once per day, at random, you speak a sentence backwards and do not notice.
21 Mirrors fog when you approach, then write 'not now' in the condensation.
22 Your hair rearranges to windswept dramatic disarray at solemn moments only.
23 Anything you point at drips, briefly. Ceilings included.
24 You are always dealt the second-best hand at cards, and can feel it.
25 Milk curdles if you say a god's name; the gods, presumably, are aware.
26 Your footsteps sound like they belong to someone much heavier, approaching.
27 Butter will not melt on your bread, out of spite.
28 You wake each morning holding a small stone you did not go to sleep with. The pile grows.
29 Whenever you whisper, it is somehow louder than your speaking voice.
30 Horses bow to you, deeply, refusing to be mounted until you bow back, in public.
31 Your bathwater is always the wrong temperature by exactly the amount that matters.
32 Every map you hold reorients so that you are at the center, ruining navigation and implying things.
33 You cannot keep a hood up; unseen fingers flick it down at dramatic moments.
34 Small change in your purse rearranges itself into frowning faces.
35 You taste nothing but parsley on Wednesdays.
36 Rope, string and laces near you work loose in sympathy with your secrets.
37 Your snore is a perfect imitation of distant war drums; camps keep waking to man the defenses.
38 Flowers turn to face away from you, pointedly.
39 Each door handle you grasp is briefly, alarmingly warm, as if recently held by someone else.
40 You cannot descend stairs without humming; the stairs insist.
41 Any bell you pass rings one beat after you have gone, tattling on your position.
42 Written words squirm slightly when you are tired, swapping one letter per page.
43 Your drinks develop a slow whirlpool, always counterclockwise, always noticed by wizards.
44 Everyone consistently misremembers your name as 'Gerald'. Documents update themselves.
45 Wounds you take heal into faint runes that scholars cannot read but pigeons apparently can.
46 Your sneezes extinguish every open flame within ten feet. Temples have opinions.
47 You attract exactly one mosquito at all times. Killing it summons the replacement immediately, angrier.
48 Fruit ripens as you hold it and rots if you compliment it.
49 Your clothes squeak in the rhythm of whatever you are trying not to think about.
50 Salt spills toward you across tables, slowly, like an accusation.
51 All statues appear, in your peripheral vision, to have just stopped moving. All of them. Always.
52 You cannot enter a room without announcing yourself; your own voice betrays you at the threshold.
53 Grass dies in your footprints but grows back double; groundskeepers both hate and worship you.
54 Once a day your belt or sash unties itself at the least convenient moment available.
55 Your teeth itch during sermons.
56 Any bed you sleep in is short-sheeted by morning, from the inside.
57 You smell of woodsmoke indoors and of libraries outdoors.
58 Spoons bend away from your mouth by one degree; soup takes forever.
59 Your laughter echoes even in open fields.
60 Keys stick for you. All keys. Locksmiths can find nothing wrong, and charge accordingly.
61 Rain begins the moment you praise the weather, and stops when you apologize.
62 Your bootlaces tie themselves together whenever someone nearby says 'hurry'.
63 Every portrait's eyes follow you; the painters swear this was not the commission.
64 You cannot hold an umbrella; they leap from your grasp toward the nearest stranger.
65 Bread lands butter-side down; for you, it also rolls.
66 Your echo answers half a heartbeat early.
67 Wells whisper your debts back at you, with interest calculated.
68 Chalk, coal and charcoal refuse to draw you; sketches of the party show a polite gap.
69 Your right glove keeps going missing and returning with dirt under its fingernails. Gloves have no fingernails.
70 Anyone who toasts to your health hiccups once, in unison.
71 The moon looks slightly too large to you, and only to you, and it is getting slightly worse.
72 Your yawns are contagious to animals within a hundred feet; you have flattened kennels, stables and one menagerie.
73 Ale foam spells short rude words in your mug. The bartender is not doing it. Probably.
74 You cannot pass a graveyard without your pockets jingling, even when empty.
75 Wind chimes fall silent as you approach and resume behind you, gossiping.
76 Anything you bury unburies itself within a week and is found on your doorstep, cleaned.
77 You always feel you have forgotten something; once a month, you actually have, and the feeling is identical.
78 Your fires burn in complete silence, which is worse than it sounds, around a camp, at night.
79 Every seventh step you take makes no sound, and things with too many ears notice the pattern.
80 Ivy grows toward your bedroom window at roughly a foot a night, no matter the floor.
81 You are exempt from rainbows; they visibly bend to exclude your position.
82 Your name, written down, attracts moths to the page.
83 All soup served to you contains one ingredient from a soup you ate as a child.
84 Cows regard you the way people regard tax collectors.
85 Your gear is always one item heavier at dawn; the extra item is always a single unfamiliar button.
86 Whistling is beyond you; what comes out is a creditable owl impression, and owls answer.
87 When you sleep in a chair, you wake with a blanket no one placed and no one recognizes.
88 Thunder pauses politely until you finish your sentence, drawing everyone's attention to what you just said.
89 Your dice roll off every table and are found pointing, all of them, at the same door.
90 You can no longer board a boat without every sailor aboard learning your most embarrassing story by dusk. The sea tells them.
91 Frost forms your initials on windows you sleep behind; somewhere, you feel, something is signing your work.
92 Any queue you join stops moving; any queue you leave surges forward.
93 Your bruises appear one day before the blow that causes them.
94 Songbirds learn your sighs and perform them back to you at dawn, in chorus.
95 You cannot blow out candles; they must be pinched, and they take it personally either way.
96 Anyone who borrows something of yours forgets it was ever yours; you have receipts, and the receipts are fading too.
97 Your campfire smoke leans toward the nearest unresolved argument.
98 Once per tenday you wake fluent in a language you have never studied, and mute in your own, until noon.
99 Mud is deeper for you. Measurably. Cartographers have started paying you to test fords.
100 Roll twice more; the curses are married and refuse separation.

Omens & Portents

Signs and superstitions to foreshadow whatever comes next.

1 A crow lands on the signpost, caws twice, and waits to be acknowledged before leaving.
2 This morning's milk had a skin of frost, in high summer.
3 The candle flames all bend the same direction, though the air is still.
4 A ring around the moon, doubled - the old folk stay indoors for the second ring.
5 Every spider in the barn has moved its web to face the road.
6 The spilled salt lies in the shape of an open gate.
7 Two magpies fight over a wedding ring nobody claims.
8 The church weathervane has pointed against the wind since dawn.
9 A newborn calf with a white blaze shaped like a keyhole.
10 All the bees returned to the hive at midday, as if for a funeral.
11 Bootprints in the frost this morning, leaving the graveyard, walking backwards.
12 The well bucket came up with two reflections in it.
13 Dogs howled at moonrise, then stopped all at once, mid-note.
14 The fire spat a coal that rolled to the door and waited there, glowing.
15 A hen crowed at dusk; the rooster has said nothing since.
16 Yesterday's bread, cut open, was hollow.
17 The mirror fell but did not break; the grandmother says this is worse.
18 Seven swans flew east in a straight line, silent, low enough to touch.
19 The baby laughed at the empty corner again, and waved goodbye.
20 Rain fell out of a clear sky for the length of one held breath.
21 The blacksmith's hammer rang a note that made every horse look up.
22 A stranger's initials appeared in the frost on the inside of the window.
23 All the town's clocks are a minute apart, in order, down the street.
24 The cat refuses the warm spot by the fire and sits facing the cellar door.
25 An owl in daylight, watching the market, counting. You are sure it is counting.
26 The river ran clear this morning; you could see too far down.
27 Apples cut crosswise all show six seeds this year. Always six.
28 The old veteran's wound aches, and he has started oiling his shield without being asked.
29 Smoke from every chimney in the village leaned north, into the wind.
30 A child's lost tooth came in silver.
31 The bell rope swayed by itself, gently, as if someone were deciding.
32 All the portraits in the hall are suddenly, subtly, better lit.
33 Moths formed a ring around the lantern and flew in formation, none burning.
34 The dice came up the same number nine times; the gambler went home and kissed his children.
35 First snow fell only on the manor grounds, exactly to the fence line.
36 A wolf was seen at the treeline at noon, sitting like a dog, watching the school.
37 The pond froze overnight with a pattern like a map in the ice.
38 Every candle in the shrine went out except the one for travelers.
39 Fish leapt from the river onto the bank, in order of size.
40 The letters on the old monument are sharper today, as if recut in the night.
41 Bread rose triple and the baker will not sell today's loaves; she is giving them away, quickly.
42 There were two dawns this morning, faint but distinct; the second was better.
43 Ivy on the tower flowered for the first time in living memory: white, then red by noon.
44 A funeral wreath washed ashore, dry.
45 The hunting horn sounded from the forest, in the old pattern, though the old lodge stands empty.
46 Every door in the house was found open at dawn, including the locked ones, including the ones painted shut.
47 The scarecrow's arm has lowered, pointing at the church.
48 The twins spoke the same sentence in their sleep, in a shared dream, and neither will repeat it.
49 Milk poured for the house spirit was gone by morning - the bowl rinsed, dried and returned to the shelf.
50 Lightning struck the gallows hill twice; grass grows there now, in a circle, in winter.
51 A great stag stood in the ford at dawn and did not drink; it only watched the road from the south.
52 The weathercock crowed. It is made of copper. It crowed.
53 All the knives in the kitchen were found pointing east in their drawer.
54 The hearth fire burned blue while the stranger spoke, and none noticed but the youngest.
55 Sunset lasted an hour longer than the almanac allows; the sky went through colors that have no names yet.
56 A coin left on the dead man's eyes was found on his lips at dawn.
57 The mountain wore a cloud like a hood, and the old shepherd took his flock down early.
58 Ants abandoned their hill in one long column, carrying their eggs, heading for high ground. There is no flood. There has never been a flood here.
59 The gravedigger's spade broke on soft earth.
60 The chapel bell tolled once at midnight, and every candle in town guttered on the same beat.
61 New wine turned to vinegar in a night, in every cellar on the street where the judge lives.
62 A white moth landed on the sleeping child's chest, and the grandmother wept for joy - the good omen, the rare one.
63 The stars of the Wagon rose in the wrong order, and the ferryman refuses to work until they apologize.
64 Hoofprints circled the house in the snow, unshod, enormous, always exactly three feet from the wall.
65 The old dog, blind these three years, tracked something across the yard with its eyes.
66 Bread offered to the river sank in still water, straight down, as if taken by a hand.
67 Every rosebush bloomed out of season except the ones planted over the old duel ground.
68 The mirror showed the room correctly, except the door in the reflection stood open.
69 A hawk dropped a fish onto the courthouse steps during the verdict.
70 All the town's babies slept through the night, every one; the midwives find this deeply suspicious.
71 The kettle sang in harmony with itself.
72 Frost drew a gallows on the window of a man who swears he is innocent.
73 Seven crows sat the fence at dawn; when the eighth came, the seven left.
74 The candle burned still during the argument, then went out when peace was made. Backwards, the priest says. All backwards.
75 Sailors' knots came untied overnight on a ship at anchor; the harbormaster has quietly doubled the watch.
76 Rain wrote runnels in the dust in perfect script - the schoolmaster copied it before it dried and has not slept since.
77 The forge fire showed a face for as long as it takes to say a name, and the smith said one.
78 Every horse in the stable faced the same corner at midnight, calm, ears forward, listening politely.
79 A rainbow ended, visibly and locally, on the pauper's field. By noon, three lords' surveyors were there with chains and flags.
80 The inn's mother-dough doubled overnight and smells of honey; the cook has locked it in a cupboard 'until it explains itself'.
81 Thunder in a snowfall - the shepherds call it 'the argument upstairs' and will not name a price for anything today.
82 The chandler's candles all burn with two flames today; she sells them at triple price to fools and at cost to friends.
83 A ring of mushrooms enclosed the well overnight. The oldest resident has begun speaking politely near it, in case.
84 Every string instrument in town is in perfect tune this morning. The luthier sat down on his step and put his head in his hands.
85 The sun rose the color of brass, and the birds waited a full minute before starting.
86 A drowned man's boots washed ashore, standing upright, side by side, facing inland.
87 Cobwebs on the shrine this morning spelled a word in the old alphabet: 'SOON'.
88 All the milk in the village turned faintly sweet, and the cheesemaker, tasting it, quietly began to cry and would not say if it was grief.
89 A black ram was born with a white ear; the flock now follows it, and the old ram lets it.
90 The moon rose with a notch in it, like a bite; the almanac lists no eclipse and has printed an apology.
91 Two rivers of birds crossed in the sky without mingling, one flying into winter, one out of it.
92 The dead oak on gallows hill has one green branch this morning, pointing at the road you came in by.
93 Everyone in the tavern dreamed of stairs.
94 The salt in the storehouse has formed a crust in the shape of a wave, and the town is two weeks from the nearest sea.
95 A funeral bell rang in a town with no dead; by evening, a rider arrived with news from the capital, and the bell ringer would not meet anyone's eyes.
96 The beggar at the gate refused coin today and instead gave one back, an old one, to a specific person, with a bow.
97 Candle wax dripped uphill along the altar, pooling at the foot of the statue whose eyes, everyone now recalls, used to be closed.
98 All the compasses in the chandlery agree with each other and disagree with the stars.
99 A child asked the priest, at the church door, who 'the tall lady in the bell tower' waves to at dusk. The tower has been sealed since the fire.
100 Roll twice more; the omens contradict each other, and both are true.

Strange Books

Titles and tomes to fill any shelf, library or wizard tower.

1 'A Taxonomy of Doors', with a chapter torn out and replaced by a pressed fern.
2 'The Care and Feeding of Shadows', third edition; the first two are listed as 'devoured'.
3 A cookbook whose recipes each list one impossible ingredient, crossed out, with substitutions in a shaky hand.
4 'Songs to Sing While Falling', unusually well-thumbed.
5 A dictionary of a language spoken only by two twins, compiled by their mother.
6 'On the Rudeness of Mirrors', a furious 400-page treatise.
7 A children's primer where the ABCs are all names of extinct beasts.
8 'Knots', volume IV. No text - every page holds a tied cord specimen. One is untied. The index calls it 'escaped'.
9 The autobiography of a lighthouse, as told to a monk.
10 'Practical Necromancy for the Squeamish', all practical parts removed by the censor and replaced with soup recipes.
11 A ledger of debts owed to the sea, in several hands, several centuries, still gaining entries.
12 'Field Guide to Birds That Do Not Exist', with checkmarks next to three of them.
13 A romance novel in whose margins a second, better romance unfolds between two of the margin-writers.
14 'The Collected Threats of Auntie Maude', bound in what the spine insists is 'best behavior'.
15 A book of maps of famous libraries, shelved incorrectly in every library it maps.
16 'How to Disappear Completely' - the catalogue lists it; the shelf shows a gap; the gap is warm.
17 'Meditations on the Second Moon', written in a hand that gets calmer as the content gets worse.
18 A play whose stage directions describe the audience.
19 'The Encyclopedia of Small Gods', volume 'Doorknob to Dust'.
20 A diary in two inks; the black entries are mundane, the brown entries answer them, a day late.
21 'On Being Eaten: Perspectives', an anthology; the contributor biographies are brief.
22 A hymnal where every hymn has been transposed into a minor key by a later hand, 'as corrections'.
23 'The Law of the Land', bound in turf, still growing; precedents must be watered.
24 A book of pressed flowers, each labeled with a name, a date, and 'forgiven' or 'not yet'.
25 'Advanced Falconry', dictated by the falcon.
26 A slim volume of poems that rhyme only when read angry.
27 'The Complete Atlas of the Bottom of the Lake', waterlogged, illustrated, accurate.
28 A prayer book with the responses filled in, in gold ink, in no known hand.
29 'Winters I Have Known', by an author whose name is snowed over on every edition.
30 A grammar of Ghoul, with pronunciation notes like 'through the nose, regretfully'.
31 'The Hedge-Witch's Herbal', with marginalia by three generations and one very opinionated goat.
32 A bestiary in which every beast's entry ends 'see also: us'.
33 'One Hundred Uses for a Dead Wizard', banned in eight cities, bestseller in nine.
34 The minutes of a village council meeting that has, according to the dates, been ongoing for 111 years. Item one remains tabled.
35 'Star Charts for Pessimists': every constellation drawn twice, once as it is, once as it will end.
36 A child's storybook where the wolf wins, published 'at the wolf's insistence'.
37 'The Art of War', translated into Halfling as 'The Art of Not Being Home When Trouble Calls'.
38 A book-length confession to a crime historians insist never happened; the details keep checking out.
39 'Cloudspotting for Druids', with a warning not to point.
40 An account book for a shop that sells 'hours'; the prices rise in the back pages.
41 'Letters to My Executioner', collected correspondence spanning forty years; they became friends; it is somehow worse.
42 A treatise on color written for the blind, praised by all who cannot read it.
43 'The Underground Gazetteer', listing taverns by depth.
44 A songbook where the notes are stitched, not written; play it by running a finger along the thread.
45 'Apologies to Trees', by the Guild of Woodcutters, volume XII.
46 A wizard's grimoire, entirely blank except the last page: 'You already know it. Stop looking things up.'
47 'The Almanac of Yesterday': utterly accurate, one day too late, every day.
48 A book on lock-picking with a lock on it. Inside, per rumor: a second lock.
49 'Marginalia', a book consisting only of collected margin notes from other books, which somehow tells a complete tragedy.
50 The recipe archive of a poisoners' guild, sorted by occasion. 'Weddings' is the thickest chapter.
51 'A History of the Next War', print run seized; this copy annotated by a general, in the field, weeping or laughing, hard to say.
52 A book of lullabies for monsters, field-tested, with survivors' notes.
53 'The Compleat Angler of the Astral Sea', with fly patterns for thoughts.
54 A travel guide to a city that appears once a generation; the newest edition is presold out for sixty years.
55 'Silence: A Reader'. The pages absorb nearby sound while open. Libraries fight over it.
56 A cookbook by a dragon: portions serve one.
57 'On the Domestication of Husbands', shelved under Animal Husbandry by a librarian with a grudge.
58 The collected excuses of the city watch, indexed, cross-referenced, and - in the margin - graded.
59 A geology text that refers to mountains by first name and asks after their health.
60 A saint's biography where every miracle has a footnote from a rival saint saying 'I helped'.
61 'The Book of Held Breaths', which cannot be read aloud, structurally.
62 An atlas where the sea has been labeled, in a child's hand, 'my side'.
63 'Feasts of the Fey Courts': reading the desserts chapter causes mild, harmless weeping.
64 The stud book of a legendary stable; the last page holds a single horseshoe nail, bound in like a relic.
65 'Common Curses and Their Streets', a gazetteer of where each hex was first uttered.
66 A manual for a siege engine that, per the diagrams, is also a church organ. Both functions are load-bearing.
67 'The Shepherd's Calendar of Wolves', kept jointly, per the foreword, by both parties.
68 A dream journal that has started completing entries the dreamer was too tired to finish.
69 'Heraldry of the Fallen Houses', where certain coats of arms are scratched out from the inside of the page.
70 Court transcripts of a trial where the accused, the judge and the witness were, it emerges on the last page, the same man.
71 'A Modest Proposal for the Draining of the Marsh', with a rebuttal, in mud, on every other page.
72 A phrasebook for talking to storms. Chapter one: apologies.
73 'The Little Book of Big Regrets', pocket-sized, heavier than it looks, literally.
74 An index of every bell in the kingdom by voice; three entries are marked 'lying'.
75 'Games for Immortals', turn-based; the current game began four dynasties ago; it is, a bookmark notes, your move.
76 The staff manual of an inn that stands at the crossroads of somewhere and elsewhere; the lost-property chapter is upsetting.
77 'Fungi: Friend, Foe, or Philosopher', with spore samples, one of which has read the book.
78 A volume of last words, alphabetized by speaker; the blank entries have dates next year.
79 'How to Read This Book', 500 pages, contradictory, beloved.
80 The muster roll of a legion that marched into the mountain and, per a new line each solstice, is still marching.
81 'Botany of the Battlefield': what grows where, and why, and for whom.
82 A courtesy guide for speaking with the dead: mostly about not mentioning the weather.
83 'The Nine Lies of Cartography', banned by the Mapmakers' Guild, written by its founder.
84 A wine list from a cellar that burned; sommeliers read it like elegy.
85 'Practical Invisibility', its author unknown, its royalties collected.
86 The logbook of a traveling tooth-puller, with a molar set into the cover like a gem.
87 'Constellations of the Underdark', star charts for a sky of glowworms, surprisingly rigorous.
88 A book sworn to be blank that refuses to be the book on top of any stack.
89 'The Diplomatic History of the Gnomes', abridged, 4,000 pages.
90 An etiquette guide for dragons' guests, whose chapters get shorter as the visit gets longer.
91 'Rain: An Appreciation', which is always slightly damp.
92 The sealed evidence of a famous trial, shelved by court order in a library that denies having it, in a wing that is not on the floor plan.
93 'Flightless': the collected letters of a griffin who lost her sky and learned, the last letter says, to love the orchard.
94 A primer on time, for children, that can only be read once.
95 'The Anatomy of Giants', life-size; the library built an annex.
96 A joke book from the dwarven deeps; the punchlines are structural.
97 'What the River Carries', a census of everything one river bore to the sea in one year, including, on page 300, a name the reader will recognize.
98 The unauthorized biography of a lich, updated by unseen hands whenever he does something embarrassing. He is trying to find every copy.
99 'Doors I Have Closed', a monk's memoir; the final chapter is just a key, bound into the spine.
100 A book with your name as the author. You have not written it. Yet. The dedication thanks the party.

Potion Side Effects

Harmless side effects for any potion, draught or dubious brew.

1 Your voice rises an octave for ten minutes.
2 You burp a puff of lavender-scented smoke.
3 Everything tastes of mint until your next meal.
4 Your ears wiggle uncontrollably when anyone says your name, for one hour.
5 You glow faintly pink for a minute after laughing, for the rest of the day.
6 Hiccups, on the hour, every hour, until dawn - exactly three per episode.
7 Your hair stands on end for an hour, magnificently.
8 You can smell magic for ten minutes; it smells like your grandmother's kitchen.
9 Your freckles rearrange. If you have none, you now have seven.
10 For one hour, your tears are tiny pearls of no value whatsoever.
11 You speak with a slight echo for thirty minutes.
12 Your shadow is fuzzy for a day, like felt.
13 Any hat worn in the next hour fits perfectly.
14 You are convinced the potion was delicious and describe it at length, unprompted, twice.
15 Your fingertips are stained a noble shade of blue for three days.
16 For ten minutes, you weigh slightly less on stairs.
17 You sneeze exactly once; somewhere, the brewer of the potion sneezes too.
18 Your reflection toasts you the next time you see it.
19 Birds consider you briefly trustworthy; one may deliver a small stick as tribute.
20 You cannot whisper for an hour; your quietest voice is a warm conversational tone.
21 Everything you drink for a day tastes like the second-best thing you ever drank.
22 Your knuckles crack musically, in tune, for one week.
23 Tiny harmless sparks when you snap your fingers, for one hour. You will snap them often.
24 Your handwriting improves for a day and is not your own.
25 For an hour, you always know what time it is, and announce it, involuntarily, at quarter past.
26 Your eyebrows migrate a quarter-inch upward for a day; everyone finds you very engaged.
27 Warmth spreads to your toes; your boots feel recently by-the-fire for six hours.
28 You blink one eye at a time for ten minutes.
29 Small animals within thirty feet fall asleep when you yawn - once only.
30 Your burps sound like a tiny fanfare for the rest of the evening.
31 The next lie you tell tastes of soap. Only you know.
32 You gain perfect pitch until sunset and lose it mid-song.
33 For an hour, your pockets are two degrees cooler; butter keeps beautifully.
34 Your laugh is replaced, for one day, by an aristocratic chuckle you have never used before.
35 You leave faintly glowing fingerprints for ten minutes.
36 Fruit within arm's reach leans toward you slightly, for an hour.
37 Your next sneeze extinguishes one candle of your choice within twenty feet. Choose wisely.
38 For thirty minutes, written letters have flavors; 'E' is disappointing.
39 You feel an overwhelming certainty that today is Thursday. This persists regardless of evidence.
40 Your hiccups summon a brief smell of the sea.
41 For an hour, all your footsteps land on the beat of a song only you can hear.
42 You are followed, for ten minutes, by the faint sound of polite applause.
43 Your tongue is briefly bright green; the color retreats one tooth per hour.
44 Water tastes fizzy to you for a day.
45 Your ears pop pleasantly at every threshold you cross until dusk.
46 The next word you read aloud echoes in your voice from across the room.
47 For one hour, you always land on your feet from any hop, gracefully, like a show cat.
48 Your yawns sound like a creaking door; the party will check the door every time.
49 You smell of fresh bread for six hours; strangers trust you slightly more and are slightly hungrier.
50 Your hair curls when danger is within a mile, which, in your line of work, means it is now permanently curled.
51 One eye changes color for a day, to match the eye of the last person you argued with.
52 For an hour, you cannot say numbers; you gesture quantities with confidence and inaccuracy.
53 Your heartbeat is audible only to dogs; local dogs find you fascinating.
54 Every ring you wear spins slowly for ten minutes.
55 You radiate the cozy heat of a hearth for one hour; cats convene.
56 Your next twenty steps leave no footprints. You will not notice; the ranger will.
57 All ale tastes of peaches to you until midnight. You will mention this more than anyone wants.
58 Your voice, for ten minutes, is perfect for storytelling; the tale you tell will be retold without you.
59 You itch exactly between the shoulder blades whenever someone thinks about you. It has not stopped.
60 Moths ignore lanterns to orbit your head, gently, for one evening. Halo-adjacent.
61 For a day, you always deal cards in the correct number without counting. Gambling dens take note.
62 Your sweat smells of rosemary during exertion, for a week. The cook keeps standing near you.
63 You dream tonight of the potion's other drinkers, all of you at one long table, comparing notes.
64 Your pupils are star-shaped for an hour. You are told this constantly.
65 The next door you open swings with theatrical slowness regardless of its weight.
66 For ten minutes, you can hear grass grow. It is unbearably smug.
67 Your bones feel well-organized. No mechanical effect. Deep satisfaction.
68 You pronounce every word correctly for a day, including names, including the unpronounceable ones, including one that makes a passing scholar sit down abruptly.
69 Small objects you drop pause a half-second before falling, embarrassed.
70 Your reflection lags a quarter-second for one hour. Do not shave.
71 Everything you write today, you write twice; your hand insists on a fair copy.
72 For one hour, your sighs produce tiny visible clouds at any temperature.
73 You know, absolutely, which of your boots is the older. This knowledge does not fade.
74 Your next laugh is your childhood laugh. Anyone who knew you then will turn around.
75 Salt refuses to stick to your food for a day; it slides to the plate rim and sulks.
76 For six hours, you cast the shadow of yourself at age ten.
77 You can balance anything on one finger for ten minutes; nothing you balance will matter; the memory will last forever.
78 Your voice drops to a velvet register for one hour; everything you say sounds like a secret.
79 Rain avoids your left shoulder only, for one day. Tailors weep at the asymmetry.
80 You briefly understand the last thing your horse said. It was about you. It was fair.
81 The potion's taste returns to you at sunset, improved, like a memory that has been editing itself.
82 For an hour, your fingertips remember every texture they have ever touched. You will touch the tavern's oldest table and learn something.
83 Your next hiccup is in someone else's voice. Theirs, wherever they are, is in yours.
84 Bees mistake you for a meadow, briefly, respectfully.
85 You cannot mispronounce your own name for a week; previously, it turns out, you always had, slightly.
86 For ten minutes, you take stairs two at a time, involuntarily, including down.
87 Your goosebumps spell a short word in an old alphabet. The wizard wants to watch you be cold again.
88 All your minor aches move politely to your left elbow for a day, where they hold a meeting.
89 Tonight you will snore in perfect iambic pentameter. The bard is taking dictation.
90 Your tears, should any fall today, are warm as tea and taste of a summer you cannot place.
91 For one hour, mirrors flatter you by roughly six percent.
92 You feel a powerful kinship with the third stair of any staircase.
93 Your applause is thunderous - literally one thunderclap, once, at your next genuine delight. Use it well.
94 Every candle you light today lights on the first try and leans toward you like a sunflower.
95 You smell rain three minutes early for a week and become insufferably smug about it.
96 Your next sleep gives you the dream the brewer intended for themselves. There is a recipe in it.
97 For a day, your name in others' mouths sounds kinder than usual. Nothing else changes. Everything else changes.
98 You are convinced, for ten minutes, that you are slightly taller. You are. It does not last. You will not stop mentioning it.
99 The potion bottle refills once, at midnight, with plain water that nevertheless feels like a wink.
100 Roll twice more; the side effects interact, and the alchemist would love notes.

Sea & Ship Events

Shipboard happenings for voyages, crossings and coastal trips.

1 Dolphins race the bow for an hour and peel away all at once, as if called.
2 The lookout swears the horizon flickered, once, like a candle.
3 A stowaway is found in the hold: a cat, a very good one, already on the crew list in fresh ink.
4 Dead calm at noon; the sails hang, and every sailor finds quiet work below.
5 A message bottle bumps the hull, politely, twice, until retrieved.
6 The cook serves the good salt pork; nobody asks what he knows.
7 Cold blue flame crowns the mastheads for an hour; the old hands salute it.
8 A whale surfaces alongside, considers the ship at length, and sinks without a ripple.
9 The wind changes a quarter-hour before the helmsman's bones said it would; he demands a recount.
10 Flying fish come aboard at dusk; breakfast is decided.
11 Another ship passes in the night, all lights ablaze, no one on deck, music playing.
12 The ship's boy catches a fish no one can name; the bosun throws it back with an apology.
13 Barnacles have grown in a spiral pattern on the rudder; the carpenter takes a rubbing before scraping.
14 A seabird lands on the wheel and will not be moved; the course drifts two points before the captain concedes. It was right.
15 Fresh water in the casks tastes of cold mountain stream today, every cask, and no one will say it aloud.
16 Fog swallows the bow from the stern and the stern from the bow; voices carry strangely, and someone answers who did not speak.
17 A raft flotilla of traders draws alongside, selling fruit, rope, news and one absolutely cursed idol, clearly labeled, heavily discounted.
18 Someone's hammock is found tied in a knot no sailor aboard can name; the rigger is delighted and takes it apart for three days.
19 The sea turns to glass for a mile: not calm - glass, the swell frozen mid-heave. The ship glides over soundlessly, and then it is water again.
20 The rats abandon nothing; they line the rail, looking out, whiskers to the wind, like passengers.
21 A castaway is recovered from a barrel: dry, rested, and annoyed to be rescued 'ahead of schedule'.
22 The chanteyman introduces a new song; by the second chorus the whole watch knows verses he has not sung yet.
23 Land birds, days from any land.
24 The captain's tea goes cold instantly, three mornings running; the steward has started tasting it first, for courage.
25 A line of weed and wreckage crosses the sea road like a border; the old hands throw a coin over the side before crossing.
26 Night phosphorescence outlines the hull and, briefly, the hull of a second, larger ship beneath.
27 The wind carries woodsmoke and baking bread, mid-ocean, from a direction the charts call empty.
28 A sail on the horizon keeps pace all day, never nearer, never further, and is gone at the exact moment of sunset.
29 The ship's bell sounds flat today; the bosun polishes it, the note stays flat, and the oldest hand quietly moves his hammock away from the bow.
30 Porpoises drive a school of fish against the hull; the crew scoops supper with buckets, laughing, and the porpoises accept applause.
31 A trunk floats by, locked, dry above the waterline, stamped with the mark of a shipping house that folded fifty years ago.
32 The compass and the stars disagree by one degree, then two; at three, per tradition, the navigator must sing to them. He has begun clearing his throat.
33 Gulls mob the mainmast, screaming, then leave as one; the silence after is louder.
34 A turtle the size of a longboat matches speed, escorting; it has done this before, the scars say.
35 The carpenter finds a repair in the hold nobody made: good work, old wood, and a foreign coin set into the patch, heads out.
36 Rain falls only on the ship for an hour; the sea around stays sunlit; the casks are topped and nobody makes eye contact.
37 The wake glows tonight and does not fade; miles of soft light astern, a road home someone could follow. Question is who.
38 A becalmed ship shares the horizon; her boats row over: they are out of stories and will trade fresh lemons for new ones.
39 Fish follow the ship in a wedge, orderly, disciplined; the cook refuses to fish 'soldiers'.
40 The figurehead's expression has changed. The bosun has the only key to the paint locker and is showing everyone his key.
41 Sunset shows a green flash; wishes are made per tradition; the ship's boy will not say his and looks at the sea differently now.
42 A storm passes at a distance, dragging its rain like a curtain; inside it, once, the lightning goes UP.
43 Chain lightning far off spells three letters; the crew argues the alphabet.
44 The anchor comes up wearing a crown of coral, deliberately woven. The captain has it mounted; the navigator has opinions about accepting gifts.
45 A pod of whales sings under the hull all night; the timbers hum along, and everyone dreams of the same slow blue country.
46 The biscuit weevils are gone. All of them. The cook is triumphant. The old hands quietly pocket extra biscuit against whatever scared them off.
47 A waterspout stalks the horizon like a lost thing; the priest aboard says a word and it lies down. He will not repeat the word.
48 Someone has been chalking tally marks on the inside of the hull, below the waterline. From the inside. The count matches the crew, plus one.
49 A trading ship signals: they carry mail, years old, sorted by name - and three letters are for people aboard, by name, this ship, this voyage.
50 The sea smells of cut grass for a watch. Landsmen weep a little; sailors allow it.
51 The moon lays a road on the water, as always; tonight something small and far walks up it.
52 A derelict answers the hail with an echo - but the echo is delayed too long, and adds a word.
53 The ship's cat brings the captain a fish every dawn; today, a key.
54 The crew holds the line-crossing ceremony for first-timers; the sea is introduced to each by name, and one introduction gets a wave back in a calm sea.
55 An island appears where none is charted: green, small, with a single column of chimney smoke and a cove exactly the ship's size.
56 The pumps bring up fresh water from a salt sea for one watch. The cooper seals a barrel of it and marks it 'for later, or never'.
57 All the ship's knots hold beautifully today; the rigging sings taut and in tune; the bosun distrusts a perfect day and doubles the watch.
58 A raft of sleeping seabirds parts around the bow without a single bird waking.
59 Cargo shifts in a calm sea. Once. Loudly. Everything is found in order, except everything is one hand-width to port.
60 A merchant flotilla passes flying celebration flags: the war is over, they shout. Which war, they will not say, and their coins are unfamiliar.
61 The lookout reports a lighthouse, mid-ocean, where the chart shows two miles of depth. Its light is helpful. Its existence is not discussed.
62 Sharks follow for a day, patient; the cook, unbothered, feeds them scraps at eight bells 'to keep the arrangement'.
63 A sudden warm current; the sea steams at dawn like soup, and for an hour the ship sails through clouds lying down.
64 The captain's parrot goes silent, staring aft, for a full day. On the second day it says, in the old captain's voice, 'steady'.
65 An oar floats past. Then another. Then, at decent intervals, thirty more, all matched, all new. No boat.
66 The ship crosses her own wake from three days ago, per the navigator, who has stopped explaining and started drinking tea with both hands.
67 A swimmer alongside at dawn - strong, unhurried, human-shaped - waves off the thrown line, laughing, and dives. The sea here is a mile deep and cold as charity.
68 All compasses aboard point at the new passenger for exactly one minute at noon. The passenger apologizes, as if for a hiccup.
69 Song rises from the sea at night, matching the chanteyman's, far off, in harmony, one verse behind.
70 A trailing fish line catches a boot. Inside the boot: a map, oiled and dry, of the coast ahead - with one bay crossed out hard enough to tear.
71 The doldrums break with a wind that smells of festivals: spice, sugar, lamp oil. The chart shows no port for a thousand miles. The wind knows something.
72 The oldest sailor retires his lucky knife to the sea with a speech; an hour later the sea returns it to the deck via a wave that touches nothing else. Retirement denied.
73 Two moons ride tonight's sky for the length of one song, and only the ship's dog looks up.
74 Ice appears in the rigging in warm seas at dawn, melts by breakfast, and leaves the ropes stronger, per the rigger, who is bargaining with the sky for more.
75 A sealed jar in the new cargo hums the note the ship's bell should make. The manifest calls it 'preserves'.
76 The helm turns one spoke by itself, gently, avoiding - the lookout confirms a heartbeat later - a floating spar dead ahead. The ship gets extra tar and kind words tonight.
77 Nine albatrosses land in the rigging and hold what can only be described as a meeting. Motion carried, they leave together. The navigator follows them on instinct and finds fair wind.
78 Seaweed fouls the rudder in a shape too regular to be chance; the bosun sketches it before clearing it, and the priest goes pale at the sketch.
79 For one watch, every wave breaks in silence. The sea moves; the sound does not. Conversations happen in whispers anyway.
80 A passing ship signals for a surgeon; they offer payment in advance: a chest that must not be opened until landfall, which is exactly what everyone aboard now thinks about.
81 The galley fire will not go out tonight - banked, doused, smothered, it relights, small and patient, like something keeping watch.
82 Dawn reveals a small island dead ahead that the night watch swears was not there; on its beach, a fire pit laid ready - and driftwood arranged into the word 'WELCOME'.
83 The crew's dreams sync: everyone below dreamt of the same door in the hull, and the carpenter, laughing shakily, confirms there is a patch there older than the ship's records.
84 A whale carcass passes, attended by its pod, slow as a state funeral. The captain uncovers; the crew follows; the pod, passing, tilts one great eye at the ship and approves.
85 Every splice and repair made today comes out master-grade, better than intended; by evening the hands whisper that someone's drowned grandfather is aboard, helping. Extra biscuit is left out. It is gone by dawn.
86 The sea changes color at a sharp line: blue to green to, briefly, a gold like shallow sand - over a depth of miles. Fish cross the line; their shadows do not.
87 A quiet passenger pays in pearls and spends all day at the stern, teaching knots to the ship's boy. Two of the knots are in no book, and one, once tied, makes the rigger sit down.
88 A storm circles the horizon all day like a dog on a chain, never nearer. At dusk it gives up and goes elsewhere, and the weather-glass rises like an apology.
89 The ship's boy learns to whistle today. The wind, charmed, follows him around the deck. The bosun, by ancient law, must now forbid whistling and cannot bring himself to.
90 Something taps the hull at the waterline, thrice, spaced like knocking, twice in the middle watch. Tradition is firm: do not knock back. Tradition does not say what happens if you do.
91 A pod of seals hauls out on the anchor chain at dawn like it was built for them, and will not be argued with until the tide turns.
92 The lookout's telescope shows the coast ahead in the wrong season: snow on hills that should be green. To the naked eye, green. The captain wants both examined.
93 All hands wake rested, even the watch, who swear they never slept - and the ship made nine knots overnight in light air, on course, unhelmed. Nobody logs it. The log, by morning, has logged it anyway.
94 A message arrives by gull: a band on its leg, a strip of oilskin, five words in a dead shipmate's hand: 'NOT THE SOUTHERN PASSAGE. LOVE-'
95 The sea hands things back: one small lost item per crew member, over one long strange morning - each dry, each theirs, each lost years ago, on other ships, in other seas.
96 For a bell's span the horizon curves gently the wrong way - the sea a vast held bowl, the ship at the bottom of the sky's attention. The priest calls it a blessing. The navigator calls it a lens. The cook serves lunch.
97 New charts, bought honest in the last port, show one extra island every time they are unrolled - always the same island, always slightly nearer.
98 The dead calm breaks the instant the crew's pooled offering strikes the water - and the wind that comes is exactly worth that much: fair, brisk and gone by the change of watch. The sea is honest. The sea is not generous.
99 Land! The smell of it, the birds of it, a full day before the chart allows - and someone below decks has been humming since the middle watch, and the humming smells, impossibly, of orchards.
100 Roll twice more; log both; the sea is in a mood today.

Dreams & Visions

What a character dreams during a long rest - flavor or foreshadowing.

1 You dream of a door in a hillside, slightly ajar, warm light inside, and wake with grass stains on your boots.
2 A staircase descending through clouds; you count 99 steps and wake before the last.
3 You are a child again in your family kitchen; someone you never met is cooking, and they know your name.
4 An enormous library where every book is one day of your life; you shelve one yourself, high up, spine out.
5 You dream in a language you do not speak and wake understanding one new word. It will come up.
6 The party sits at a long table with empty chairs at both ends; food arrives for the empty chairs too.
7 You swim upward through warm dark water toward a light that is a lantern, held by someone patient.
8 A city of white towers you have never seen; a map seller there refuses your coin and gives directions instead. You wake remembering the third turn.
9 The classic: teeth, falling. But this time each tooth is a tiny die, and every one lands on six.
10 You stand watch over your own sleeping form; you nod to yourself; you both keep watch.
11 A field of wheat under two moons; something walks the far edge, very tall, minding its own business.
12 Your oldest friend, as they were, asking if you kept the promise. You wake mid-answer.
13 Rain falling upward from the sea into clouds shaped like ships.
14 You are a fox for the whole night: the world is smells and news, and the news is mostly good.
15 A game of cards with three strangers; you can never see your own hand, only theirs; they can see only yours. Someone is winning.
16 You re-walk a place you cleared long ago; it is swept, lit and lived-in now, and something small thanks you at the door.
17 You dream of your own funeral; the attendance is embarrassing - embarrassingly large, and someone gives a eulogy in a language of bells.
18 A market where memories are sold by weight; yours are on a middle shelf, fairly priced, one marked 'reserved'.
19 All night: the sound of oars. Just oars. Steady, calm, nearer by morning.
20 You climb a tower whose stairs are the spines of enormous books; the top room holds a desk, a lit candle and your unfinished business, neatly stacked.
21 Someone unseen braids your hair while humming; you wake with the braid.
22 You dream the party's next argument, word for word. You could prevent it. You know you will not.
23 A white stag at a crossroads inclines its head down one road; the road smells of woodsmoke and endings.
24 You are on trial in a court of animals; the owl defends you brilliantly; the verdict is 'improving'.
25 A parent's voice reads to you from the next room, one chapter of a story you never heard the end of, and stops, again, at the same place.
26 The moon, much closer, has a farmhouse on it, lights on, someone doing the washing-up.
27 You dream of the sea from below, looking up at the keels of ships like slow birds.
28 An armory of every weapon you almost bought or almost drew; the keeper says nothing; the inventory says plenty.
29 Snow falls in a throne room; the throne is a snowdrift; the crown, on it, is melting slower.
30 You spend the dream failing to pack a bag while something patient waits by the door. It is not angry. That is worse.
31 A bridge of held hands across a gorge; you cross on them; at the far end, everyone is someone you owe.
32 Fireflies spell slow words too gently to be read; the last three flash brighter: they are trying.
33 You dream you are the party's campfire, and you understand, for one night, everything said around you and everything unsaid.
34 A hallway of doors, each with a year on it; yours is unlocked; next year's is warm to the touch.
35 You harvest a field with strangers all day and are happy; at dusk the field is your life; the barn is full.
36 Wolves circle the camp in the dream, then settle, facing outward. Guarding. One looks back: you were never the flock.
37 You dream of a coin spinning that never lands. All night. You wake exhausted and decisive.
38 An old enemy sits across a small table, tired too, and you split a loaf without a word; the war continues at dawn but not tonight.
39 Every candle you ever lit, re-lit, in one cathedral of your small kindnesses. It is brighter than expected.
40 You are lost in a city where every street is named after a mistake you made; locals give directions kindly; they all live here too.
41 A dragon sleeps on a hoard of ordinary things: mittens, letters, a chipped cup. It opens one eye: the real treasure was obvious all along. It is not smiling. It means it.
42 The dream is just your childhood bedroom, exact, down to the draft - except it was never this safe. Someone made it this safe. Recently. For you.
43 You dream tomorrow's weather, exactly. It will be right. It is always right. It is never useful.
44 Stars rearrange into a face that mouths one word with great effort - a name only your childhood pet would answer to.
45 You walk a battlefield after; the fallen of both sides gather their things, compare wounds like fishermen, and catch rides home on the same carts.
46 An examination hall; the test is one question: 'Whom did you help?' There is plenty of space to answer. You need all of it.
47 You shrink to mouse-size in your own camp; the gear is cliffs; the watch-fire is a sun; your sleeping friends are a mountain range you know by heart.
48 A ferryman poles you across black glass; you pay with a memory you choose; you wake unable to recall what you gave, only that you chose well.
49 All your scars, walking around as small creatures, having a reunion; the oldest one gives a speech; there is, of course, cake.
50 You dream in maps: your life as coastline, your choices as rivers, and there - unmistakable, inland, unexplored - a capital city.
51 The tavern of everyone you ever traveled with, all ages at once; no one has to leave.
52 You are handed an infant by someone rushing off in a market crowd - 'mind this for a moment' - and the moment is the whole dream and you do a good job.
53 A tree grows through the dream at the speed of seasons; in its highest branches, caught like a kite, something you lost. Climbing is the whole dream. Reaching it is the waking.
54 Your weapons dream too, apparently; tonight you visit theirs: a peaceful smithy where they are all, briefly, farm tools.
55 You dream of the god you do not believe in, doing paperwork; your file is thick; the margin notes are fond.
56 Rain on a tent roof, all night, in the dream and out of it; but in the dream, each drop is a name, and you know almost all of them.
57 A staircase up the outside of a tower with no top; other climbers wave across the spiral; everyone is tired; nobody is stopping; morale is, oddly, wonderful.
58 Your shadow leads you through a door you have passed a hundred times; inside is one chair and a good view of everything you have been avoiding. The shadow waits outside. Kind of it.
59 The dream smells of your childhood festival; you win every stall game; the prize, at the last stall, is being tired and small and carried home.
60 You count sheep; the sheep count you back; the total, they insist, is off by one; the search is organized and warm, and you wake before learning who is missing.
61 An elder you loved putters in a garden that never existed, and gives you one clear instruction for a plant you have never seen. You will see it.
62 Every version of you from every choice not taken shares a long campfire; you compare lives; yours holds up; theirs are worried about you anyway.
63 You dream you are the villain - a good one, a considered one, with reasons; you wake unsure which side of some old memory you were actually on.
64 A chorus rehearses a song about your deeds; they keep stopping to argue over one verse; you never hear which. It is clearly the important one.
65 The night sky, but every star is a watch-fire, and around every fire someone is also looking up, wondering who is out there. The answer is: everyone. Everyone is out there.
66 You dig all night with friends whose faces you cannot fix; at dawn, in the dream, you strike not treasure but a bell - and its note is still in your chest when you wake.
67 A hallway of your held tongues: every unsaid thing, shelved and labeled; the archivist says storage costs are rising.
68 You fly, of course - the good dream - but tonight you carry someone, and the carrying is why the flying works.
69 The moon is a coin in a beggar's cup tonight, says the dream, and everyone who drops a kindness in gets change.
70 You re-fight an old fight and lose on purpose this time, experimentally; the world does not end; interesting.
71 A dinner where every dish is a rumor about you; some are delicious; one is raw; the host watches you decide which to swallow.
72 Your name, called across water, in a voice you almost place; the dream is you, rowing toward it, all night, gaining.
73 Snow buries the camp gently in the dream - no cold, no fear, just quiet accumulating - and everyone's watch-candles glowing through it like windows.
74 You inherit a house made of every room you ever slept in, assembled badly, lovingly; the hallway between your childhood bed and last night's inn is four steps long.
75 A council of your future selves reviews your current plans; minutes are not shared; the vote, someone lets slip, was close.
76 You dream the exact weight of everything you carry - pack, blade, debts, names - and of setting one thing down. You wake not knowing which. Lighter, though.
77 A dog you buried long ago brings you a stick in the dream, once a year, tonight; the stick, this year, is a branch of flowering wood.
78 Every door you ever closed softly so as not to wake someone: a corridor of them; behind each, the someone, still sleeping, still safe, because of the softness.
79 You are on a ship of sleepers - crew, passengers, all dreaming - and realize, at the wheel, that so is the helmsman, and so are you, and the ship is doing fine.
80 An office where your worries are assessed: most are ruled 'not yours'; two are stamped 'overdue'; one is waived entirely, with a small note: 'paid by another'.
81 The monster under your childhood bed, present day: retired, gray at the muzzle; it kept the job, it says, long after you stopped needing it, just in case.
82 All the maps you ever misread, corrected, laid over each other: they align into one place. It is not far from here.
83 A memory older than your memories: the lullaby, sung forward this time, by you, to someone smaller. You cannot see who. Your arms know how heavy.
84 A game of hide and seek across a whole city at dusk; you are the seeker; everyone you have lost is hiding; the dream is warm; the seeking is the point; you find two.
85 The party, decades on: gray, scarred, loud, alive, arguing over one detail of a story that happened, by the fire of an inn one of you clearly owns.
86 You stand guard at a door and are relieved at last - by yourself, younger; you brief them; they salute badly; you finally go inside.
87 It rains tiny silver fish in the dream, and everyone runs about with buckets and laughter, and the town eats for a week; you wake smelling faintly of a good harbor.
88 The book of your life, mid-shelf, well-worn - someone is reading it, ahead of you, and laughing at a part you have not reached. Encouraging, honestly.
89 You walk the bottom of a drained lake: everything every liar ever threw in, labeled; everything every lover ever threw in, glowing.
90 A stranger asks directions - to a place only you know, from a memory only you hold; giving them, you realize you are the map now; you wake with the fact intact.
91 Your hands, working, all night: mending, kneading, hauling, holding - a full accounting of your hands; they have done, it turns out, mostly good.
92 The last door of the dream-dungeon opens onto your own campsite from outside - and for one held breath you see your sleeping party the way the dark sees it: small, bright, guarded, worth it.
93 You barter at a stall that sells time you thought you wasted; buying some back, you find it was not wasted; the merchant knew; the merchant always knows; first taste free.
94 An avalanche in slow motion, petals instead of snow; the mountain is apologizing as best a mountain can.
95 You dream the same small kindness you did years ago - from the other side, receiving it. So that is what that felt like. Oh.
96 The stars go out one by one - calmly, lamps at closing time - and the dark that follows is not empty; it is backstage; the crew is resetting for tomorrow; one stagehand winks.
97 A ledger balances at last, in a dream of columns: taken, given; the clerk - you know the clerk - shows you the final line and taps it twice: carried forward.
98 You wake within the dream, and again, and again, each waking into a slightly better morning, until you stop checking - and that one, the unchecked one, is real. Probably. The tea tastes real.
99 No images tonight: just the certainty, delivered gently, that somewhere someone dreamed of you - kindly, and recently, and it mattered to them. You will walk differently tomorrow.
100 Roll twice more; the dreams are one dream; you will realize this at the worst possible moment, or the best.

Wilderness Discoveries

Landmarks, finds and strange places off the beaten path.

1 A ring of standing stones, waist-high, warm to the touch, humming very faintly.
2 An abandoned campsite with a cold fire pit and a kettle still hanging over it, full of fresh water.
3 A tree struck by lightning years ago, still smoldering gently at the core.
4 A perfectly straight path through the undergrowth, a hand's width wide, made by nothing you know.
5 A hunter's blind built for someone twice human size, recently used.
6 A shallow pool that reflects the sky of a different hour.
7 An old boundary stone with a name on each side; the names are the same, spelled differently.
8 A beehive in a hollow trunk; the honeycomb is built in perfect squares.
9 A rope bridge over a gorge, well-maintained, with a toll box on the honor system and a guest book.
10 A clearing where all the grass lies flat in a spiral, still slowly settling.
11 The skeleton of an enormous fish, miles from any water, half-buried, ancient.
12 A woodsman's cabin, swept and stocked, with a note: 'Take what you need. Replace what you can. - W.'
13 An orchard gone wild; one tree in the center is pruned, recently, with love.
14 A stone well in the middle of nowhere; the rope is new, the bucket is missing.
15 Wolf tracks and a child's bootprints, side by side, unhurried, heading the same way.
16 A shrine to a forgotten travel god, seeds and coins in its bowl; the birds will not touch either.
17 An entire hillside of flowers that close when spoken to loudly.
18 A rusted portcullis set into a hillside, no walls on either side of it, locked.
19 A waterfall that falls in silence; the roar begins twenty paces downstream.
20 A cart wheel nailed high on a pine trunk, the old sign for 'ford this way' - or 'plague', depending on whom you ask.
21 An oak split by an old storm, healed around a sword nobody could pull free, so the tree kept it.
22 A salt lick visited by deer, boar and, judging by one set of prints, something that walks on two legs and has hooves.
23 A ruined watchtower, top floor intact, reachable, dry, with a magnificent view and old initials carved by other travelers.
24 Butterflies wintering in a sheltered hollow, thousands of them, opening and closing like a slow breath.
25 A dry riverbed paved with flat stones - too flat; this was a road once, and the river used it.
26 A tree with a door-shaped scar; knock and the woodpeckers answer, mockingly.
27 A stone table in a meadow, big as a barn door, with benches for twelve; locals leave it strictly alone on solstice nights.
28 An old trap pit, staked, and at the bottom a skeleton - of the trap's builder, by the tools.
29 The wreck of a river barge in a forest, upright between the trees, leagues from the nearest river.
30 A patch of forest where it is always dusk, pleasant and cool; birds sing evening songs here at noon.
31 A crossroads of game trails marked by a cairn with fresh flowers on it, this deep in the wild.
32 A hermit's garden, immaculate, unfenced, unraided; the deer stand at its edge and do not enter.
33 A hollow filled with mist that does not burn off; things thrown in land, audibly, twice.
34 A hot spring terraced with careful stonework, centuries old, still perfect, still hot.
35 An answering echo that takes one syllable too long, and adds a friendly tone.
36 A ranger's cache in a hollow tree: rations, arrows, a map, and a note asking whoever takes it to mind the western bridge.
37 A ruined mill with a wheel that turns steadily in a stream that has moved forty paces away.
38 Berries out of season, one bush only, heavy with fruit, in the exact shape of a sleeping bear.
39 A stone stair, twelve steps, up the side of a bluff, ending in air; the top step is worn deepest.
40 A grove where every tree has been struck by lightning exactly once, and all survived.
41 A giant's cairn - or just a hill of boulders, except boulders do not stack like that, and one of them snores in winter.
42 A ford where the stepping stones are old millstones; number seven wobbles, and always has, says the carving on it.
43 The bones of a great serpent arching over the trail like a gate; travelers hang ribbons from its ribs.
44 A lone chimney standing in a meadow, hearth swept, no house, smoke on cold mornings.
45 A pond that freezes with a pattern of concentric rings; skaters swear the middle ring hums.
46 An avenue of poplars along nothing, planted by someone with a plan the centuries misplaced.
47 Wild horses that watch from the ridgeline for a full day, then send one, alone, to look at you closely.
48 A shepherd's shelter with a slate roof and a slate library: two dozen slates, each carved with one hard-earned lesson.
49 A dead forest of white trunks, utterly silent, where your breath fogs regardless of season, and paths of green moss show the way through.
50 A tar pit ringed by warning stakes in six languages; the seventh stake is newer and just says 'STILL'.
51 An eagles' nest the size of a rowboat on a crag, decorated - unmistakably decorated - with blue things.
52 A meadow of night-blooming flowers that open at moonrise with a sound like a sigh.
53 An old battlefield gone green; the barrow in its middle has a door, and the door has a knocker.
54 A creek that runs uphill for thirty paces to clear a rise, then resumes as if nothing happened.
55 Cave mouths in a cliff face like a row of windows; swallows use all but one.
56 A fairy ring of white mushrooms, and inside it, the grass is a season ahead.
57 A hanging bog where the ground breathes underfoot; locals cross it only behind their oldest goat.
58 A single grave with a fine headstone: a name, no dates, and 'SHE WAS RIGHT'.
59 A wooden footbridge over nothing - the stream is gone - kept in repair by someone who remembers it.
60 An ancient road revealed by drought, running straight into the lake and, presumably, out the other side.
61 A tree grown through and around a knight's breastplate, wearing it now at heart height.
62 A colony of ravens that have learned to say 'beware' and clearly enjoy the effect far too much.
63 A landslip that exposed a wall of fitted stone deep in the hillside - fitted from the inside.
64 A box canyon full of drift-blossom in every season; weddings are held here; so, once a year, is something else.
65 A salt spring where the deer stand in line, actually in line, at dawn.
66 An abandoned village reclaimed by forest, except the bakery, which the moss will not touch.
67 A stone head, house-high, half-buried, ear to the ground, expression attentive.
68 A row of seven wells along a dry ridge; six are dry; the seventh is always exactly half full.
69 A blackberry hedge grown in a perfect square around nothing visible; the birds inside sound different.
70 A trapper's line of snares, all sprung, all empty, all reset - facing the other way.
71 A midden of cracked nuts at a trail crossing, tidy as an office; the squirrel in charge accepts tolls.
72 A cliff face streaked white where, once a year, per the shepherds, the mountain 'weeps'; the pool below cures headaches and causes honesty.
73 An old signal beacon, stacked and dry, tarred and ready, tended by nobody for a war that ended long ago.
74 A forest pool with a rowboat exactly in its middle, painted fresh, no oars, no rope, no tracks.
75 A lightning-glass scar in a sandy hollow, branching like a buried tree of green glass.
76 A stand of pines that have grown in a perfect grid; the forester's guild denies planting them and has opened a file.
77 A cairn trail up a mountain nobody climbs, maintained, with a summit box holding a logbook of one repeated name.
78 The rib cage of a leviathan converted, long ago, into a barn; the farm around it is gone; the hay inside is fresh.
79 A moss-covered milestone reading 'THE MIDDLE'; equidistant, scholars confirm, from nothing in particular.
80 A stream that carries blossom in autumn and leaves in spring, arriving from somewhere with opposite seasons.
81 A hunting lodge of the old kings, sealed by ivy; through the window: the table set, the chairs pushed back in haste.
82 A whistling gully - wind through rock - that plays, on stormy nights, an entire recognizable melody, always the same one.
83 A badger sett under a ruined shrine; the badgers have inherited the offerings and the attitude.
84 An erratic boulder balanced on three small stones, placed, physics agrees, by someone very strong with a sense of humor.
85 A firefly hollow where the lights move in slow formations; shepherds call it 'the parade' and doff their hats crossing it.
86 A dried lake bed with hundreds of small stone cairns, one per drowned name, tended by the fish-eagle that nests above.
87 A yew older than the kingdom, hollow, room for six inside, with benches, a candle shelf and centuries of carved confessions.
88 An icehouse mound, intact, still cold, still stocked with last winter - and one block of ice with a fish inside that watches.
89 The bed of a vanished river with a ferryman's bell on a post; ring it, and somewhere upstream, water begins to move.
90 A larch that drops golden needles into one stream-fed basin only; drinking there returns one lost memory, small and kind.
91 A wall of stacked antlers, generations deep, at the treeline; the herd renews it each spring; nobody has seen how.
92 A sunken lane between hedgebanks, older than any map, that shortens every journey by an hour and asks nothing for it, yet.
93 A clearing of ash and rebirth: fire-scarred trunks, and between them, the densest, greenest growth for miles.
94 A boulder field where every stone fits its neighbor; from the ridge above, it is a face, asleep.
95 A brook that runs over a bed of old coins, offerings of a village that no longer exists; the water tastes faintly of luck.
96 An owl parliament at noon: forty owls in one dead tree, awake, silent, attending to something you cannot see.
97 A high pass shrine with a bell rope and a sign: 'RING ONCE FOR THANKS. TWICE FOR HELP. NEVER THRICE.'
98 A green lane of soft turf that keeps beside you, one field over, for half a day, and is gone when you look for it deliberately.
99 A hollow tree stuffed with decades of travelers' notes to each other; the newest is addressed to a party member.
100 Roll twice more; the wilderness put them next to each other on purpose.

Battle Complications

Mid-combat twists, terrain surprises and battlefield chaos.

1 A support beam gives way; a section of ceiling or scaffolding crashes down between the front lines.
2 Someone's dropped lantern starts a small fire that has plans to become a large one.
3 A riderless horse bolts through the middle of the fight.
4 The floor here is weaker than it looks; the next heavy impact opens a hole to the level below.
5 A swarm of bats, furious at the noise, fills the air for a few heartbeats.
6 An enemy trips over discarded gear and takes down an ally like a bowling pin.
7 Thick smoke drifts across the field; for a moment, everyone is fighting silhouettes.
8 A weapon strikes sparks near spilled oil. Everyone notices at the same time.
9 The church bell - or a gong, or an alarm - begins ringing. Reinforcements? For whom?
10 A wagon's brake fails; it begins rolling downhill, gathering speed and relevance.
11 Rain starts mid-melee: footing worsens, bowstrings dampen, tempers do not cool.
12 A door everyone assumed was locked bursts open; a bystander freezes in it, tray in hand.
13 A stray blow cuts a hanging rope; the chandelier, cargo net or portcullis it held remembers gravity.
14 The ground trembles - unrelated to the fight, which is somehow worse.
15 Someone knocks over a beehive, brazier or birdcage. The contents take a side. Not yours.
16 A combatant's cloak snags on something at the worst moment.
17 Dust and grit blow across the field; for one breath, everyone fights blind.
18 An earlier casualty groans and starts crawling for the exit, through the middle of everything.
19 A dog joins the battle with tremendous enthusiasm and no allegiance.
20 The bridge, plank or ledge underfoot begins to crack, loudly, announcing a deadline.
21 An enemy's weapon shatters on a parry; the shards fly wide; the look on their face is its own event.
22 Barrels stacked nearby begin to shift; the pyramid holds for now, judgmentally.
23 A window shatters inward: weather, a bird, or the first scout of someone new.
24 The lights go out - wind, magic or malice - and return three heartbeats later with everyone somewhere else.
25 A noncombatant runs through the field after a pet, a child or a ledger, apologizing.
26 Flood, tide or a burst cistern: an inch of water arrives, and the battlefield becomes a mirror.
27 Someone's pack spills; healing potions roll in every direction like dropped fruit.
28 A wall of crates topples, splitting the battlefield into two smaller, angrier battles.
29 The enemy leader's horn sounds retreat - but half of them clearly do not want to obey.
30 A trap nobody triggered until now was, it turns out, waiting for exactly this much vibration.
31 Hail begins, sudden and absurd; shields do double duty; a dwarf laughs.
32 A stray arrow severs a banner; it drapes over an enemy like a shroud, and the omen lands on both sides.
33 The scaffolding of onlookers cracks under the weight of the audience it should not have.
34 Someone slips on blood, mud or soup and takes their whole exchange to the ground.
35 A cornered enemy grabs a hostage - and picks, judging by everyone's faces, exactly the wrong person.
36 The fire spreads to the rope holding something enormous. The rope begins to sing.
37 Fog rolls in low, waist-high; the battlefield becomes heads and shoulders on a white sea.
38 An unseen archer joins in from a rooftop: careful, patient, and on nobody's known payroll.
39 The floor mosaic everyone is standing on begins, gently, to glow.
40 A catapult stone from a battle miles away arrives with no opinion about either side.
41 Livestock stampedes through: sheep, pigs or geese, transforming tactics into slapstick.
42 A combatant's backswing hits the support of the awning; the whole street's canvas comes down on the fight.
43 Someone yells 'the watch is coming!' - the fight continues, but now with a schedule.
44 An earlier spell's residue reacts: every metal blade briefly chimes on contact, loud as bells.
45 The staircase in play loses three steps to an axe blow meant for someone's head.
46 A wounded enemy surrenders mid-melee, loudly and awkwardly, changing the mood of the entire room.
47 The cart of the alchemist - why is there always one - begins leaking three colors of smoke.
48 A gust slams every door in the building at once; the room's exits have been reshuffled.
49 Pigeons detonate off the rooftops as one, and everyone flinches skyward for a heartbeat.
50 The prisoner in the corner has quietly worked one hand free and is now shopping for a side.
51 A blade bites into a barrel of, of all things, lamp oil. It glugs onto the floorboards, patiently.
52 An ally's mighty blow continues through the target's shield into the load-bearing post behind it.
53 Two enemies collide chasing the same target and begin, briefly, fighting each other.
54 The tapestry catches fire and peels off the wall like a burning sail.
55 A ballista bolt from the outer wall passes through the room, editing the architecture.
56 Someone steps on the dog. The dog holds a grudge. The dog has friends.
57 The floor's old bloodstain everyone stepped around turns out to mark a trapdoor, which opens.
58 A grappling hook arrives over the parapet, followed by absolutely no one, for now.
59 The bell tower's pigeons drop last year's nest, a bucket's worth, onto the melee's exact center.
60 An enemy's thrown weapon misses everything and cuts the mooring of the boat everyone planned to leave on.
61 The chandelier's candles fall but keep burning where they land, remapping the room in small fires.
62 A crossbow misfires straight up; everyone tracks the bolt with their eyes; negotiations occur nonverbally.
63 The ice underfoot - pond, cellar or spell - votes to end its participation.
64 An enormous cask breaks its chocks and rolls through, ending arguments as it goes.
65 The enemy's summoned creature completes its contract mid-fight, shrugs, and departs.
66 An avalanche of firewood buries the doorway that was everyone's plan B.
67 The captured banner turns out to be a beloved relic; both sides briefly cooperate to keep it out of the fire.
68 A stray blast knocks the horn from the signaler's hands; it lands, wedged, sounding one endless note.
69 The mercenaries on the enemy side pause to confirm, loudly, that this level of trouble costs extra.
70 A shelf of jars breaks: pickles, reagents or specimens; the floor becomes a museum of bad footing.
71 Lightning strikes the weathervane; every hair rises; both sides take one respectful step apart.
72 The rug is yanked - by whom? - and two combatants sit down abruptly, mid-duel.
73 A wall of the burning building leans out over the field, creaking its intentions.
74 The winch holding the drawbridge, gate or cage pays out three feet of chain, then holds. Then two more.
75 An enemy fumbles their torch into the hay. Both sides now share a second, mutual enemy.
76 A parry rings against the great bell someone was hiding behind; the note staggers everyone in ten feet.
77 Somebody's ward triggers early: harmless silver light, but now everyone knows where the treasure is.
78 Reinforcements arrive at the far door - for the enemy - and immediately get stuck in it, together.
79 The dueling pair crashes through the window and continues on the balcony, then the awning, then the street.
80 The floor tilts: ship, sinkhole or angry earth; every unsecured object migrates to one wall.
81 A wild swing decapitates the statue; the head rolls between the lines and everyone briefly watches it.
82 An oil lamp arcs through the air, and the room divides into people who dive and people who catch.
83 The enemy's beast slips its handler and, freed, wants nothing to do with any of this.
84 A trumpet outside plays the wrong signal; half the enemy advances, half retreats, all curse.
85 The rotten tree everyone is fighting under drops a branch the size of a rowboat.
86 A stray bolt cuts the rope of the well bucket; the counterweight introduces itself to the melee.
87 Steam erupts from a broken pipe or geyser: a hot white wall redraws the battlefield.
88 The other prisoners take the opportunity, and the jailbreak crosses the battle at a right angle.
89 An unlucky blow shatters the aquarium, terrarium or reliquary; its occupant is now everyone's problem.
90 Someone's dying curse takes hold: for ten breaths, every lie spoken in the room stings like a wasp.
91 The bells begin ringing for an unrelated festival; the fight now has a soundtrack, and it is joyful.
92 A trapped chest springs at last: not fire, but a marking dye, and the thief in the room turns bright blue.
93 Sappers - whose? - break through the floor a spear-length from the fight, blink up, and reconsider their timing.
94 The enemy commander's second surrenders their whole flank without permission, holding out their sword like a plea.
95 A child's ball bounces into the fight; play stops; a veteran throws it back; play resumes.
96 Fire reaches the mounted trophies; the stuffed owlbear looms out of the smoke and routs three people who know better.
97 The captured wagon everyone is fighting over begins, driverless, to leave.
98 A wounded knight of neither side staggers from the chapel door and commands, in a voice used to obedience, that this stop.
99 Someone's terrified mule finally kicks its way free of its post and chooses the shortest path out: through.
100 Roll twice more; the second complication interrupts the first.

Black Market Wares

Dubious goods from shady stalls, fences and back-alley dealers.

1 A ring of keys 'from the old palace' - three fit nothing anymore, one fits something it should not.
2 A jar of glowing eels that spell short words when they think no one is watching.
3 Maps of the city sewers, hand-corrected, with one route inked in gold and labeled 'rent due'.
4 A dozen candlesticks with the crest freshly filed off, sold as a 'matched set, provenance rustic'.
5 A sleeping potion 'used by the duchess herself' - the label is real, which raises questions.
6 Weighted dice so masterfully made that casinos buy them back just to study.
7 A parrot that knows one password and will not say which door it opens, only that it does.
8 Silk scarves that pass through pocket seams 'for professionals of the crowded marketplace'.
9 A tax stamp die, only slightly out of date, 'for theatrical productions'.
10 Bottled fog, guaranteed thick, harvested 'from the good bank of the river'.
11 A dagger that refuses to cut its previous owner, who is, the fence admits, still looking for it.
12 Love letters between two noble houses currently at war - originals, scandalous, priced per house.
13 A wheel of contraband cheese from a monastery under embargo; the smell alone is smuggling.
14 Grave goods 'ethically sourced from the unclaimed'; the receipts are suspiciously thorough.
15 A watchman's uniform, cleaned, pressed, with a note of his patrol habits pinned inside.
16 Invisible ink and its reader-stone, sold separately, at opposite ends of the market, on principle.
17 A songbird trained to sing loudly on command - 'the perfect alibi for conversations'.
18 Lockpicks of dwarven make hidden inside a prayer book with a hollowed sermon on honesty.
19 A ledger page from a moneylender's office, sold blank side out; the front is the product.
20 Second-hand wedding rings, sorted by how the marriage ended.
21 A vial of 'authentic dragon sweat' - it is pond water, but it is pond water from THAT pond.
22 Boots with hollow heels, pre-broken-in, 'previous owner needed them urgently and briefly'.
23 A guild seal ring, 'found', with the guild's reward poster for it helpfully attached to gauge value.
24 Imported fireworks banned since the Incident; the seller's eyebrows confirm the stories.
25 A city guard's notebook, half full; the remaining names have prices next to them already.
26 Smoke bombs in festival colors, 'for weddings', winked.
27 A shipment of saints' finger bones; there are, a scholar notes, too many fingers for the saint on the label.
28 Skeleton keys sold with a strict no-questions policy and a stricter no-refunds one.
29 A folding grappling hook disguised as a candelabra, or possibly the reverse.
30 Antidotes numbered one through nine; the seller recommends buying the set 'if you dine out much'.
31 A cursed coin that always returns to its spender; sold, spent, and resold hourly at this very stall.
32 Hair dye that fools truth spells about your hair color and, oddly, only that.
33 A noble's signet, wax kit and handwriting samples: 'the correspondence starter bundle'.
34 Moonshine distilled from fey fruit; drinkers report dancing, prophecy and missing eyebrows.
35 A crate of crossbow bolts fletched with feathers from a bird sacred two kingdoms over.
36 The confession of a hanged man, notarized, exonerating a person the buyer may choose.
37 A rope that unties itself when its knot is whistled at; the tune is sold separately, of course.
38 Tunnel rights beneath the mint - 'expired', the seller admits, 'but the tunnel does not know that'.
39 Beetles that eat only wax seals, sold with tiny leashes.
40 An unsigned arrest warrant, official paper, official ink; bring your own name.
41 Perfume that smells like a different person's trail to any tracking hound.
42 A pawned holy symbol that still works, which the fence finds theologically upsetting and priced accordingly.
43 Window glass cut to fit the manor on the hill, 'a common size', sold with felt gloves.
44 A trained magpie with a taste for signet rings and a portfolio of prior work.
45 Dream powder, one pinch per nightmare, sold by a vendor who clearly never sleeps.
46 A half share in a smuggling tunnel currently, temporarily, full of river.
47 Manacles with a hidden release, sold in pairs: one honest, one not; do keep track.
48 A stack of theater masks with the faces of prominent citizens, 'for satire', allegedly.
49 Wine relabeled so many times the bottle is mostly label; the vintage inside is, ironically, priceless.
50 A tame shadow, sold at dusk only, that will hold your place in any queue.
51 Blueprints of the new prison, drawn from memory by its architect, who now resides there and wants visitors.
52 A whistle audible only to city guard dogs, teaching them, over time, to expect treats from strangers.
53 Counterfeit pilgrim badges for six shrines, plus one real one 'that got mixed in, good luck'.
54 A glass eye that weeps when its original owner lies; the owner is a sitting magistrate.
55 Sealed evidence from a closed trial, sold by weight, contents guaranteed 'interesting'.
56 An ointment that fades brands and scars, popular with exactly whom you would expect.
57 A deed to a house that burns down every nineteen years, priced attractively in year eighteen.
58 Silver melted from cursed heirlooms, recast as very reasonable spoons; the curses, the smith swears, mostly cancel out.
59 A pocketwatch that runs fast in honest company and slow among thieves; here, it is nearly stopped.
60 The retirement journal of a master burglar, in cipher, sold with the first page pre-solved 'as a taste'.
61 Wardstones pried from a witch's fence, still warm, still muttering, sold in nets of three.
62 A ferry token for a crossing that officially does not exist, valid, per the stamp, 'always'.
63 Gloves that leave someone else's fingerprints - a specific someone, discontinued, final sale.
64 A chorister's robe, unremarkable, save that its wearer is never questioned in any temple.
65 Poison labels only - the bottles are yours to fill - 'for pranks', the sign insists.
66 A cage of message doves, each already sworn to an address the seller declines to reveal.
67 The private diary of 'a person of quality', with an auction each dusk for the right to burn it.
68 A brick from the counting house wall, sold with a map of which wall and, crucially, when.
69 Mirror shards that show the viewer as the person they were pretending to be at the time of the crime.
70 A bell muffled so perfectly it rings silence - burglars hang it on doors to swallow the alarm.
71 Letters of passage signed by a general who died before the ink dried; legally fascinating, practically superb.
72 An honest man's reputation, sold by the man himself, who is done with it and wants a boat.
73 Cats trained to trip pursuers on stairs; the trainer's leg brace lends the pitch conviction.
74 A vault dial, pre-scarred with the wear pattern of its combination, 'decorative'.
75 Sea charts of the customs patrol routes, updated weekly, priced daily, trusted never.
76 A memory, in a locket: the last safe combination its previous owner ever memorized. Buyer beware whose.
77 Militia armor, dented theatrically, 'for veterans of wars that lacked openings'.
78 A tunnel-rat's census of every loose flagstone in the merchant quarter, rated by squeak.
79 Two tickets to tonight's execution, front row - and a third, unexplained, for backstage.
80 A jar of official red tape, literal, spooled; wrap any object and watchmen will assume paperwork exists.
81 The debt book of a dead loan shark; half the town would pay to see it; the other half, to not.
82 Chalk that marks doors with signs only other buyers of this chalk can see; the vocabulary chart costs extra.
83 A rowboat folded, somehow, to satchel size; unfolding it indoors voids everything.
84 A warlord's peace pipe, stolen mid-negotiation; two armies are still waiting politely for its return.
85 Smoked spectacles that reveal which market stalls are fronts; every pair sold is watched home.
86 The apprentice fee refund contract of a notorious assassin school, uncollected, transferable, ticking.
87 A ring of invisibility for the left hand only; reviews praise the discount and describe the learning curve.
88 Bottled applause, one use, deafening, 'for exits'.
89 A watch captain's resignation letter, undated, signed, bought years ago as insurance and now needing a new home.
90 Nails from a gallows, bent into fishhooks; they catch, the seller says, only the guilty. Fish included free.
91 A tapestry stolen so famously that displaying it is the point; it comes with its own wanted poster, framed.
92 Receipts. Blank, aged, from forty defunct shops, in bundles: 'proof of purchase for whatever you already own'.
93 A sedan chair with a false floor, prior occupant 'transported successfully, mostly'.
94 The true name of a minor demon, written on a card inside seven envelopes, discounted, urgently.
95 A locksmith's apology letter and the master key it accompanies; the letter is addressed to the city.
96 Barrels marked SALT FISH whose smell is store-bought and reapplied weekly with a brush.
97 A pardon with the name water-damaged 'by tragic accident', notary seal miraculously intact.
98 Directions to this market, sold at triple price outside it; the joke is that they work only once.
99 A stall selling nothing but alibis, by the hour, with witnesses on retainer and a loyalty program.
100 Roll twice more; the seller insists the two items are 'a set' and will not split them.

D100 Tables

Wild Magic Surges

Result

Wild Magic Surges

Trinkets & Curiosities

Tavern Events

Dungeon Dressing

Road & Travel Encounters

NPC Quirks

City Events

Magic Item Quirks

Quest Hooks

Minor Curses

Omens & Portents

Strange Books

Potion Side Effects

Sea & Ship Events

Dreams & Visions

Wilderness Discoveries

Battle Complications

Black Market Wares

Found a bug or have feedback?