Wednesday, 8 April 2015

d20. What's under the bed?





“For the love of wee gods and tiny fishes! I just wanted to get some kip, that’s all. Forty winks before the dungeon crawl in the morning. Is that too much to ask for? But no, not possible. There’s something under my bed. Gnawing. Wailing, making a terrible bloody racket. Here, have a gander at this. Now, what do you suppose that is?”








1. A small wooden chest with the lid snapping open and closed. A pale yellow light emanates from within.

2. A low fog, swirling, making a slithering noise. It begins to spill out from under the bed and fill up the room

3. A rat caught in a trap with a handwritten note attached to its body. The note reads,’ Escape. Now. While you still can.”

4. A hole between the worlds, with two hairy arms protruding, feeling their way around, as if they were searching for something.

5. A bag of orc jaws, gnashing and biting.

6. A tiny dust sprite, dancing, spinning like a dervish, singing off-key, high pitched, and growing bigger with every dizzying revolution.

7. A book. Completely black from cover to cover, and page to page. Thin, scrawny, silvery handwriting is barely legible on the cover and within.

8. A coin, made from a strange blue metallic substance that makes all the hairs on your body stand up straight.

9. A black oozing substance slowly taking shape with four baleful glowing eyes, and a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth, sliding toward your unprotected face.

10. A gold bar stamped with the crest of the local Lord. Suddenly, there’s a banging on the door…

11. A severed hand, fingers moving, Rap-tap-tapping on the wooden floor. Then it stops and begins to beckon you closer.

12. A stringed musical instrument, made from wood, ivory, and a large tortoise shell.

13. A fake beard, moustache, and a blonde wig.

14. A bolted trapdoor, with something on the other side banging furiously to be let out. Normally it wouldn’t bother you, but the woods starting to splinter…

15. A music box, that when opened plays a melancholy tune by the famous Bardic troupe, ‘Joy Division’.

16. A small mirror that’s not reflecting what it should. It’s definitely not showing you the room you’re in, neither is that tentacled monstrosity your reflection. It emits a cold, cold breeze, and if you listen carefully, you can hear the faintest of screams, echoing, through the starless void.

17. A book of daily omens, with tomorrow’s page torn out, and the remainder are all blank.

18. A diary of someone who appears to be trapped in a tower somewhere in the city. There are vague directions to where the person maybe being held.

19. A wanted sign with your face on it. Big cash reward offered, but only if you’re dead. Alive apparently, doesn’t really matter.

20. A piece of parchment confessing a terrible secret about the local Abbot, and what one may find in his basement.



The Monster under the Bed
In the cupboard
Or in the darkened corner of the room

Shadowy, sinewy, tall and thin. Creepy. Fanged. Moves quickly, and if you’re lucky, you might just catch it out of the corner of your eye. Long arms, stretchy, unnatural. Claws, teeth and a hunger that knows no bounds. Spun as playthings by witches on the wheels and looms of hate, they are let loose to sup on the fears of those who inhabit the mortal realm. Especially children, and adventurers.

Hit Dice: 4+1
Armour Class: 7 [12]
Attacks: 2 Claws (1d8) and kiss (1d12)
Saving Throw: Fighter 6
Special: Hugs and kisses. Can only be hit by silver or magical weapons
Move: Twice a mortals speed
Alignment: Eeeeevil
XP: 450


If a the Monster under the Bed hits with both claws, it hugs, then closes in for a kiss for an additional 1d12 hit points of damage. A kiss drains 1d4 points of strength that can be restored by one point per day. A player may make a save to negate kiss damage, but not claw damage.


3 comments:

  1. these are very evocative! I'd totally use them to kickstart an encounter or even a campaign against the night's minions

    ReplyDelete
  2. I read the Choose Your Own Adventure book the opening graphic

    ReplyDelete