Tuesday, December 25, 2018

Secret Santicorn: Psychomatic Mini-Dungeons

For Rook, Merry Christmas:

A multiple choice prompt. I chose “psychical/psychomatic mini-dungeon generator”


Everything in the dungeonsciousness comes from a part of the mind of the person it sprang from.

Roll 1d4 when you enter a new room, +1 for every room you’ve passed through in the dungeonsciousness so far. If you roll an 8 or higher, you’ve reached the core. From here you can make one significant, lasting change to the person’s mind and instantly return to the outside world. Changes can be anything from curing a phobia, to making them forgive someone who’s wronged them, to making them fall in love. Assume that deeper rooms represent deeper aspects of their mind.

D6 How Do You Enter The Dungeonscious Mind?
1 Heartsake Key: Stick it in someone’s solar plexus and crank it. Their ribs will open up to the inside of their mind. They will remain conscious and at least a little spooked while they’re open. If you die in their dungeonsciousness you’re spat out with half your mind and body replaced with a copy of theirs. If they die while you’re in their dungeonsciousness you have to punch your way out of their body like a chestburster while suffocating.
2 Oneiric Coyote: Meet one while you’re dreaming, pay it in hopes and fears, and it’ll get you into a sleeping person’s dungeonsciousness. If that person wakes up while you’re in their head, you’re stuck there until they fall asleep again.
3 Projection Grub: Cut a trepanation hole in someone’s skull, stick one of these grubs in, and it’ll glut itself on their psychic energy and then metamorphose into a physical representation of their dungeonsciousness. If you die in that dungeonsciousness then new grubs will hatch in your corpse.
4 Brain-Shaped Herb: Pulp it (the pulp looks like neurons do close-up), smoke it, blow it in someone’s face. If some gets in their lungs, they’ll be trapped in your dungeonsciousness.
5 Chthonic Snooze: Sleep underground in a room just above where they’re sleeping. Your dream-self will be in their dungeonsciousness.
6 Kadathian Tea: Get your target to drink this tea, then drink what’s left of it after it passes through their system. Then you’ll be able to enter their dungeonsciousness from anywhere when you drink it.

D6 What’s in this room? (Roll 1d3 times)
1 Encounter
2 Encounter
3 Environment
4 Environment
5 Trap
6 Treasure

D6 How many doors does this room have?
1 1 obvious door, 1 secret door.
2 1 normal door, 1 door that will be a pain to reach (on the ceiling, up a cliff, behind rubble, etc.).
3 3 doors.
4 2 doors, and one unconventional egress (elevator, teleporter, etc.) that connects distant parts of the dungeonsciousness.
5 2 doors, and 1 pit, rift, chasm that’ll drop you into a room deeper in the dungeonsciousness.
6 2 doors.

D20 Encounters...
1 1d4+1 little grey-faced old men with long needles. They’ll try to cling to your back, weigh you down, trip you up, kill you by jabs and pricks. They were never good enough. What are they even doing here?
2 A slobbering, snaggletoothed dog as big as a horse. It’ll grab you and try to drag you deeper into the dungeonsciousness. They need someone, anyone, to understand them.
3 A doll which bears the crudely stitched features of the dungeonscious person. It can copy any attacks used against it. They were always so replaceable.
4 A neckless, raw meat red hypermuscular berserker. The creature teleports each time it’s injured. Something’s wrong in their life, Something infuriatingly unidentifiable to them.
5 Appears as a treasure, is actually a venomous mimic. Sometimes a good thing is just hiding worse things from them.
6 A wingless wyrm festooned with fool’s gold. Less dangerous than it appears. Blaster and intimidation can be as useful a weapon as any sword to them.
7 A mosquito-mouthed slug-thing with the crawling, chubby limbs of an infant. Damage it deals heals itself. Sometimes they feel like a drain even on their closest friends.
8 A hairless, gibbering gibbon-like creature that walks on the ceiling and bleeds iridescent acid. Sometimes they find the world so strange they have no recourse but to reject it.
9 An idealized, beautiful version of the dungeonscious person. Every round you’re in the same room as it, you become weaker. It’s everything they want to be, and aren’t.
10 A murky pool of water. Under the surface, something octopoid with barbed tentacles and no head. It’s striking strength is minimal, it will instead try to drag and drown. It can be so hard for them to keep their head above all their troubles.
11 The walls are covered in holes. Within, pink serpents lurk. Tell which holes they’re in by the dripping drool. The marks of repressed lust.
12 Twirling swords that hop and fall to impale foes. They can only attack every other round, but should they hit it’s devastating. Disaster haunts them.
13 Bristling empty-space urchins. So much as touching them brings grievous injury. There’s repressed memories they can’t even begin to recall.
14 A crustaceoid knight wielding a clawed sceptre. At first it’s invulnerable. Plates of its armour must be stripped off by clever tactics to render it vulnerable. They arm themselves with a hundred coping mechanisms to make it through the day.
15 A creature somewhere between a wolf and a chameleon. It’ll hide when you first enter and follow you stealthily, then strike when you seem weak. They’re truly spiteful to those they deem their lessers.
16 1d4 flimsy fleshbags that explode when killed. They’ve got a self-destructive urge.
17 A flock of 2d6 magpies with beaks shaped like fingers. Each will try to steal something from you then flee deeper into the dungeonsciousness. They’re consumed with envy.
18 An amorphous slime studded with eyes. All stare at you from the moment you enter the room. It knows all your tactics as you use them. They’re always at least a little paranoid, never feel like they’re not being watched.
19 2d4 guardians in silvered armour, standing in ranks. They’re not hostile so long as you don’t try to press further into the dungeonsciousness, but will pursue relentlessly if you do. They’re wary, don’t let anyone get too close too quickly.
20 A swarm of sting-tailed flies flows like a tide from wall to wall. A sense of doom hangs over their head.

D20 Environments...
1 A throbbing ganglionic cord stretched from floor to ceiling. Very fragile. If severed, the dungeonscious person loses the ability to (1d6) 1, walk; 2, talk; 3, see; 4, remember; 5, perform fine manual actions; 6, breathe. Its presence in the dungeonsciousness signifies a reliance on instinct over rational thought.
2 The floor is slick, unmelting ice. Moving too quickly along it risks slipping. They’re hesitant to show their true emotions.
3 The walls are waving flags. Nationalistic/ethnic fervour stirs in their heart.
4 Sickly greenish lights shine down from the ceiling. Hypochondria haunts their thoughts.
5 Gravity drags you down twice as heavily as it otherwise would. The weight of the world lies densely across their shoulders.
6 Ivy clings to the walls, to the floors. They’re flammable, and damage to them causes them to grow back twice as densely as before. Overthinking drives their mind.
7 Everything in the room appears painted. They feel as though abstractions and art are more real than reality.
8 Every surface is covered in hairs and pustules in strange places. They never grew comfortable with the changes in their life.
9 The ceiling hangs low here, you’d have to stoop and crawl to get around. It recalls a humiliation they had to suffer.
10 The floor is tilted precariously. Any slip-up could see you tumbling down. They feel their life is poorly balanced.
11 The room is immense, and resembles a forest. They yearn for the freedom they see in nature.
12 Room rotates slowly around an axis. They’re persistently dizzy.
13 1d4 rounds after entering the room, it and everyone in it resets to the point when they entered, retaining their memory. They think far ahead.
14 The walls are painted a scabby red. The air’s suffused with a panting heat. Those in the room must save to deescalate or disengage from violence and arguments. There’s a fury slow-cooking their soul.
15 The room is pitch black. There’s something in them they’ll lie about to everyone.
16 The walls are covered in pipes. Breaking them releases a pool of (1d4) 1, blood; 2, bile; 3, phlegm; 4, urine. Their body is a stranger to them.
17 The floor is equally sized and spaced bricks. Everything must be ordered for them to feel comfortable.
18 Cobwebs obscure the rest of the room from the entrances. Introspection isn’t something they’re used to.
19 The room crowds with richly adorned furniture. Heavier than it looks, worth much to discerning buyers. They’ve a desire to rise above their station.
20 The ceiling dangles with drooling tongues. They’ve a hunger which could swallow up all the world has to offer.

D20 Traps...
1 A supercooled river runs through the middle of the room. If you touch it or fall in, take 1d4 damage and get stuck as the river freezes in an instant. The tears that flow from a broken heart.
2 A mirror on the wall. The mirror reflects something, spikes or spinning blades or a deep pit, that you can’t see normally but can hurt you anyways. Indicates self-obsession worn like a shell.
3 The floor is covered in blankets, the walls are hung with them. Touching a blanket causes it to curl around and hold you tight. Some days all they can do is stay in bed.
4 Ankle-deep filth soaks the floor. Any serious physical exertion in this room requires a save vs. poison not to throw up while doing it. There’s some corner of their mind that sickens them.
5 Alcohol soaks the air and the carpet. Crusty vomit fills a corner. Lingering here gets you rapidly drunk. One night, a few too many drinks, changed everything for them.
6 One of the room’s doors is adorned with rattling hooks and spikes. If you do not leave something on the hooks while passing through, they will take a chunk of flesh off you. They don’t believe that anything can come without a cost.
7 After room is entered, two walls on opposite sides begin slow process of crushing everything in it. They’re under so much pressure they feel as though they could snap.
8 Beaded veil hung across room knocks anyone touching it unconscious for 1d4 rounds. The memory of a concussion.
9 Anyone in the room standing still for more than a round begins sinking into the floor. They fear confinement and stagnation.
10 Room starts off looking exactly like one previously encountered in the dungeonsciousness. Being injured by or otherwise significantly interacting with a real feature of the room breaks the illusion.
11 Room appears like where you were before you entered the dungeonsciousness. Your friends and family appear and try to convince you that you got what you wanted from their mind and should stay here forever. They expected someone to enter their mind and prepared a psychic countermeasure.
12 Pressure plate hidden somewhere in the room doors to seal and room to start flooding with resin when triggered. One wrong step and things could get sticky for them.
13 Shards of glass suspended in air like chandeliers, unfreeze, plummet , and slice if touched. Beauty has wounded them before.
14 Part of floor in room noticeably rotten or otherwise abnormal. Breaks if too much pressure placed on it. Underneath is deep pit lined with spikes like teeth. They’re a glutton in denial about it.
15 Room filled with maze of brambles. Pushing through rather than figuring out the maze does no damage, but injects psychological traits of dungeonsciousness into the mind of the pusher. They consider themself an enforcer of conformity.
16 Each wound received in the room is at least a little worse than the last. Strange stains splatter its walls and ceiling. This room comes from their grudge-holding nature.
17 Crystalline pillar stuck through center of room, emits radiation that slowly disintegrates things not native to the dungeonsciousness in the room. Can be avoided by even a thin sheet of dungeonsciousness-native material between it and you. They keep their thoughts guarded.
18 A friendly, vague-featured figure. It will try to accompany you and learn as much about you as possible. Harmless, but the information they learn will be transmitted to the dungeonscious mind through dreams and flashes of intuition. They’ve got enough curiosity to kill nine cats.
19 Pipettes embedded in the walls spray you with slime if you pass in front of them. Each pipette contains only enough slime to spray one thing before running out. If something covered in slime is looked at, it takes 1d4 damage that round. They’ve worked very hard to overcome their shyness.
20 A carpet of jagged ribs. Harmless traveling in one direction, tear at your flesh in the other. The past hurts them, the only cure is going forward.

D20 Treasures...
1 A glass orb holding a golden light within. If you are ever lost or stuck, smash the orb and the light will guide your way. Comes from the optimism that tomorrow will be better than today.
2 A lantern that glows without a need for fuel, which no one else can see by. Comes from a conviction that they know something nobody else does.
3 A stone which twitches nervously when the one holding it risks violating local courtesy or laws. They were beaten for the slightest offense.
4 A shrunken, ashen heart. If its holder would be killed by an attack, they can transfer half the lethal damage to the person whose dungeonsciousness the heart came from. The last piece of a saviour complex.
5 An arrow, bolt, or javelin (it can shift between them as needed) of matte-black plastic. Anything it strikes is removed from existence for 1d6 rounds, while the arrow never returns. A problem that can be safely ignored is a problem solved to them.
6 A dull cube with ridged edges. Crushing it spreads the dullness to your surroundings. A fire brings mild warmth instead of burns, blinding light or darkness fade to twilight, acid becomes stinging water. The changes last for 2d6 rounds. The numbness inside can come so quickly for them.
7 A crystalline lens with a hole bored through the center. Staring through it at a person lets you know what the first room in their dungeonsciousness would be. They consider their dreams a great source of wisdom.
8 A blue-and-gold bead. If held or otherwise on the person of a hireling, with or without their knowledge, that hireling will never retreat or surrender if it means abandoning you. They cherish loyalty dearly.
9 A cloudy tincture. If poured over a wound, that wound will mend itself for 1d6 hours. If no other wound is received during that time, the wound heals. If another wound is received, the mended wound opens again. They consider themself a survivor.
10 A lump of crumbly, sticky gel. If bits of this gel are stuck to different objects, those objects will be attracted to each other like powerful magnets. There are some they would do anything to be reunited with.
11 A porcelain disc, with the barest hints of a face apparent in its patterns. If you toss the disc you can switch places with it for 1d6 rounds, and then back again. They’d rather be somewhere else, but can’t truly escape their current situation.
12 A viscous potion that renders its drinker rubbery, flexible, able to squeeze through the smallest cracks. They think they’d be able to adapt to any circumstance.
13 A pair of ruby-red lips molded from wax. When stuck on an object, that object will be able to speak for one minute as if it were a human being. Its knowledge will pertain to its nature, e.g. a sword will know about who wielded it and who it’s killed, water will know what it’s dissolved, and so on. When the minute is up the lips become inert. They pride themself on their empathy, even if they might not always make use of it.
14 A grinning, virdigrised figurine. If touched to a machine or piece of equipment the figure falls apart to dust and the next attempt to use the machine results in an automatic fumble/critical failure. They trust their own abilities over any aid.
15 A pair of feather-and-kindling wings with straps that fit your shoulders. Wearing them lets you fly for 1d6 rounds before they melt. They yearn for the weightless days of their childhood.
16 A small prism of smooth steel. When pushed into your flesh you expand to twice your size, then four times, and so on, each round it’s in. Being in a room too small to contain your expansion will crush you. The prism contains enough power for 1d6 rounds of expansion. They’ve always wished they were bigger.
17 A paper chain which, when wound around a limb or neck of a corpse, animates it under the holder’s control. If the holder lets go of the chain, or if the chain is broken, the corpse deanimates. There’s someone they’ve lost, and would do anything to see again.
18 A stake of petrified wood, carved in the shapes of dancing animals. Ramming it into the edge of a room lets you animate its doors and furniture under your control for 1d6 minutes, after which the stake crumbles away. They’re a territorial sort.
19 An ointment that shines a dull red from within. Anything it’s applied to becomes immensely more flammable. They have a pyromaniacal streak.
20 A whistle of translucent bone. Blowing it causes it to shatter and make anyone hearing it unable to remember the one who blew it if they can’t immediately see them for 1d6 minutes. The dungeonscious one would rather people forgot a lot about them.

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