Tomb Robber Encounters (d12)

Description (more info)

I made this for Barrowmaze, but useful for anywhere the party might face competition. Abbreviations below.

WM: wandering monster

c/s/e/g/p: copper/whatever pieces

[n]#: [n] times number appearing

[n]r: [n] rounds

[n]t: [n] turns

P: party

W: if party waits ...

[-/~/+]R: negative/neutral/positive reaction to party

d12 Outside the Dungeon Inside the Dungeon


Spattered with blood, running away and screaming; someone's guts fall out, and he falls down and won't stop screaming. The rest leave him behind. Roll more WM checks until he stops screaming. He wants you to hold him.

Impromptu last rites. W: religious one finishes makeshift eulogy, asks for remembrances to be said. Make them earnest and inappropriate. They leave him and move on.


Inventory check. Says Stringybeard: we got water? Threeteeth: check. W: Bread? Check. How much? 2 days. No, three days. Three days? One, two, three. Three. Three days. Check. Wait, could you count that again? One, two, three. Three days. Check. Could you count that again? W: Threeteeth catches on; they move on to rope, then head in.

Picking the gear off two fallen comrades. Nosetalker insists on the "sandalwood-hilted knife". Bigchin already has it, finders keepers. Nosetalker escalates while Bigchin ignores: insists it was promised to him, contract back at camp, you can't appreciate the craftsmanship. Bigchin's nonchalances induces murderous rage. 50/50 Nosetalker stabs Bigchin repeatedly while others look on in horror / Bigchin defends himself, pulps Nosetalker's head against the flagstone. "Had it comin."


An old fashioned singing, hands clasped behind backs: and a one and a two and a three and a Mine eyes have seen the glory of the slashing of his sword / It is cutting flesh and splashing marrow . . . . Thereafter, leader gives rousing sermon: the lord wants you to be rich; he wants you to be happy; you just gotta embrace what he's already got lined up for you, do you see? Do you SEE my brothers and sisters? Somebody give me a yes lord.

Running like crazy, tossing away held gear to run even faster. What they're running from is coming in less than a minute.


Trying to hype themselves up for going in. They want nothing more than a reason to go home while still saving face in front of each other. W: hyping crescendo. They go in. W: such screaming. Only one makes it out, and he begs to be escorted back home: too scared to be by himself, will curl up outside entrance if P insists on delving.

Taking a rest, guzzling water. Arguing over map accuracy. Shorty: "You think you can do better? You do it then!" Longface: "I'm not saying you're doing a bad job; I'm just trying to communicate that I'd prefer it if maybe you were more careful." Shorty: "More careful!?" W: candle catches map on fire, panic. They had back to tavern.


Waiting quietly in cover to ambush the treasure-laden and hp-low. Desperate. Will wait here until they get too hungry. They're cashing out after this and moving out of the city ASAP. W (3 hours): they'll just go in themselves.

Bard tuning lute, muttering to himself. Trying to remember lyrics to song he wrote. It's going to be his first performance of original material for the guys, and he's really nervous. It's about their exploits. W: he clears his throat, and heads back to play. They're resting nearby.


Hauling out treasure, nervous and loud. Each holding with both hands a fragile amphora worth 20g, ~10g each in backpacks, along with random adventurer stuff.

Searching for a secret door. Fatty arguing with Stringbean: Stringbean bored, wants to move on. Escalation. W: Stringbean says, "Fine, I'm going, with or without you guys." They'll follow him in a minute.


A single dirty man with a large sack and no nonsense. Heisenberg: he is dying; he's seen some stuff; and this haul will set his family up after he's gone.

10' poles out, tapping for pressure plates. W: hit a chest-high wire, scythes out of the walls cut front rank in half. Back rank freaks out runs screaming back. WM checks, please.


The solitary dogmaster out with his pack of 6 war dogs. Letting them do their business before everyone heads in. Trying to learn to whistle. W: he returns to his camp. They delve presently.

All sleeping from sleep trap except one, nearby, too paranoid to wake them for fear of being seen.


A woman praying face in the dirt. She is devout and brave and willing to just walk away. Also willing to apply mace to your face. On quest for particular relic. Outsider in her party. W: returns to her party.

Making rubbings on the walls for return to Kurudan the Recondite. Rubbings recount history of place, give clue to creation of new spell. Kurudan has already paid in the form of 30g each, a pair of grease scrolls, and a wand of weightlessness (4 charges, command word "weightless" in whatever language, makes user as in outer space for 1d4+1 turns or until "weight" is said).


Sitting in camp eating dry and dusty things. Getting liquored up in preparation, telling scar stories. W: a toast to their patron/deity/leader, and off they go.

Picking through crevices, holding results up to light. After particular fungus for use in poisons. For debt to nasty people. Increasingly nervous as they can't find the proper orange and blue spotted kind. 1/6 chance it's in a room down here. They are poisoned with slow poison, will die unless said fungus is returned to their "patron" within 12 hours.


Surrounding a badly wounded friend. Waiting on the rest to emerge from below. They won't. W: they realize the others are dead, leave just one to tend to the injured man, will eventually return. W: injured man requests the singing of the newest song in the world; his caretaker sings it; man dies; caretaker turns away, sits stunned, will remain until others return.

Obsessed over a dark flagstone. "I'm not touching it; you touch it." Escalates until someone stomps on it. "See? It's fine. Stop being so—" He steps off it, and a pit opens on either side of him. Front rank of companions fall in and break legs. He's in shock.


Arguing over "going back there". Squarejaw insists "You wanna cross this? You wanna cross this?" Greasehair: "Yeah, I wanna cross this." "Then do it." "I will." "Then do it!" "I'm about to." "Then do—" Greasehair socks Squarejaw in jaw. Squarejaw: "You crossed this," shocked and kinda fine with it now. Greasehair: "We're going the other way." Others: "Seems fine." They go.

In the middle of a fight, looks pretty even. R+ if the PCs join in. 50/50 shot of monsters winning. Whoever wins only has a couple people left and are not in the mood for more fighting.