The Referee's Roll Books — our own dice tables, built to roll. Pick a table, hit Roll, take the answer. 280 tables · 5120 entries so far, more with every book.
Vol. 1 — Dungeons & Delves
Section A · First Impressions
Section B · Doors & Passages
Section C · Rooms & Dressing
Section D · Traps & Hazards
Section E · Dungeon Life
Section F · The Deep Delve
Vol. 2 — Wilderness & Hexcrawl
Section A · Terrain & the Hex
Section B · Weather & Skies
Section C · Travel & Mishaps
Section D · Camp & Survival
Section E · Encounters of the Wild
Section F · Landmarks & Discoveries
Vol. 3 — Towns, Taverns & People
Section A · Towns & Villages
Section B · Taverns & Inns
Section C · People
Section D · Rumors & Talk
Section E · Shops & Services
Section F · Trouble in Town
Vol. 4 — Loot, Relics & Weird Treasure
Section A · Coins & Mundane Loot
Section B · Gear & Goods
Section C · Magic & Potions
Section D · Relics & Items With History
Section E · Cursed & Costly
Section F · Hiding Places & Guardians
Vol. 5 — Monsters, Quests & Trouble
Section A · Monsters With a Reason
Section B · Encounter Twists
Section C · Quests & Hooks
Section D · Villains & Factions
Section E · Omens, Dreams & Signs
Section F · Complications & Reversals
Vol. 6 — The Player's Roll Book
Section A · Who You Were
Section B · What You Carry
Section C · Bonds, Debts & Oaths
Section D · Between Adventures
Section E · Nerves, Scars & Habits
Section F · Last Words & Legacies
Table 1 — What's the Air Like Down Here?
Roll when the party first enters a level, a new wing, or a sealed area — before anything moves, the air tells them where they are.
The Referee's Roll Books, Vol. 1 · Section A — First Impressions
1Cold, clean, and faintly sweet. Deep stone and working vents: air moves down here, which means chimneys, shafts, or something maintaining them. The sweetness is old incense or old honey — a shrine or a store room is near.
2Woodsmoke and roasting meat. Somebody cooks down here, close enough to smell, and cooks regularly. Inhabitants with a kitchen have routines, supply lines, and something worth defending at mealtimes. (Chain: Table 34, The Dungeon Eats.)
3Damp rot and mildew, thick enough to taste. A wet or flooded wing. Tracks hold beautifully in the mud, iron rusts in days, and anything that lives here is comfortable being wet — the party is the only thing that isn't.
4Hot and metallic, like a forge's breath. A real heat source ahead: forge, lava crack, or something very large asleep. Torches add nothing here, sweat is a noise the party now makes, and the locals dress for the temperature.
5Stale, still, and dusty, with no draft at all. This area has been sealed a long time. Nothing living passes through — so anything found here is patient, preserved, or dead in a way that kept. The dust records every footstep, including theirs.
6Brine and fish, on a slow tide of air. Underground water connects to a lake or the sea. Levels rise and fall down here on a schedule, boats are possible, and some corridors are only corridors twice a day.
7Flowers — rich, heavy, and wrong for this depth. A tended garden, a fungus bloom, or a predator that hunts by perfume. Sweet air in a dungeon is a decision something made. Breathing it for an hour brings vivid dreams and a mild, pleasant honesty.
8Sulfur and scorched stone. Recent fire or a volcanic seam. Breathing costs after an hour down here, torch flames edge blue at the base, and old burn scars on the walls are a map of where the air itself caught light before. (Chain: Table 27, Natural Hazards.)
9The air is thin and the stairs were easy. Deep level — deeper than the party thinks. Running, shouting, and fighting all cost double breath, torches burn short and sulky, and everything native down here is adapted in ways that will show at the worst moment.
10Bread, yeast, and honest sweat. Somebody *lives* here — domestically, not militarily. A household keeps this air: baking, washing, bodies at rest. Households negotiate, keep children behind the good door, and fight like cornered parents when pressed. (Chain: Table 36, Prisoners and Who Wants Them Back — households take them.)
11Old blood and iron, washed over with lye. A killing floor, cleaned by habit. The smell is faint because someone works at keeping it faint. Whatever hunts or butchers here is tidy, regular, and proud of the difference between its room and an abattoir.
12Nothing. No smell, no temperature, no movement. Unnatural stillness — a warded vault, a sealed tomb, or a place where the dungeon itself holds its breath. Sound carries twice as far in it, in both directions, and the party's own breathing is suddenly the loudest thing they own.