Dungeon of the Mad Mage

There are two kinds of Dungeons.

Type A: Dungeons that make sense.  These dungeons take into account the function of the structure, as well as the ecology of the denizens.  There will be a theme to your foes: If it’s a goblin cave, you will mostly fight goblins, their pet wolves, and their hobgoblin bosses.  The layout will be functional: You’ll find sleeping areas, kitchens, storage rooms, and so on.  Traps will be minimal and will only protect valuable areas, such as the room where bandits store their loot.  If you’re exploring a Type A dungeon, you may not even have to clear out the entire thing.  A sensible hideout is easy to navigate, so you might break in at a point closest to your goal, clear out a few rooms, grab your MacGuffin, and head back out.  Type A dungeons are efficient and realistic, but potentially boring.

Type B: Kitchen Sink dungeons.  You never know what to expect in a Type B dungeon.  You could clear out a room full of manticores, then open the next door, and find yourself facing a room full of orcs.  Then you turn a corner and come face-to-face with a bugbear, a vampire, and a harpy.  You may find yourself wondering how these monsters get along, what keeps certain ones in their rooms, and who feeds them.  You’ll encounter traps that are designed to kill explorers, rather than to protect treasure.  You’ll complete complicated puzzles just to open doors to what look like high-traffic pathways.  Do the orcs that live here have to solve this “pour the right amount of water into the basin” puzzle every time they visit the kitchen?  Type B dungeons are less believable, but also less predictable, which makes them exciting.

Some Type B dungeons actually do have an explanation.  (Note, this paragraph contains possible spoilers for classic modules.)  The Tomb of Horrors is full of crazy traps, because the demilich Acererak likes collecting the souls of dead adventurers.  White Plume Mountain houses an unlikely menagerie of monsters, but the entire dungeon turns out to be a test of heroism, designed by an evil mage who requires a true hero for a blood sacrifice.   Dead in Thay has the Doomvault, a bizarre dungeon designed for magical experiments... or something; that module has never made sense to me.

Many dungeons are a mix of A and B.  The Temple of Elemental Evil is a pretty good balance of the two.  Each of the elemental-themed areas has their own reasonable ecology, but having it all so close together makes the dungeon as a whole seem pretty random.  I would have to say that the best dungeons are the ones that can straddle that line, by giving you a unexpected encounters while maintaining a consistent theme.

Dungeon of the Mad Mage is a bit of both.  The Undermountain’s dungeons were obviously designed by a lunatic (hence the title), but there is some logic to the denizens.  Different areas of the dungeon have been taken over by certain organizations or monsters, so there’s a lot of variety, but it’s not like each room has a completely random monster.  Given the popularity of this dungeon, the party will find a lot of the early areas have already been picked clean by previous adventurers, which is a realistic touch.

The ecology of each level usually makes perfect sense, but moving from one level to the next can feel like an entirely different module.  Why do the monsters and factions respect the concept of "dungeon level"?  All that divides this level from the one before it is a slanted tunnel, why do the kobolds suddenly get replaced with kuo-toa?  

A few levels down, you start finding unusual environments for a cave: cities, enchanted forests, floating castles, and so on.  A couple of levels are actually 5e conversions of older modules.  Sometimes you will often find keys on one level that unlock doors on another, so there is some connection between levels.  Occasionally someone will give you a side quest, and you’ll find the MacGuffin three levels later. 

This dungeon is big.  Probably the largest single dungeon published for 5e, at least by WOTC.  It goes down 23 levels, and even has a few hallways that lead nowhere, in case you want to add your own expansions.  The 320-page book devotes 289 pages to the dungeon, making it one of the largest dungeon-to-lore ratios I’ve seen.  

I honestly can’t imagine taking a party through the entire thing.  I think they would develop “dungeon fatigue” after a while (and a vitamin D deficiency).   The good news is that it’s designed so you can leave and come back, with lots of teleportation portals for quicker travel.  So some parties might keep returning to the Undermountain between other adventures.

While the book does contain a few plot hooks, it doesn’t need them.  This is the infamous dungeon beneath the Yawning Portal, and adventurers need no other reason to delve it than “because it’s there.”  But once the party starts exploring the passages, they will find other small quests to keep them busy.  So it’s not just “let’s kill all the monsters and find all the treasure”, though it certainly can be if that’s all the party wants.

Dungeon of the Mad Mage is a great companion to Waterdeep: Dragon Heist, but you don’t need either one to enjoy the other.  There is no strong plot connection between the two.  Grab Waterdeep: Dragon Heist if you want the lore of the area, and grab Dungeon of the Mad Mage if you just want a big ol’ dungeon.

Ferret-Legging

You step through the tavern door, and are immediately overcome with the smell of cheap ale and the sound of raucous laughter.  Some sort of competition is going on in the back, near the fireplace.  You see two men standing on a table, with pained expressions on their faces.  They seem to be dancing around uncomfortably, and you see squirming movements in their burlap trousers.  The crowd around the table cheers them on, while passing around money and betting slips.  Finally, one of the competitors shouts, “I give!  I give!”  Half the patrons let out victory cheers while the rest curse.  As the competitors climb down from the table, they loosen their pants, and each of them pulls out a pair of ferrets.  The ferrets are taken by handlers and put into cages. 

Seeing you newcomers, one of the ferret handlers shouts, “Hey, new blood!  Want to give it a try?”

I like keeping some quick tavern games at the ready, preferably ones that are heavy on the flavor and light on the rules.  Thanks to this cartoon, I have recently learned of a real-life activity called “Ferret-Legging”.  I don’t know about the ethics of this “sport” in real life (as far as I know, the ferrets are unharmed, though I haven’t done much research).  But it sounds like a fun bit of flavor to liven up your D&D tavern. 

The rules:

Each contestant sticks two ferrets in their pants. 

The pants are tied tight at the ankles and around the waist, to keep the ferrets from escaping.

Whoever can stand it the longest, wins.  

Contestants are allowed to give up at any time.  

The pants must be loose enough to allow the ferrets to move from one leg to the other.  (In game, the PCs might be supplied with a special pair of burlap trousers.)

You may not wear underwear or any other clothing underneath your pants.

For each participant, the DM rolls a d20 to represent the ferrets’ movements.

1-9: The ferrets tickle a lot this turn, but the contestant toughs it out.

10-19: The ferrets bite, and the contestant must make a CON save vs the number the DM rolled.

20: The ferrets bite hard, and the contestant makes the CON save with disadvantage.

After each contestant gets a turn, the next round starts.  If a contestant fails three CON saves, they can't take it any more, and are out of the competition.  The player who lasts the longest wins.

Optional Rule: If the player rolls a nat 20 on a CON save, they have advantage on their next CON save.

Notes:

The contestants can be PCs or NPCs.  The fewer contestants the better, but it requires at least two so they can try to outlast each other.

It doesn’t matter what order the contestants go in, as everything that happens in a round is happening at the same time.  If the final two contestants lose the game in the same round, it’s a tie.

The odds on the CON saves are in the contestants' favor, since they get to add their CON bonus versus the DM’s unmodified roll.  This is intentional, because it’s an endurance test, and because the players are competing with each other more than they’re competing with the DM.

Why exclude numbers 1 through 9 from the CON saves?  This is just to speed things up a little, since the players would most likely make those saves anyway.  Plus I wanted to add some flavor, by having rounds where the ferrets tickle but don’t bite.

As in battle, a round represents 6 seconds.  This means the minimum a match can last is 18 seconds.  According to Wikipedia, in 1972 the world record was 40 seconds.  However, the current world record is over five hours, so clearly this is a sport where a lot of variation is possible.  If you want to change the length of a round, that’s up to you.

Usually, the last contestant standing is immediately declared the winner and can let their ferrets out.  However, a PC might want to keep going just to see how many rounds they can last.  A tavern might have its own record of longest times that the PCs can try to beat, and possibly even a reward for those who break the record.  I suggest the standing record being about 3 minutes (30 rounds). 

This sport is mostly played by men, and winning is considered a macho thing.  There is a female version, called "ferret-busting", that involves blouses instead of pants.  But it isn't nearly as popular.

Flavor:

Describe the tickling (roll 1-9) or biting (10-20) in detail.  Some sample descriptions:

1 “The ferrets don’t move much this turn.”

2 “The ferrets move around a little, but it doesn’t bother you.”

3 “The ferrets run up and down your legs, which tickles a lot, but you manage to keep a straight face.”

4 “A ferret licks the back of your knee, making you giggle uncontrollably.”

5 “A ferret runs up and down your leg, tickling like mad.”

6 “The back of your legs feel like you’re being attacked by feather dusters.”

7 “You can’t help but laugh as both ferrets circles around your legs.”

8 “A ferret squiggles past a particularly sensitive area, tickling you in a way that you find disturbingly pleasurable."

9 “The ferrets nibble on your ankles, but it doesn’t hurt.”

10 “One ferret bits you lightly on the kneecap.”

11 “A ferret bites you.  It feels like getting jabbed with a knitting needle.”

12 “You feel a ferret clawing at your ankles, trying to find a way out.”

13 “A ferret bites you.  It hurts like the dickens.”

14 “A ferret bites you in the hindquarters."

15 “A ferret bites your right thigh.  It hurts a lot.”

16 “You feel a stabbing pain in your left calf.”

17 “Both ferrets bite you at once.  It’s not a pleasant feeling.”

18 “A ferret bites you hard…” (If save) “…but you can take it.” (If fail) “…causing you to shriek like a child.”

19 “A ferret bites you extremely hard…” (if save) “…but you wince and persevere.” (If fail) “….causing you see spots for a few seconds.”

20 "A ferret bites you in the worst possible area, causing you to double over in pain."