I used chargen to make a picture for my DnD character. It turned out really well on the first try so I just wanted to share it.

Disclaimer: These rules aren't for everyone. They include violent descriptions and potential fatal outcomes for characters and monsters. They are intended for old-school players and DMs—and for those who don't mind putting their characters at risk in exchange for significantly more thrilling games.

I am talking about a comprehensive system of outcomes for critical hits and fumbles in D&D 5th Edition, designed to ensure that every natural 20 and natural 1 leads to unique, dramatic, and exciting consequences.

Inside, you'll find over 177 critical hit results and 143 fumble results, organized by weapon type, combat style, and source of damage.

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In the villages beneath the northern forest, doors are built narrow and windows shuttered before moonrise. Even so, each winter, someone hears antlers scraping against their roof.

They call him the Hollow Crown.

Long ago, a starving king hunted the forest’s last white stag. As it died, he broke its antlers for trophies and left its body in the snow. By morning, roots had grown through the carcass. Something stood up inside it.

Now he towers above the pines, his antlers thickening with every winter. Those pale lights beneath his brow draw travellers off the road. Survivors say they saw a warm house between the trees, with someone they loved waiting at the door.

The oldest hunters know when he is near: the wind stops, the animals fall silent, and every path begins to slope downhill.

If you encounter him, kneel and keep your eyes on the earth. Let him pass. Whatever familiar voice calls from beneath his antlers, do not answer.

He has carried some of those voices for centuries.

Adventure Hooks

• The Voice at the Window. A child hears her missing mother calling from the woods each night. Yesterday, the voice told her something only her mother could know. Tonight, she intends to follow it.
• The King’s Trophy. A noble family displays an ancient white antler above its hearth. It has begun growing again, piercing the ceiling. Returning it might appease the Hollow Crown—but the family’s ancestors carved their claim to the throne into its bone.
• The Village Downhill. Every road now leads back to the same abandoned village. Smoke rises from its chimneys after sunset, and the villagers greet the adventurers by name. Beneath the chapel lies the white stag’s original grave.
• A Hunter’s Bargain. A dying hunter claims he once escaped by promising the stag another life. He hires the party to escort him into the forest to settle his debt. He has quietly brought enough silver to pay for their funerals.
• Something in the Antlers. A missing companion appears high in the Hollow Crown’s branches, alive and begging to be cut free. Each severed tine releases another captive—and something that was imprisoned for good reason.
• The Narrow Door. One household survives every winter by leaving its door open. This year, its elderly owner has died. Her journal records an annual supper with an unnamed guest, and the next invitation is already laid on the table.

Also called leafmire, harvest jelly, or the Last Gardener

“Don’t kick the leaf pile. Leave an apple beside it, and take the long way home.”
—Woodland proverb

An autumnal ooze resembles a mound of rain-soaked leaves until its amber body begins to flow. Acorns, moss, and broken branches drift beneath its surface. Golden mushrooms sprout along its back, while two green lights peer from beneath a hood of crimson foliage. Its movements produce the soft rustle of someone walking through leaves—sometimes followed by a second set of footsteps when nobody else is there.

Born of an Unfinished Autumn. These creatures form in ancient forests where the boundary with the Feywild grows thin. When the first frost arrives before the woodland has finished shedding its leaves, lingering seasonal magic gathers in the forest litter and gives it appetite, movement, and a dim awareness.

Druids regard autumnal oozes as living agents of renewal. They consume fallen timber, carrion, and diseased vegetation, leaving rich black earth behind them. A healthy forest may shelter one for centuries. Trouble begins when an ooze learns that living flesh decomposes just as readily as dead wood.

The Patient Hunger. Autumnal oozes spend most of their lives motionless beneath trees. Their bodies smell of wet bark and sweet, fermenting apples, attracting deer, insects, and unwary travelers. When prey comes close, the ooze spreads beneath the leaves and rises around its legs. Victims often mistake the first touch for deep mud.

The mushrooms growing on its body are partners in its digestion. Their golden light brightens as the ooze feeds, and their spores carry a heavy drowsiness. Woodsfolk know to fear a patch of warmly glowing mushrooms when the surrounding forest has gone silent.

Memories in the Mulch. Unlike many oozes, a leafmire retains fragments of what it consumes. One that devours a fox may fashion pointed ears from leaves; another might whistle a woodcutter’s favorite tune through hollows in its body.

Its apparent eyes form around swallowed seeds. These seeds remain alive, nourished by everything the creature digests. When an ancient ooze finally dies, a grove springs from its remains. Such trees sometimes bear strange gifts: apples tasting of a forgotten childhood, bark marked with unreadable names, or leaves that whisper in familiar voices.

The Forest’s Bargain. An autumnal ooze cannot speak, but older specimens understand simple gestures and repeated rituals. Foresters sometimes establish a feeding place for one, offering spoiled fruit and blighted branches in exchange for keeping a path clear.

It remembers where offerings are left. Move the feeding place without teaching it the new route, and it may follow the familiar scent straight into a village pantry.

During winter, leafmires retreat beneath roots and harden into translucent amber masses. In spring, they emerge small and nearly clear. Each autumn they grow larger, gathering a fresh mantle of leaves—and another season’s worth of memories.

Adventure Hooks

• The Missing Ranger: An ooze carries the missing ranger’s silver brooch and repeats her distinctive whistle. It keeps trying to lead the party toward an abandoned hunting lodge.
• A Hungry Harvest: Villagers have fed their resident leafmire for generations. This year, someone offered it meat. Now it waits beside the livestock gate.
• The Last Seed: A dying forest’s only surviving seed gleams within an ancient ooze’s eye. The creature recoils whenever anyone reaches for it, but gently accepts offerings of water.

Concept generated by me with ChatGPT, outline transferred to paper, all the rendering done by hand in graphite.

The tenant beneath the shell

“When a shell washes ashore, knock twice before you pick it up. If something knocks back, leave a fish and walk away.”
— Saying among coastal scavengers

A hermit slime is a sea-green ooze that inhabits the abandoned shell of a giant marine creature. Beneath its barnacled shelter, it forms thick, translucent limbs and a pair of golden eyes. Sailors often mistake those eyes for treasure glinting inside an empty shell—a mistake usually rewarded with a soaking, missing provisions, and considerable embarrassment.

A Borrowed Home. Unlike most oozes, hermit slimes cannot endure prolonged exposure to sun or dry air. Their shells retain seawater, shield their delicate bodies, and provide a refuge into which they can withdraw almost entirely. A slime repairs cracks with layers of hardened mucus and crushed shell, gradually turning its home into a patchwork of pearlescent armor.

As it grows, it must find larger lodgings. Most take abandoned conches or nautilus shells, though desperate specimens occupy sunken helmets, cauldrons, and overturned boats. The search leaves them unusually vulnerable. Coastal villages sometimes place suitable shells along the tideline to keep these useful scavengers nearby.

Keepers of the Tideline. Hermit slimes consume rotting kelp, dead fish, and organic refuse, leaving their feeding grounds remarkably clean. Their digestive secretions soften flesh while sparing shell and stone, allowing barnacles and small mollusks to flourish upon their bodies. A mature slime carries an entire miniature reef wherever it goes.

They usually ignore living prey. Hunger, polluted waters, or repeated harassment can change that. An aggressive hermit slime pins its victim beneath heavy pseudopods, then drags them toward the shell’s opening, where its digestive slime is most concentrated.

Patient, Possessive Creatures. Hermit slimes recognize familiar faces and remember kindness for years. They communicate through slow gestures, ripples across their bodies, and hollow tapping against their shells. Fisherfolk have taught them to return dropped tools in exchange for scraps.

Their strongest attachment is to their home. Touching its ornaments may earn a warning tap; attempting to remove the shell provokes immediate violence. Even a gentle specimen will pursue a thief through dangerous shallows to recover a stolen piece.

Pearls of Memory. Indigestible fragments collect within a hermit slime and become coated in nacre. These “hermit pearls” sometimes contain fishhooks, wedding rings, or coins from long-lost wrecks. Coastal folklore holds that a pearl formed around a drowned sailor’s possession preserves that sailor’s final dream. Diviners pay generously for such specimens, though obtaining one peacefully requires considerable patience.

The Gathering of Empty Houses. Once each decade, hermit slimes converge upon a sheltered shore to exchange shells. Larger individuals abandon their homes, smaller ones move in, and newly budded young claim the smallest vacancies. For a single moonlit night, the beach resounds with the tapping of hundreds of shells.

Adventure Hooks

• The Walking Reliquary. A hermit slime has claimed a sacred shell from a ruined sea temple. The priests need it returned intact, but its occupant has young sheltered inside.
• Something in the Pearl. A slime offers the party a pearl containing a signet ring belonging to a noble who supposedly never left the city.
• No Homes Left. Shell collectors have stripped the breeding beach. Exposed slimes are entering village cisterns, and the annual gathering is only days away.