Dungeon Stuffers - No more empty rooms!

I hate reading a dungeon and finding it full of empty rooms. It's a pet peeve; adventures should be full of adventure! Can you imagine the horror of finding an empty chest? Repugnant. So here's some ideas for things to stick in them.

1. The Bishop's Hidden Bath Chamber
The room contains an altar with a threadbare embroidered covering, two braziers and a small statue of Hygeia (or whoever the god of health or purity is in your setting) - all remarkably still standing upright despite being clearly long abandoned.

If inspected closely it will be revealed that both the braziers and the statue are built into the altar stone, not separate objects, and that the statue rotates on its base 180°.

If both braziers are lit and the statue is fully rotated so that it is facing against the wall, then a hydraulic pressure system that exploits the expanding air from the brazier's heat will cause the altar and the wall behind it to slowly rotate to reveal the room beyond (see below). If the statue is returned to its original position then it will rotate closed again (this is powered by a spring, and doesn't require the braziers to still be lit).

The room beyond contains a miraculously located natural hot spring with restorative powers. Anyone bathing in it for an hour will heal 1hp per Hit Die they possess, be cleansed of any natural diseases or parasites of the skin or muscles and restore 1 point of lost Strength, Constitution or Dexterity. 

Two curtains hide the sides of the room, behind each of which is a chest for storing clothes and personal belongings. The chest on the right has a ceremonial amulet of gold and garnets worth 1200gp. The chest on the left contains a bottle of liquid soap and perfumes (worth about 200gp) and a animated statue of a lithe young woman as a bathroom attendant (stats as Caryatid Column), which will attack anyone not wearing the amulet from the chest on the right, seeking to expel them from the room rather than cause serious injury.

2. The Window Office
The room contains a simple office, with a large and ornately carved mahogany desk and high-backed chair (worth 3,400gp as a set, 1000gp and 200gp individually. Both items of furniture are extremely heavy and easily damaged without considerations being made, a Tenser's Floating Disc at the minimum would be needed to easily extract them) in front of a large arched window.

Examination of the desk drawers will reveal a bottle of rough whiskey and a hand crossbow loaded with a poisoned quarrel (Type B, Insinuative) in the bottom right drawer. A full turn spent examining it will reveal a concealed button in the carvings that if pushed will release a hidden drawer containing a map of this whole dungeon level, including secret doors.

The window behind the desk shows a pastoral vista that changes with the day and night outside but on examination does not correlate to the actual scenery outside the dungeon (indeed, this room is probably subterranean or internal). The display is an illusion, behind which lurks a Homunculus named Gaxplat who hid there when it heard the door open (if the party is quiet enough, he will instead be sitting behind the desk with his feet up, drinking from the whiskey bottle). Gaxplat will bite the hand of anyone who reaches past the illusionary image, causing d3 damage and provoking a save vs. magic or falling into a comatose slumber for 5d4 minutes, after which it will attempt to flee out the door holding its master's spellbook (containing 22 random spells of levels 1-6).

3. The Snoring Djinn
This room isn't just empty, it's been swept clean by a powerful wind blowing from a whirling vortex on the far wall. All dust in the room has been rammed into the near wall so hard it has formed a permanent crust. The wind that emerges from the vortex isn't constant, but acts as a Gust of Wind spell but strong enough to affect man-sized creatures as if they were small flying beings and trigger a Save vs. Breath Weapons or cause the affected to fall prone. This gust triggers at a random initiative count in every round. The side walls are relatively unaffected but anyone standing in the doorway when the wind triggers will be pushed back as well. Floating either side of the vortex are a air elemental, with their gaseous form still able to support crested ceremonial helmets upon their cloudlike heads and holding ornate halberds (stats as normal elemental, but with AC1). These will attack anyone attempting to pass through the vortex, and will pursue them past it.

On the other side of the vortex, the wind continues to blow and flaps a aquamarine silk curtain beyond which can be seen a well appointed bedroom. Upon the bed lies a hugely fat Djinn in sleep, whose snores cause the gusts. Waking him will immediately end the wind gusts and provoke a reaction roll, but if not awakened gently this roll will be made at -6. The Djinn, named Bompa al-Rih, if not hostile with his awakener will realize that he has overslept and is now 3,000 years late for an appointment with the Ambassador of the Marids and will be in a hurry to dress and leave through the door to the northwest, which opens out into a vista of endless sky - the Elemental Plane of Air. He will thank the party and promise to grant them a Wish when he returns from his appointment - on each subsequent roll of a 6 on the encounter roll, roll again; on a second 6 he is finished and teleports before the party, mopping his brow with a silk handkerchief and a harrowed expression, to bestow them their Wish.

Magic Item Shoppes

The Magic Item Shop seems to be an artifact of many people's teenage flounderings with the game, one that seems to be almost universally scorned in these Latter Days. A lot of campaign settings I own explicitly state that such a thing as a place where enchanted goods are freely bought and sold does not exist, often in an attempt to reinject mythic quality to these wondrous objects. It's a laudable instinct, but I prefer to rehabilitate ideas rather than exclude them. To whit, here's a couple of Magic Item Shops I think could be additive to the wonder value of their wares;

Penfold's Discretionaries is a family owned boutique that has - quite coincidentally - existed for almost as long as the Assassin's Guild. It is on the surface an invitation-only tailor and purveyor of gentlemens and ladies' appurtenances, and absolutely not a dealer in tools of covert murder. Every purchase at Penfold's is accompanied by an elaborate etiquette; there is no customer and salesman, only emptor and factor, money is rarely discussed openly and never to the emptor's face. Following a sit-down consultation over coffee with a member of the Penfold family, an itemised quote slipped discreetly to their valet is about as crass as the business' owners - twin brothers Silace and Linus Penfold (both illusionists), along with their sister Ambrosia (a necromancer) - can stomach without scandal. Buying from Penfold’s is akin to being tailored for a new suit or a piece of bespoke jewellery, full of consultations, measurements and adjustments to guarantee the emptor's complete satisfaction. The actual intended function of the device being sold is only ever skirted around in euphemistic terms, with discussion focusing on the workmanship and aesthetics of each piece. The results, however, are always satisfactory in the extreme. If one is ever in need of a way to place a half-foot needle of envenomed stygian steel through the eye of someone who has offended you with pinpoint accuracy from across a crowded ballroom without it drawing comment, accept no substitute.

Roleplaying: The three Penfolds speak in elaborate circumlocutions when it comes to their wares, accompanied with subtle sexual innuendo - the only form of risqué behaviour they allow themselves. Their snobbery is extreme - these are the sort of people who would consider the Queen of England common for using French loan-words - but so is their susceptibility to flattery, especially from those they consider the right sort.

“Would sir care to note the precision craftsmanship clearly visible on the arms and tensile elements? Would it be improper to mention that this item could place a projectile through the eye of a needle at twenty paces? That is, were the gentleman so inclined - and one could not possibly comment on whether he would be, ah-ha. And if sir would roll his sleeve down, he would note how this particular piece makes no impact on the shape of his cuff. Hardly noticeable, in fact. It is important that accessories not ruin the lines of one's ensemble. Such a crass bulge is an insult to the tailor.”

Specialities: Clothing, jewellery & light weapons, with enchantments that emphasise disguise, grace, protection and lethality. Many Penfold originals take more innocuous forms than usual, but are no less effective - a black pearl hatpin that functions as a Dagger of Venom, a Cloak of Invisibility in an elegant frock coat, a Staff of Withering in the form of a sleek ebony walking cane.

Prices: Very high, add 20-50% on to the market price. Try to haggle and you might get it lowered just because the Penfolds hate arguing over money (it's just so plebian), but will also be refused any repeat business. They may even send discreet letters of apology to any clients of theirs who were present for the unpleasantness (and they have a lot of professional assassins on their client list, all of whom would love to get on their good side). Emptors who show sincere and knowledgable appreciation for their craftsmanship receive better rates.

Quality: Impeccable. The Penfolds would rather drink poison than let a cursed or flawed item leave their premises, unless the emptor had specifically requested such - as a gift, perhaps? Items are often subtly superior to common examples of their kind, such as an invisibility granting device also masking scent.

Aesthetics: Penfold's distains chasing fashion, preferring timeless elegance that only the cultured eye can appreciate. Colours are muted, favouring shades of sable, argent, arsenic and midnight blues. Decoration is fine and understated; a delicate filigree of golden ivy, a cabouchon jet, a trim of finest lacework. Hard fixtures are in blued steel, brushed brass, ebony and bone. A discerning emptor will note an absence of anything that twinkles or catches the light.

Pecksniff's Relics is a dimly lit, cramped, dusty and haphazardly organized antique shop run by the titular Mr. Bladislav Pecksniff, an almost impossibly aged and wizened man of indeterminate species (stats as a lich, with cleric and druid spells and immunity to Turn Undead). Scuttlebutt holds that he was once a conman on the pilgrim roads, selling old bones and coffin nails to those with more faith than sense, until he came across the real thing in an ancient desert tomb while following a crusade, and realised that his theological specialty could be put to better and more profitable use. This dusty store holds some of the most holy relics in all creation. The original hand-penned epistles of St. Numbus to the Dendarians, the wooden skeleton of Archdruid Pandelmon, the golden thumbs of Sister Briaccus and other long-thought-lost items of reverence can be found here. Mr. Pecksniff himself tolerates idle browsing with thinly veiled suspicion, being quick to remind customers that his store is not a museum (he even has a sign indicating such, one of many) and will angrily swat the hands of anyone he deems unworthy away from his goods if they try to lay their grubby mitts on them.

Roleplaying: Once a cynical con-artist, long familiarity with objects of undeniable holiness has rendered Bladislav Pecksniff something of an omnitheist, though it has done little to improve his temper. He is almost resentful to part with items from his collection, doing so almost out of long habit than any real need (he's long since amassed a misers hoard), and will look for any opportunity to refuse service. Those looking to sell, on the other hand, can expect an unctuous greeting. Pecksniff is an unequalled expert in holy relics of all kinds, and is more than happy to wax on at length about the provenance, legends and powers of anything brought to him.

"Eh? What have we here...ohhh, the cloak of Adolphus the Tristylite, which sheltered him from the slingstones of the Nemerians and the fetid breath of Bendalaphon the Ochre, without interrupting his meditation. One second... Oi, I've told you lot before; you touch it, you bought it! Don't make me call your abbot! Fucking acolytes..."

Specialities: Pecksniff's stock is as eclectic as it is ecclesiastical. He carries few weapons - though there are one or two saint's swords and sacrificial knives about the place - but has umbrella stands full of holy staves, sandalwood cases full of vestments, robes and cloaks (and mothballs), and all manner of amulets containing fragments of saint's bone. He favours the relics of Lawful deities, but has a few eldritch artifacts of the primal gods of Chaos locked up in his basement for those who insist on such things.

Prices: Average, but increasing by 10% every time a party member does something to annoy Mr. Pecksniff. He is very easily annoyed, and careful attention to his multitude of signs ("Look, don't touch", "Silence is golden" , "No spitting, smoking or cats", "Wipe yer feet", among others) is essential in ensuring a good price. Part-exchange is also available.

Quality: Highly variable, some of the relics in Pecksniff's store are items of extraordinary power, on par with a Holy Avenger or Staff of Healing, but quite a few of them are variously cursed or function only for those of Lawful alignment (20% chance of either), and many are actively sought after by sanctioned relic thieves and iconoclasts (3:6 chance that the next random encounter a customer faces is a band of 2D4 Thieves with a zealous glint in their eye).

Aesthetics: While saintly incorruptibility goes a long way, dust and wear still means that much of the stock bears the stamp of its age. Most of them are of clearly archaic design, with bronze or plaited iron instead of steel and pennanular clasps instead of folding pins.