One-and-Done Monsters

The Between Two Cairns podcast (this episode) recently discussed The Blackapple Brugh (available for free here). The hosts were reacting to an encounter with the Frog Prince, described thusly:

The frog is sentient and can speak, introducing himself as the prince of a faraway kingdom. He relates that he’s been enchanted by mischievous fairies, but if a fair maiden (or a plain maiden, or a man, as he is not that picky) will bestow a kiss upon his lips, the enchantment shall be broken. He promises that if freed from the spell and restored to his kingdom, his father the king will award the party with thousands of gold coins.

In fact, the frog is no prince at all and is only remarkable in that he can speak and has poisonous skin. Anyone kissing the frog must save vs. Poison or be wracked with pain for the next 12 hours. A person in this state is completely incapacitated and for the duration is useless for adventuring. The frog will apologize profusely for such a turn of events, claiming that the kiss must have required true love to be effective. The frog has 1 hit point and no means to attack or defend itself.

The frog prince is, of course, not so much a monster or even an NPC per se in likely function, but rather the sort of “trick” that characterizes classic old-school design. The interaction is weird and unexpected and basically all downside for the PCs (although surely at least a few parties playing through Blackapple found a way to weaponize the poor prince, perhaps by tying him to the end of a ten-foot pole and foisting him on enemies, or grabbing him while wearing prophylactic gloves and throwing him like a grenade).

The prince got me thinking about other glass cannon monsters – beasties designed to deliver their sting once, with no thought for their own well-being.

Gas Spores 

D&D’s monster manuals have featured one-shot monsters since early in the game’s history. They’re great for blurring the line between trap and monster. A few classic D&D monsters, like piercers, fit this template. The gas spore is a particularly famous example. 

Many have poked fun at the creature’s improbable lifecycle. But we can find plenty of interesting uses for it. Why not take advantage of its balloon-like properties and have kobolds or similarly light-weight monsters drift into battle hanging from gas spores? The PCs will get a kick out of shooting down the “balloons” with arrows, or summoning a gust of wind to drive the unfortunate fungalnauts into the side of a cliff. But the kobolds who make it through will have a nasty surprise for the players, intentionally popping their spores at close range.

Fungus-Zombie Parasite

Trying to reason out the frog prince’s behavior (is he lying, or self-deluded?) got me thinking. What if a creature acting in such a risky fashion is actually advancing the interest of a parasite? This is of course true of the real-world “zombie” fungus that infects ants and drives them to suicidal behavior to spread its spores. Perhaps the prince’s behavior is just a parasite pulling strings to spread itself through contact. 

To present the fungus zombie more literally, you could combine this idea with D&D’s myconid “zombies.” This engages with a classic D&D bait-and-switch, where the cleric attempts to turn “undead” that are actually something else. This can go too far if it becomes a gotcha to trick players into bad decisions. But with proper information and foreshadowing it can be a good encounter. 

The Bombull

It’s not all fungus and spores. Consider adventurers exploring an abandoned region peppered with ancient clockwork machines. Some are still functional, or at least malfunctional. These include the mechanical bombull, which looks like a bucking machine gone free-range.

When the bombull spots movement from living creatures person-sized or bigger, it lowers its head and charges. On impact, its horns depress into its metal skull, activating percussive primer charges that set off the bomb within its head.

The bombull should be a highly telegraphed, obviously lethal threat. That means it can also serve as a risky opportunity for adventurers who wish to bait it toward an obstacle, or matador it in the direction of their foes.

Homing Bee

This one is inspired in part by the vyderac from Hot Springs Island. Suppose the adventurers are attacked by a swarm of stinging insects; ordinary bees or similar, driven into an agitated state. The swarm is annoying, but not a serious combat threat. 

However, hidden amongst the mundane insects (and motivating their aggressive behavior) are one or more homing bees. These bees’ stings are no more painful than those of the other insects, and they die after stinging; but they also release their barbed stingers into their targets’ bodies. The stingers burrow into the target’s flesh, similar to a rot grub.

The longer the barb remains in the victim’s body, the worse they will feel. Their blood, when shed, will give off a honeysuckle smell. Their skin will take on a greenish hue. And progressively greater and greater numbers of homing bees from the original stingers’ hive will converge on the stung creatures. Whenever a creature dies with a stinger in their body, the “stinger” will transform into an egg containing a queen of a new homing bee hive, which will flourish in the grisly remains of the unfortunate adventurer.