Philip Reed has been creating roleplaying game supplements for several years,

producing hundreds of PDFs and dozens of printed products in a wide variety of

formats. A small selection of his creative efforts include:

Pocket Maps. Designed as compact, easily-carried supplements, these unusual

titles must be seen to truly appreciate the sheer size and spectacle of the format.
• Mimics, An Unnecessary Work. This tongue-in-cheek collection of ideas for
mimics offers up everything from encounter ideas to a mini-dungeon layout.
• Jiggles & Wiggles, Gelatinous Cubes Rule! A companion of sorts to Mimics,
at least in terms of tone, the bulk of the map’s two sides is loaded with
random tables detailing both what the thing may be doing and what may be
trapped within its body.
• Dungeons, Useless Ideas. A handful of random tables provide the
gamemaster with dozens of different dungeon encounters.
• Snowy Scenes. Two big tables of random encounters, one on each side of the
pocket map, give the gamemaster several ideas to turn to when preparing
arctic encounters.

CDs. A combination of game content and music, these are also available in
digital form at DrivethruRPG.com and other sites.
• Atticus Tower. A third-party Mörk Borg work. Can you and your
companions stop the wizard and the bard who inhabit this tower?
• The Sorcerer’s Corpse and Other Tales. A third-party Mörk Borg work. This
CD features five songs plus five encounter seeds, one for each track.

MiniDisc. Sony’s abandoned music format may not have many fans, but that
doesn’t stop new discs from being produced.
• Plague Grave. Songs and encounter hooks. Available as a free digital
download.

For even more of Philip’s work, please don’t miss his publisher page at
DrivethruRPG.com. Simply search for his name at the site to uncover 100+
different titles in PDF and a handful of print-on-demand books.
 Introduction .................................................................. 3
Contentious Slime ........................................................ 4
Druid-Touched Slime .................................................. 6
Hellspawned Slime ....................................................... 8
Humdrum Slime ......................................................... 10
Icky Slime .................................................................... 12
Merchant’s Slime ......................................................... 14
Necromancer’s Slime .................................................. 16
Smarty Slime ............................................................... 18
Treasure-Hungry Slime ............................................. 20
Vine Slime ................................................................... 22
Water Slime ................................................................. 24
Random Slime Encounters........................................ 26

© Dean Spencer

A Selection of Slimes is copyright © 2022 Philip Reed, all rights reserved. Editing by Lex Morgan.
Color artwork is copyright © AlishaDoesArt, used under license. Some artwork © 2017, 2021 Dean
Spencer, used with permission. All rights reserved. This book exists thanks to the support of my
many Kickstarter backers over the years. I could not create works like this without you. Thank you.
 “In a dungeon’s damp, dark recesses, molds and fungi
thrive. While some plants and fungi are monsters . . . and
other slime, mold, and fungus is just normal, innocuous
stuff, a few varieties are dangerous dungeon encounters.”
– Monte Cook, 3rd Edition,
D&D Dungeon Master’s Guide

In the heat of the moment, whether or not an encountered blob of deadly

ooze is technically classified as a monster or a “dungeon hazard” means little
to the adventurers. A patch of green slime that kills the party’s hireling is
every bit as terrifying as a gelatinous cube. In some instances, it may be even
scarier since it’s so easy to overlook the threat of dangerous gunk after one too
many encounters with banal, dull slimes.

“Devouring, growing, then dividing, these mindless slimes

know naught but hunger, and woe unto those who stumble
upon them unawares.”
– Michael Curtis, The Dungeon Alphabet

As with all of my creative works, the ideas presented within this booklet
are intended solely to inspire the gamemaster. They are not the “word from
above.” If you are unhappy with one of the entries as described, or wish to add
more abilities to a slime, those changes are as close as your imagination.

To keep the players guessing, nothing is stopping you from applying the
basic concepts of a particular slime to an existing dungeon hazard. Perhaps
that gray slime is a contentious slime; this is a dangerous trick to play on
adventurers who have encountered gray slimes in the past and feel confident
that they know how to best deal with the jelly-like ooze.

I hope the slimes that follow cause the player characters in your campaign a
great deal of suffering.
 Your torchlight illuminates the pile of skulls, discarded
weapons, and abandoned gear directly ahead of you.
The twinkling of metal catches your attention. Unfortunately,
you quickly realize this is no lucky find as the seemingly-
forgotten pile of trash oozes gently forward.

Contentious slimes are created when only the most rageful plebeians fall into
the acidic, all-consuming touch of a humdrum slime. Their hatefulness enacts
a revenge of sorts, and the uncontrollable anger fills the slime with an insatiable
hunger for violence. These transformed slimes turn a brownish-gray in color and
retain the skeletal remains – as well as the weapons, equipment, and armor – of
those hate-filled souls, forever marking the creature as a contentious slime.

A contentious slime is easily mistaken for a pile of discarded gear and bones
when first encountered. At a distance of 30 feet or more, an adventurer must
make a successful Perception check at a -4 penalty to correctly identify the slime.
Fortunately, the penalty drops to 0 at a distance of 10 feet. Anyone less than 5
feet from a contentious slime gains a +4 bonus on Perception checks to spot the
creature for what it truly is.

A contentious slime usually stays in one place, waiting patiently for some animal
or unlucky soul to stumble across it. At this point, it gently oozes outward,
pseudopods reaching for the potential meal. If the slime contacts living flesh,
it will secrete an acidic, sticky gloop that inflicts 2d3 points of damage every
round. Weapons cannot harm the slime. It must be washed off with boiling water,
burned, or scraped off of its victim. (The act of effectively cleaning the affected
area may wound the victim.) Fire destroys the slime relatively quickly; 2d3
minutes of intense flames obliterate the creature.

If the slime senses the presence of an angry person, it moves at twice its average
speed in the direction of its newfound target. A contentious slime will abandon a
victim, detaching itself and rushing to the newcomer, so long as the new arrival
is angrier than the thing’s current meal.
 The thing quivers and shivers, its jelly-like form wavering
as it slides slowly across the rough, irregular dungeon floor.
Jutting out from the slime’s ever-shifting mass are the skull
and antlers of a forest creature, giving the mindless ooze a
terrifying and unnatural appearance that tingles the hairs on
your neck.

Druid-touched slimes are an abomination, a cursed transformation of a druid’s

powers into something vile and corrupt. In rare instances when a druid slays a
humdrum slime, the magic lingers, the energy reviving the dungeon hazard and
forever changing it into a druid-touched slime. This change occurs 2d4 days after
the thing is destroyed, meaning that it often reawakens long after its murderer
has fled.

These slimes are attracted to animals, seeking to eat away their flesh with an
acidic touch that deals 2d4+2 damage every round for so long as it has entrapped
its target. If the animal is reduced to 0 HP, it dies and its soul is devoured by
the druid-touched slime. For every animal soul consumed, it expands in size.
Rumors of these creatures are shared in taverns across the land. Some saying that
they can become the size of giants. That said, no one has ever substantiated these
stories as more than tales told to gain attention.

The slime’s touch affects all organic material, save the bony remains of animals.
Instinctively, the druid-touched slime coats animal bones with a thick fluid that
counters the monster’s acidic touch. Even if trapped within the slime’s form for
centuries, all animal bones collected by it will remain intact and unharmed. It’s
a bizarre quirk of these creatures that has left wizards and scholars arguing for
ages. After all, the bones of others – such as humans, elves, and dwarves – while
retaining their shape for a few years, eventually vanish as the slime’s very nature
turns the bones into a pulp and absorbs the matter altogether. Why is this the
case? And what does this mean?
 The shimmering membrane of the slime radiates a hellish
brilliance, and the creature’s fiery core rages. It’s contained
only by the viscous outer shell of this inhuman ooze.
Somehow, this vile slime has a demonic visage complete with
horns and glowing eyes. Whatever devilish world spawned
this alien thing is welcome to reclaim it at any time.

These extraplanar slimes travel to this world in various ways, ranging from
summoning spells to accidental crossings. When the veil between worlds falters
and fails – if only for a moment – it allows the constantly-hungry ooze to cross
into this realm where it senses potential nourishment.

Unlike most slimes, these demonic hazards embrace fire. Burning a slime
typically wounds or destroys it, but hellspawned slimes heal 1d3 points for every
full minute they are subjected to flames. Arcane fires, such as from spells like
burning hands and fireball, heal the slime a number of points equal to the spell’s
damage. Adventurers who encounter one of these slimes quickly learn to avoid
granting the monster access to flames of any sort.

Instead of fire, it is water that wounds these terrible creatures. Contact with
normal or magical water hurts the hellspawned slime every round, dealing 2d4
and 2d6 damage respectively. When fully submerged in water, it dies instantly
and leaves behind a harmless red-orange goo that is absolutely worthless.

Hellspawned slimes are attracted to fire. They will do all they can to reach
torches, flaming swords, lanterns, or any other fire source within 100 feet of their
location. They can sense fire regardless of what may be between them and the
flames. Even the stone walls of a dungeon cannot prevent the slimes from feeling
the presence of fire and seeking it out.

These creatures move as slowly as other slimes, though they set fire to
combustible items they encounter as they seemingly ooze across surfaces.
Anyone touched by a hellspawned slime suffers 1d6 damage each round.
 The green puddle of thick, jelly-like slime gurgles and burbles
as air pockets pop, pop, pop on the thing’s blobby surface. Its
acidic touch eats away at the skull of an unfortunate victim.
Though it is unlikely that this humdrum slime murdered the
once-living owner of the skull, the dungeon hazard will spend
the next several weeks stripping away whatever nourishment
it can from it.

This is your basic, everyday slime. A squiggle of jelly-like ooze, it clings to the
dungeon’s walls, floors, and ceilings as it slowly scours the stone and consumes
as many living things as it can. The humdrum slime is sensitive to changes in
light and the subtle vibrations of characters and creatures moving through its
environment. If a humdrum slime gets the chance, it will drop from above and
onto whomsoever is so unfortunate as to be walking beneath the thing’s perch.

The humdrum slime attacks by covering its victim. It stretches out with
shapeless, tentacle-like pseudopods that wrap about the neck, arms, and torso of
its prey. Its acid-like touch inflicts 1d2+1 points of damage each round, halving
the damage if the target is wearing metal armor. It completely devours clothing,
leather armor, padded armor, and gear made of organic matter within 2d6
rounds. Someone under the assault of a humdrum slime will need to act quickly
to protect themselves – and their gear – from the creature’s touch.

Healing spells, fire, and physically removing the thing (usually by scraping with a
metallic object) are the best ways to deal with the threat. Healing magic, instead
of restoring the monster’s hit points, damages it directly. If a character is fighting
off a slime and an ally casts a healing spell at the conjoined duo, divide the spell’s
number of hit points in two (rounding down); the spell will heal the character
while also wounding the creature.

These slimes come in a wide variety of colors, though green seems to be the more
common specimen of humdrum slime.
 The grayish-purple slime rises slowly, twisting and distorting
its ooze-like form until it looms above you. Scattered
throughout the creature’s damp, toxic mass are dozens of
small mushrooms, leaves, and vines. Each looks as fresh as
they did before this mindless hazard absorbed them.

Once nothing more than a humdrum slime, these toxic dungeon hazards are
pretty rare. Few will ever know the terror of contending with such a terrible
mass of ooze. Maybe by a twist of fate, some poisonous mushrooms, deadly
weeds, and other plants can survive the humdrum slime’s acidic touch. Instead
of being obliterated, the fungi and plants form a symbiotic relationship with the
humdrum slime and forever meld into this more dangerous form of slime.

Icky slimes attach themselves to moist, cool surfaces, meaning they quickly
spread out to cover the dungeons’ interior. They are easily destroyed with fire
and healing spells; such magic inflicts triple damage when used against one of
these slimes. However, there is a danger inherent in setting these things ablaze. A
burning icky slime emits a poisonous, deadly cloud of smoke. All affected by this
smoke must make a successful Constitution check or suffer 2d4 points of damage
for every round it envelops them.

As with most slimes, this creature attacks by reaching out and adhering itself
to whatever target is closest. It has no intelligence or desires, instead operating
solely on the instinct to live. Slimes must consume organic matter, and they
feed on anything they touch. When in contact with this icky ooze, the victim
suffers 1d3 points of acid damage every round. Worse still, there is a three-in-six
chance that the thing’s many mushrooms and intertwined plants will burst when
it makes contact with a character or creature. This toxic spore cloud works the
same way as the smoke cloud created when the slime is burned.

An icky slime that does unleash a cloud of toxic spores dies 2d4 hours later.
It can no longer live after its symbiotic partners are dead.
 Satchels and bandoliers filled with vials, jars, and trinkets
wiggle above the dungeon floor; a blobby shimmer of pale
ooze prevents the equipment from crashing to the floor. With
an almost human-like gesture, the thing turns – almost as if
looking over its shoulder – before it continues on its way.

Although they are as mindless as any slime, these unnatural creatures possess a
degree of willful servitude never before seen in a dungeon hazard. A merchant’s
slime is brought into existence when a wizard captures the soul of a lackey and
forever entombs it within the quivering mass of a humdrum slime. The fusion of
slime and soul purifies the thing’s amorphous mass, draining all color from it and
leaving behind only a translucent blob of goo.

For the first few weeks following the merger, the slime acts much like any other
humdrum slime. It stretches out, exploring, still searching for organic matter
that it may consume to maintain its strength. Then slowly, over a few months,
the soul trapped within the slime starts to exert a small degree of control over
the creature. Although it never regains the full memories and intelligence it once
had, the newly-formed merchant’s slime imprints on a single person.

A merchant’s slime can perform a few simple tasks; most who possess one of
these things as a servant use the slime as a pack mule of sorts. They can carry
great weight, provided that what they’re moving isn’t destroyed by the hazard’s
acidic touch. (Treat as a humdrum slime for purposes of combat.)

It is not uncommon for the wizard who created the slime to also ensorcell a
backpack, bag, or other carrying devices that can be slung over the blob. This
enchantment includes a tacky spell (to help the ensorcelled object remain in
place) and protection against the slime’s acid-like touch. After all, the thing is
worthless if it cannot carry gear without destroying it.
 The pus-like ooze before you carries the coffin of some foul
evil within its constantly-shifting shape. The aura of death
washes over you as you realize that this slime is something
far, far viler than the many humdrum slimes of the dungeon.

Found in cemeteries, dungeons, and evil temples, the necromancer’s slime is an

unfeeling, unthinking nightmare creature that radiates a horrible evil at all times.
Detect evil spells cast within 10 feet of a necromancer’s slime inflict 2d3 damage
to the thing. The slime is harmed by healing spells and may be destroyed with
fire. It is immune to slashing and piercing attacks; such weapons merely pass
through the slime without any effect.

These slimes occur naturally, coming into existence when a more common,
mundane slime makes contact with necromantic power. There is no end to
the number of ways in which such a slime may be formed. The usual methods
include:
• a slime reducing a necromancer’s hit points to zero (killing the spellcaster)
• a slime remaining in direct contact with the grave or coffin of a necromancer
for several hours
• the unholy taint of an evil site twisting and transforming a humdrum slime
into one of these evil things.

A necromancer’s slime is attracted to good-aligned characters and creatures,

wishing to envelop such targets with their quivering mass of ooze to drain the
life out of their victim. Anyone who comes in contact with a necromancer’s
slime must make a successful Constitution check against the negative energy
of its touch; a failed check leads to losing one level of experience. Additionally,
whether the Constitution check succeeds or fails, anyone in contact with a
necromancer’s slime suffers 1d6 points of damage every round as its acidic touch
eats away at their flesh.
 The ghost-like brain glows an eerie yellow-green that blurs in
the light of your torch. As your eyes focus on the shape, you
soon realize that what you face is not from the spirit realm.
Instead, this ooze-like creature has a visible, still-living brain.

These shimmering, illuminated slimes are often mistaken for ghosts when
spotted from a distance. Up close, though, the stench is terrible even for an ooze-
like creature that feeds on any organic materials it can find. It’s clear that this
thing is far from an inhabitant of the spirit realms. The creature is very much a
corporeal being.

To create a smarty slime, a wizard must first scoop out the contents of a skull
from a freshly dead corpse. The brain cannot have been dead longer than an
hour. If the wizard then holds the organ deep in a slime for ten minutes while
chanting a vile incantation (suffering damage as per the type of slime selected),
there is a three-in-six chance that the brain melds with the ooze. Within
moments of the merger, the creature takes on the smarty slime’s coloring and
glow as the now-captured brain seizes control of the goo.

This slime prefers to move fully outstretched and upright, elevating its brain
as high off the floor as possible. Most are roughly 6 feet tall, though there are
stories of gargantuan smarties towering 20 feet or more when a giant’s brain is
successfully encased in a patch of ooze. The creature is extremely slow, able to
cross only a few feet of ground each hour.

Although the smarty slime cannot speak, the brain inside it retains just enough
of its prior memories to be able to comprehend any languages it knew in life.
This is dangerous to adventurers who mistakenly think the mindless goo cannot
understand them.

A smarty slime attacks with pseudopods, putting enough force behind each
blow to deal 2d6 damage. Unlike most slimes, this monster’s touch is not acidic,
though it is dangerous. Anyone touched by the creature must make a successful
Intelligence check or permanently lose 1 point of Intelligence.
 Undulating and bobbing across the cold, damp stones of the
dungeon floor, a near-translucent slime envelopes a treasure
chest. The inhuman, alien hazard moves with an unnatural
purpose, the scent of your carried treasures attracting it much
like a moth to a flame.

The gold-hue of the treasure-hungry slime is radiant, the semi-translucent

creature casting illumination wherever it may go. The slime gives off as much
light as a burning torch, making it difficult for the thing to hide . . . if it even
had the instinct or intelligence to try and conceal itself from the reach of the
murderous dungeoneers.

The slime is most attracted to golds, gems, and jewels. It pulls itself through the
dungeon with jelly-like pseudopods that are constantly seeking valuables. The
treasure-hungry creature prefers to pursue riches that are being transported,
but it will move to capture discarded treasures if it must. The slime will always
redirect its course to a character or creature that comes within a few hundred feet
of it, given they’re carrying valuables on them.

Scholars and wizards have long speculated about the hazard’s unerring ability to
sense treasures. Still, no one has ever confirmed any suspicions. At the moment,
all thoughts regarding the behavior and desires of the slime are purely unproven
theories.

A treasure-hungry slime that manages to reach its target lashes out, forming a
single pseudopod that slams hard into its victim. This strike deals 4d6 damage,
most of which is due to the force of the blow. It can make a single melee attack
with this pseudopod every round, reaching targets within 10 feet with the
treasure-laden appendage.

Someone hit by the slime’s bashing strike is covered in the monster’s acidic slime.
Until the slime is washed, scraped, or burned off, the victim suffers an additional
1d4 damage every round as the acid-like goo eats away at their skin.
 A warped, unnatural thing, this slime is equal parts
hazardous ooze and plant-like growth. It has taken root in
the earth and is limited to consuming only those creatures
foolish enough to enter its reach. Living, thorny vines are
entangled in the slime’s mass, and it appears to have a vine-
like scaffold containing its quivering form.

This monstrous plant/ooze hybrid is a mutated humdrum slime that has become
forever entangled in the dungeon’s weeds, vines, and other greenery. The change
takes many months. During this time, the slime slowly leaches the nutrients
from the plants, and the vegetation permanently bonds with the creature in the
process. If encountered before the transformation to vine slime is complete, it is
treated simply as a humdrum slime.

Vine slimes prefer to remain near the ground, inching their way slowly across
the dungeon as they search for sustenance. It is rare to encounter a vine slime
as anything but a patch of vine-wrapped ooze nestled against a dark corner of
a room. It sticks to the shadows when possible and prefers the dungeon’s cool,
damp edges. The jelly-like hazard will avoid brightly illuminated and warm
places. An adventurer who is less than careful when exploring the underground
lair of a vine slime may accidentally step into the creature.

Much like other slimes, these hazards attack with pseudopods. Their acidic
touch deals 1d6+2 damage every round. Additionally, their thorny vines inflict
1d4 damage each round, increasing to 2d4 damage to unarmored characters or
creatures who tangle with the jagged, deadly thorns. Anyone who suffers 4 points
of damage from the vines in a single round must make a Constitution check. On
a failed check, the slime’s toxic thorns make the victim sick, and the character
takes 1d6 points of damage every hour until they are cured. Thankfully, any
healing spell or potion will do the job.

If killed by the toxin, the character’s body turns to goo over 2d3 weeks. If left
alone, this goo eventually starts moving about the dungeon; a new humdrum
slime is birthed from the sludgey remains of the victim.
 An underground stream, the pure water cool and inviting,
winds slowly through the cavernous chamber. Small fish
wiggle and swiggle through the water. However, you soon
notice a sphere-like shimmer on the surface. A handful of
fish appear to be unable to swim beyond the boundaries of
whatever is causing the bizarre bulge in the stream.

These mindless, uncommon oozes are most often encountered when the flow of
the stream or river carrying them leads the slime directly to its next prey. Unlike
many of their kind, the water slime isn’t attracted to anything. It bumps and bobs
along, floating on the surface and capturing whatever may cross their path. The
acidic touch of these slimes is weaker than that of their cousins. Some are so frail
and hesitant that they die of malnutrition even as their shapeless, bobbling form
holds trapped and helpless fish.

The slime’s touch deals a single point of damage per hour to organic matter. If it
weren’t for the thing’s use in the brewing of potions and poisons, few adventurers
would bother to search for them. Unfortunately for the water slime, the
combination of their weak touch and people willing to pay gold for an unharmed
specimen make them an easy target. Gold-starved dungeoneers have been known
to waste hours of their time trying to scoop the slime into a suitable receptacle.

In rare cases, the water slime traps piranhas or other carnivorous fish. In addition
to the single point of damage its acidic touch inflicts on a victim every hour,
someone in contact with a carnivore-filled slime takes 1d4+1 damage every
round as the creatures rip and tear at the adventurer’s flesh. The fish may be
trapped, but they’re still hungry.

When a water slime has been left undisturbed for weeks, perhaps months, they
accumulate all sorts of flotsam. Bits of dead fish, seaweed, cast-off food, and
discarded refuse become trapped in the thing, making it easier to see on the
water’s surface. Such water slimes are considered tainted. They are of no value to
the wizards and assassins who typically pay for a pure, untouched water slime.
 The first thing you notice as you push through the splintered,
shattered door is the drip, drip, drip of a thick goo that coats
the walls and ceiling of the chamber. Your torchbearer instantly
hesitates, blocking your path and slowing your party to a
halt. As the sludge-like ooze ripples and bubbles, air pockets
pop audibly as the thing moves, you realize the reason for the
torchbearer’s sudden pause; the gray goo is more than merely
harmless.

Are you stuck for an idea as the adventurers explore the dungeon? Do you wish to
punish the players for their annoying mistakes of the evening? Roll 2d20 and throw
a random slime at the party. It’s fun . . . for you. For them, it may prove disastrous to
their characters’ future.

2 The treasure chest, lid wide open, is filled with coins. Copper, silver, and
gold sparkles in your torchlight. Curse the gods! A humdrum slime has also
taken up residence in the chest.
3 A trio of necromantic slimes, each covering a patch of floor roughly 10’ in
diameter, dominate this room. The gray, vile things are touching in places,
each reaching out with slippery, jelly-like appendages. The adventurers may
be witnessing the birth of a colossal slime.
4 As the heroes make their way down the spiral stairs, they soon notice the
walls are growing darker and darker in color. The stones glisten with the
sheen of an unknown dampness. A humdrum slime, massive in size, makes
its way slowly across the walls of the shaft, the thing’s many appendages and
pseudopods tentatively reaching out to investigate the adventurers.
5 An amber slime hides within a coffin, keeping to itself unless disturbed. If
the heroes open the coffin’s lid, the thing attacks.
6 In the dim light, it is easy to mistake the slime for another cobblestone that
makes up the dungeon’s uneven floor.
7 Green, thick sludge flows down the dungeon’s wall, extinguishing the light
of the torches that protrude from a handful of wall sconces.
8 A hellspawned slime is hiding in a fireplace, doing all it can to look like
ordinary flames.
9 A natural stream running through the dungeon has overflowed its banks,
flooding adjacent rooms. Unfortunately, a water slime stands between the
adventurers and the next chamber.
10 A swarm of wasps is attacking a vine slime.
11 A colossal green slime covers the corridor floor, blocking the heroes’ path.
12 The treasure chest is smashed to bits, now little more than scraps of wood
and pieces of twisted metal. Upon closer inspection, the adventurers spot a
humdrum slime crawling amongst the chest’s remains which, up close, the
party now recognizes as a dead mimic. The slime consumes the deceased
monster and will ignore the PCs unless attacked.
13 A glob of gray, stone-like slime lashes out with gargantuan pseudopods.
This bizarre blend of jelly and rock packs quite a wallop . . . and worse still,
the thing’s acidic touch lingers. Flesh burns long after the monster’s brutal
punch strikes its target.
14 Humdrum slime drips from a metal cage. Inside there is the skeleton of a
chainmail-clad warrior, their flesh having been consumed long ago.
15 A mass of green slime inches across the floor, hungry for the heroes.
16 A turquoise-colored slime hangs from the ceiling, waiting for its next meal.
17 A metallic slime, silver in color and gleaming in the torchlight, is attracted
to gold. It attacks the hero carrying the most gold coins.
18 Slumped against one of the walls, the upper torso of a goblin is trapped
in the blue-tinted slime that hangs from the ceiling. The hazard fills the
doorway that connects this chamber to the next.
19 A gash in the dungeon floor allows the adventures to peer into the chamber
below, where they see coins, jewels, and gems scattered across the area
directly beneath them. The tear in the floor is too tight for the heroes to slip
through, but it isn’t too small for the humdrum slime on the ceiling below
to reach upward and try to grab one of them by the head as they stare at the
unreachable riches.
20 A blob of bubbling goo, stark white and thick like jelly, slaps at the stone
with bone-spiked pseudopods. Its quivering form lunges at the heroes with
speed faster than most slimes.
21 A glass cylinder, as tall as an orc and as fat as the healthiest of well-fed
halflings, stands in the center of the room. Inside, a black ooze smashes and
bashes at the glass walls that imprison it. The thing wishes only to escape . . .
and to feed on the nearby adventurers.
22 Green slime covers a portcullis. It blocks the view to the next room.
23 Globs of gray, sludge-like slime are splattered across the walls and ceiling of
the chamber. The unmoving blotches of goo suddenly lunge at the heroes,
the things slapping at each other and struggling with the other slimes as
they each hunger for the PCs’ flesh.
24 An icky slime, mushrooms sprouting from its jelly-like mass, is flopping
on the head of a massive toadstool. It reaches for the nearest hero with its
disgusting appendages.
25 A hellspawned slime is engaged in battle with a fire elemental. The two
opponents are so wrapped up in their conflict that both fail to notice the
adventurers’ presence.
26 A green slime is oozing through the keyhole of a locked door.
27 A dark red slime, its surface scab-like and disgusting, is tearing a bloated
corpse to bit with its pseudopods. The terrible thing is feasting on the
decaying guts of an unfortunate dwarf.
28 A shimmering mass of purple ooze shivers and shakes when an arcane
spellcaster comes within 10 feet of the terrible thing. If it makes contact
with a character, the slime has no effect unless the character is a magic-user
(who must make a successful Constitution check at a -4 penalty). If the
check fails, the slime’s target suffers 3d6 points of damage and is unable to
cast spells until the following dawn.
29 Globs of green slime sizzle and pop, the thing’s acidic touch slowly killing a
giant rat that is struggling to escape.
30 A humdrum slime oozes its way under the nearest door.
31 The room is unnaturally cold. As the adventurers look about the chamber,
they soon realize that the glistening blue walls are not wet with moisture.
Instead, they’re covered in icy, deadly patches of snow-touched slime.
32 A bright orange glob of slime on the wall reaches out with a clumsy, acid-
dripping pseudopod.
33 A shield moves slowly across the floor, carried by a patch of gray slime.
 The swordsman’s skills
meant nothing against the
onslaught of the deadly
slime. Slashing and stabbing
at the alien creature, the
elf ’s efforts were ineffective.
Soon the fighter was

© Dean Spencer
overwhelmed and murdered
by the greenish, jelly-like
thing.

34 Brown slime, its stench worse than a latrine, drops on a random PC.
35 Red, thick strands of jelly stretch from the floor to the ceiling. A rare and
dangerous blood slime has taken up residence in this small room.
36 The water bucket next to the well is home to a black slime. It is spilling over
the sides of the container.
37 A rickety wooden bridge spans a subterranean stream, granting the
adventurers access to the other side . . . provided, of course, that the
structure doesn’t collapse as they cross. Also, they best hope that the
humdrum slime clinging to the underside of the bridge doesn’t lash out
with a pseudopod and trip them as they race across.
38 A humdrum slime is slowly consuming a red-colored patch of moss.
39 A door appears to be misshapen, a bizarre mashup of metal and ooze. An
icky slime clings fast to the remnants of a once-solid door. The thing refuses
to detach without significant – and violent – encouragement.
40 Green slime has attached itself to a zombie’s head, blinding the monster.
The zombie can sense the PCs but struggles to successfully attack. It keeps
falling over as it reaches for them.

If you’re in need of more ooze ideas, please don’t miss Jiggles & Wiggles. It’s a
pocket map supplement dedicated to the king of oozy, sliggly dungeon hazards: the
infamous gelatinous cube!