(As I've said elsewhere, I'm very annoyed with the lack of Pyramid, so I'm just going to have to put this here.) So your adventurers are doing a heist in some useless aristocrat’s palace and break into the office where all the important administrative work is done and probably all the incriminating documents are. So what, exactly, do they find there? Every technological regime has its own office equipment. An office in 2000 had paper and pens and staplers and rubber bands all that, but it also had desktop or tower computers with attached monitors and other peripherals, printers, cables, power strips, and all kinds of other accessories you wouldn’t have had in an office in, say, 1950, where the highest technology you’d find would be typewriters (maybe electric ones by that time) and phones capable of switching between multiple lines. In 1900, the typewriters would have been manual, and if there were multiple phone lines into the office, they’d have to go through a switchb...
This 2015 dissertation by Dr. Paul Peterson is the kind of gaming resource actual academia provides to us. The work contains a list of 517 Viking nicknames and their meanings. They start on p. 127 if you just want to skip ahead. Cool, no? Shane Ivey over on Bluesky suggested bringing a d517 to your next D&D game. And having a random table of Viking names is a great idea, actually. But. 517 doesn't break down into die rolls well. It's the product of two primes, and that does not translate into rolls on dAnythingyoumighthaveinyourdicebag. But its really close to 512, which is a straight-up power of two, and that you can roll. Indeed, if you just ignore the last five items on the list (sorry, enn ǫrvi, ǫrvǫnd, ǫrvǫndr, Øxna-, and øxnabroddr), you just need 3d8, or roll a d8 three times, treating each roll as a separate digit to generate one of 512 possible rolls and looking up the corresponding value. Roll, say, a 5, 7, and 1? That's 305, or lunan , meaning little blac...