City '26, Week 11: Harborside Carousing

Another Monday, another City26 blog post. I enjoy making these, but it is hard to pull myself out of the weekend slump to sit down and actually write. Maybe I should move these to a different day of the week? On the other hand, they're useful for getting my brain juices flowing again, and Monday is still my least-busy day of the week.

Today's entry is a d12 Carousing Table for Harborside, and I think it might actually mark the end of this district as well? That puts me at almost exactly three months to write a district, and with four districts planned, that basically lines up with a full year of City26! I was worried my timing had fallen off somewhere, but I guess not.

How do you make a Carousing Table?

When making or looking for a good carousing table, there are four things I look for in the entries. Not every entry has to have all four, and three is still a sign of an excellent entry. Having at least two of them is a good start, and having only one is fine but tells me I could definitely find a way to improve it. The four things I look for are:

1. An element of choice. Simultaneously the easiest and hardest thing to include. In one sense, deciding to carouse at all is a choice, but I prefer something beyond that. If my decision to party leads to something happening to me, with no input, I don't find that very fun. A good GM can make up for this by using the carousing to tell a good story though.
2. Storytelling potential. This ties back to not wanting something to just happen to my character. I think carousing is better if it leaves room to tell a story. Obviously if you're low on time and just want to get through the carousing, you don't have to spend the time delving deeper into a roll's results. But on the other hand, if you're just trying to hurry up and get through it, maybe you shouldn't have done carousing in the first place? 
3. Consequences, either temporary or lasting. In the same way I don't think something unavoidable happening to me is fun, I don't think carousing is much fun unless there's consequences involved. The consequences don't have to be major, but something that can be referenced again later is always good, even if it's just a reputation as being "that one adventurer who got so drunk they did that thing".  
4. Variety. Probably the thing least present in those "d10,000 carousing tables" and such that you find online.  Having 10,000 entries, or even 100, means that by default you're going to end up with a lot of really similar entries. Sometimes that's by design, and it can be a good thing! I love two or three similar entries with opposite consequences. But I don't want six different entries for "Lose at Gambling" where the only change is how much money you lost or who you lost it to. That's one reason I prefer small, location-curated carousing tables instead of a generic d100 table.

All that said, obviously not every entry on this carousing table fits those qualities! Like I said, getting all four in a single entry is hard. Even getting three of them is a challenge! And if you have just one quality in an entry, don't worry too much. I find that a second (or third) quality often arises naturally when you actually play the game. Like everything else in roleplaying games, a strong imagination and a creative spark helps with this. All that said, let's actually look at Harborside's carousing table:

Harborside Carousing Table (d12)

1. You lose a fight with a sailor from out of town, making an enemy of them and their crew mates. If any event in the city involves sailors, there's a 2-in-6 chance it involves these specific ones that hate you. That's not all though. Roll a d6:
1. You get away with nothing more than a few bumps, scrapes, and bruises.
2. You get nailed with a black eye, which lasts for 1d4 days.
3. A blow to the face knocks loose 1d3 teeth.
4. The fight was in a popular bar. Most people in Harborside have heard about it, and might recognize you as the loser based on your description.
5. The fight was in tavern, bar, or inn you regularly visit, and the owner is angry at you for damages caused during the brawl. You're banned from the premises until you pay for repairs and get back into their good graces.
6. Roll again twice, combining the results (ignore further 6s, but doubles are fine).
2. You win a fight with a sailor from out of town. Although you've made an enemy of the sailor themselves, they were unpopular with their crew, earning you renown among them. If any even in the city involves sailors, there's a 2-in-6 chance it involves these specific ones that like you.
3. You're asked to join a game of cards or dice against some local dock hands. If you participate, roll a d20: on odds you win, on evens you lose. The payout is 3d20 silver pieces. If the payout is 35 sp or more, the dock hands can't afford it, and offer their services as laborers or bodyguards, or some other unspecified favor.
4. You are drawn into a conversation with the most beautiful person you've ever seen. Words flow between you without issue, and you both seem attracted to each other. However, the conversation ends poorly when (roll d4):
1. You fumble a few words, and when you try to recover you accidentally insult them. You can either try to salvage the night, knowing you're already on thin ice, or walk away heartbroken but without further damage to your confidence.
2. Their spouse/lover arrives at your table, just as you make a move. Decide whether to keep pushing or back off. If you take a leap for love, the spouse demands a duel of honor, to first blood. Seeing as they're not a trained fighter, first blood might mean their death, which would understandably upset your potential paramour.
3. You black out, then wake up the next morning with a pounding headache, and no memory of what happened after the conversation. There is a token of affection in your pocket that you recognize as belonging to the stranger, as well as a playing card with some numbers on it. Unfortunately, you also don't remember what the numbers mean.
4. When the stranger steps away to get drinks, a trusted ally carousing with you implies that the stranger is just trying to scam you. There are some signs (they've expressed great interest in your work and how much you make) but you feel a legitimate connection. Decide whether you're going to walk away while they're gone, or stick around and take a chance. (Feel free to roll a d20 to determine their intentions, innocent or devious, based on odds-or-evens.)
5.  You wake up the next morning to find yourself on a dinghy out at sea. You can see the city's port in the distance, but only have a single oar. Returning to shore takes 1d4 hours, and when you arrive you find a search party-- not for you, but for the stolen dinghy, which belongs to the Harbormasters. Plus, sleeping all morning exposed in the sun has left you with a terrible sunburn.
6. Once under the influence of alcohol (or other substances) you end up expressing an incredible talent you didn't know you had-- singing, dancing, painting, etc. Elaborate on the talent as necessary, which is impressive to those around you. The next morning, a talent scout from the Terra Nova district seeks you out. Unfortunately, you fail at demonstrating the talent again. Perhaps it only appears while you're drunk?
7. You wake up the next morning to find yourself in a sewer tunnel, surrounded by candlesticks. Finding your way out takes 1d4 hours. When you return to the surface, the district is abuzz with gossip-- in the night, nearly every home in one neighborhood was broken into, but the thief took only candlesticks. Later in the day, you're approached by a member of the Rovers, who congratulates you on "winning last night's bet". They hand over 2d6 silver pieces, then ask where the candlesticks are. Hopefully you remember how to get to them!
8. In the course of the night, you make a friend out of a young bachelor(ette) from a well-to-do family, who's come to Harborside for a taste of the "low life" before they get married. Because you get along so well, they invite you and your companions to join them and their friends on a party barge they rented for the night. As you continue to talk, they describe their fiancee, who is wealthy but sounds like an awful person. You know that, in their inebriated state, you could probably persuade them to break off the marriage. But doing so might risk the ire of their family, and perhaps the bachelor themselves when they wake up tomorrow morning, with their mind less clouded by drink. 
9. You wake up the next morning a location only mildly familiar to you, but definitely not where you're supposed to be staying. You don't remember how you got here, but there's a package nearby with a note attached. It has your name on it, as well as the name of a street you don't recognize, and the line "payment upon delivery, as agreed." Unfortunately, there aren't any other details, and you don't remember agreeing to anything. The package is wrapped in brown paper, tied with twine, and sealed with wax stamped by a signet ring whose symbol you can't quite make out.
10. During your carousing, you fall in with a charismatic stranger who really knows how to party. Even better, they seem to enjoy your company. They live in Terra Velha, and claim to know the best spots for a good time there. Unfortunately, they don't vibe with your companions, and refuse to bring them along. If you choose to abandond your allies, roll a d20. On odds, the stranger does as promised. Roll twice on the Terra Velha carousing table and take either result, always benefiting from the best possible consequences of a result. On evens, it turns out the stranger hates your guts (for unspecified reasons) and tricked you into an awful night of debasement. You wake up the next morning terribly hungover, missing a sixth of your coinage, and having made an enemy of someone important in Terra Velha (someone other than the stranger, who you probably consider an enemy now).
11. Recognizing you as strong and/or competent, one of the bouncers at a bar asks you to take their place while they quickly run to the bathroom. If you accept, they don't return. The owner has seen you at the door, and assumes you're an official replacement. Stay, and you'll likely get the money the bouncer was owed for the night instead. Leave, and if anything happens the owner will probably hold you liable and remember your face. (Roll a d20 to determine if anything goes down at the bar, based on odds-or-evens.)
12. Perhaps emboldened by a stomach already full of alcohol, you are drawn into a contest run by a local dive bar. If you can finish six shots of a local liquor (a powerful, cane-based alcohol that always burn as it goes down) then you win a round of free drinks for yourself and your companions. Failure, however, means you must pay the cost of all six shots (as inflated by the bar's owner), suffer the humiliation of defeat, and become so drunk you end up making another poor decision tonight (roll again on this table, always suffering the worst possible consequences of a result).