It’s hurricane season where I live. I chose to evacuate, but only to an area just northernly enough to avoid the brunt of the damage. From there I watched the storm in relative safety, jotting down notes on the strange shadows and creatures I convinced myself I saw amongst the rain and wind. If your players are ever faced with a tremendous gail, perhaps it goes something like this:
What Does the Storm Bring? (d12)
1) Thin, worm-like creatures erupt from cracks and eerily-smooth holes in the ground. They aren’t aggressive, content to wave in the howling wind and rain. Attacking one causes several others in the immediate vicinity to retreat into the ground.
2) Trees and their limbs are sheared off with surgical precision. Any building made from the resultant lumber is doomed to fail catastrophically in 1d4 years.
3) It’s raining teeth. Various dentata, some human, some not, cause 1d4 damage per minute spent out of cover.
4) Flashes of lightning expose the creatures that live above the clouds. Pray they don’t notice you.
5) There is thunder, but no lightning. The world is dark and the noise is deafening.
6) A band of wind elementals ride with the storm, slaughtering men and cattle indiscriminately.
7) People get the urge to walk into the storm. They eventually find themselves far from home, with no memory of how they got there.
8) Ball lightning. Tons of them wandering, bumping into each other, and exploding in a shower of sparks.
9) Fish are picked up from the nearest water source and fall with the rain. After the storm passes, they slowly flop and flail their way back to the water, no matter the distance.
10) It looks like it’s raining outside, but it isn’t. It is raining inside, but invisibly.
11) The entire storm falls in one giant drop. Needless to say, this is disastrous.
12) Any metal object left outside during the storm is buffed, polished, and sharpened to a razor edge. Be careful opening door handles.