Gelatinous Icosahedron

 Magical pools of water have been a part of D&D since at least B1: In Search of the Unknown and its infamous room of pools, and of myth, legend, and fantasy for far longer. A "pool" can be found in a dungeon, a deep forest, a mountaintop, a ruined castle, or even in a town. It can be a standard pool, or a font, a fountain, a basin, a pond, a spring, a cistern, or any other smallish body of water. Typically, the powers of a magical pool are invoked by drinking its water, bathing or sprinkling oneself or another object, immersing something in it, or gazing at its surface, though other methods are possible. Its waters are usually only potent in the immediate vicinity of the pool, and lose their powers if bottled and carried away. Pool of Vanity : The surface of the water reflects the images of those gazing on it in an exaggeratedly grand fashion, making them more attractive and more extravagantly attired. Pool of Clarity : This pool reflects only the truth, revealing the tru...

 One of the things I dislike about some D&D settings, especially high-magic ones or "kitchen sink" ones, is the way magic is so ubiquitous as to be effectively a surrogate for technology. Sometimes it's semi-subtle, but often it's obviously, or even explicitly, an analog of some real world or sci-fi technology -- TV, radio, the internal combustion engine (oh-so-cleverly renamed "internal conjuration engine"), Star Trek transporters, and the like. If you've got the gold to spend, just hire some wizards, either to mass-produce magic items or to act as some sort of sorcerous butler/travel agent/housekeeper/personal chef/communications system. Another thing I dislike about some D&D games is how easy it is to bloat one's spell books with spells scribed from scrolls found as treasure, and how spells tend to be traded and shared freely between the party's spellcasters until everyone's books are essentially complete and homogenous. The obviou...