My Dark Sun game, in which I play a human psion named Polis Thaelin working to restore divine magic to Athas, is simple and uncluttered by the need for worldly possessions. Treasure is sparse, but the only crucial items are “survival days,” those ephemeral packets of everything you need to survive in a desert environment for 24 hours. With inherent bonuses, the need for magic items as we advance in level isn’t all-consuming, and what arcane treasures we do acquire take the form of boons or blessings. Occasionally we unearth an ancient metal weapon, but they tend to draw attention to our party. As a ritual caster I need more coin than most, but the few rituals I possess and use are not “game changers,” so they’re not something employed every session. Life is simple, if harsh, under the Dark Sun.
By contrast, the two campaigns I run – a 3.5 Planescape game based out of Sigil and a 4E Greyhawk game following the Age of Worms adventure path – are much more treasure laden. Magic items are necessary for the heroes to keep pace with the villains, and life at the paragon level is expensive. The 4E players recognize this, accept it, and loot gladly at the end of every encounter. The Planescapers…they’re a whole different kettle of fish.
Now, I must preface this discussion by stressing that I DON’T skimp on treasure – if anything, I’m incredibly generous with it. Even before they arrived in Sigil, the party was gifted with gold and magic items from a dwarven king as a reward for revealing him to be cursed and sabotaging his own court and jeopardizing the future of his kingdom (“In the Dwarven King’s Court,” Dungeon #2). During the events at the king’s castle, the paladin Lucius broke his precious battleaxe, Belthil. When the heroes retired to the World Serpent Inn for the night, I presented them with the following scene.
As a DM, I felt I was doing Aerosatar a favor, giving him the opportunity to fix his character’s weapon in exchange for a favor (plot hook) instead of paying the dwarven weaponsmith to repair it. He didn’t trust the gypsy, so his cut of the dwarven king’s reward ended up going toward mending Belthil. (If you’re wondering how he broke the axe, I use a house rule that says if you roll a “1” on an attack, you must roll another d20; if you roll another “1,” the weapon breaks.) Sometimes accidents happen, and there are setbacks; plenty more treasure out there in the multiverse.
When the heroes arrived in Sigil and completed their first adventure there – returning a sentient book to its creator at the behest of a shopkeeper-cum-petitioner in the form of a talking cat – they were rewarded with the aforementioned shopkeeper’s shop, complete with deed. Now, Shemeshka the Marauder wanted the shop, as it occupies prime real estate at the edge of the Grand Bazaar, but the party members refused to sell it to her – enemy #1 in Sigil. Since they’re gone for long periods of time hopping through portals or guarding the modrons on their relentless march, the shop stands unoccupied and vulnerable; they’ve returned to find it trashed, to find threatening notes pinned to the door with daggers, or to find enemies lounging on the couch and eating their food. Oh, and the Us (a conglomeration of cranium rats whose communal intelligence is almost godlike) like to send representatives in to discuss business with party members taking a bath. But those are just the kind of everyday annoyances one should expect when living at the center of the multiverse.
When our heroes snuck into Azzagrat, the triple-layered realm of the demon prince Graz’zt, at the behest of a handsome bard and rescued a unicorn scheduled as the main dish for one of Graz’zt’s parties, they also made off with three chests filled with abyssal bloodiron ingots, each chest valued at over 20,000 gold pieces. Looking for a buyer, the characters turned to the ruler of Tatsukatsukai, a kingdom on Bytopia. He sent out queries and received the following letter in reply.
The adu’ja (plant people bent on wiping all non-plants from the face of the multiverse) offer was overly generous, but the party members refused to sell to them. Instead, they sold the ingots to Tatsukatsukai for less than their value, with the understanding that Mogohura would NOT sell the bloodiron to the adu’ja. Again, I thought I was being a kind and generous DM, giving the players an opportunity to make the adu’ja the target of Graz’zt’s attentions, as they would have his bloodiron and planned to use it to assault his metaphorical doorstep. Instead, the heroes are still on Graz’zt’s hit list, and the adu’ja send waves of soldiers against Tatsukatuskai’s walls, trying to get the ingots. (Although the attacks have abated lately, thanks to a change in adu‘ja plans – they now assault the Flower Infernal in the hopes of making that giant fiendish plant their planar base.)
Because the modrons need neither rest nor sleep, their march is continuous and at a relentless pace. After consulting a priest of Boccob about magic that would let the adventuring party keep up with the clockwork outsiders, our heroes visited a demonologist in the Outlands who possessed a travel token that considerably shortened the travel time between any two given points on the Outlands. The demonologist GAVE the travel token to the group, believing in their cause. Ergeheilalt, the cleric’s player, made the following note about the gift in his character’s journal.
I suppose the cleric was suspicious mainly because the token was also a holy symbol of Aoskar the god of portals, whose worship was banned in Sigil by the Lady of Pain. If anyone in Sigil found out the party possessed it, they would be shunned at the very least, and mazed by the Lady Herself at worst. Still, it was quite useful.
When the cleric was assassinated, I gave the heroes the opportunity to amass enough money to resurrect him by presenting them with a hidden crypt overrun by undead and brimming with treasure – but they took none of it! They slew the undead so they’d have safe passage back to the surface (they were on their way to negotiate with the Us about some other business), but felt it would be “wrong” to loot the forgotten coffins and crypts of the wealthy and fabulous from Sigil’s past. (Again, I was overly generous, placing a crystal coffin in one of the crypts that could have restored the cleric to life for FREE! They didn’t even open the crypt.) Instead, they hocked nearly everything they owned and hired another cleric to return Sakor to life.
When they gained possession of a creation forge, one of three artifacts Sakor needs to resurrect his dead god, they immediately squirreled it away on the Plane of Shadow, lest someone try and take it from them. When Faarlung’s Algorithm fell into their possession (another artifact useful in Sakor’s endeavor), they refused to touch it, fearing the effects; it now lies in the possession of an NPC.
I’m beginning to think my players don’t trust me…
By contrast, the two campaigns I run – a 3.5 Planescape game based out of Sigil and a 4E Greyhawk game following the Age of Worms adventure path – are much more treasure laden. Magic items are necessary for the heroes to keep pace with the villains, and life at the paragon level is expensive. The 4E players recognize this, accept it, and loot gladly at the end of every encounter. The Planescapers…they’re a whole different kettle of fish.
Now, I must preface this discussion by stressing that I DON’T skimp on treasure – if anything, I’m incredibly generous with it. Even before they arrived in Sigil, the party was gifted with gold and magic items from a dwarven king as a reward for revealing him to be cursed and sabotaging his own court and jeopardizing the future of his kingdom (“In the Dwarven King’s Court,” Dungeon #2). During the events at the king’s castle, the paladin Lucius broke his precious battleaxe, Belthil. When the heroes retired to the World Serpent Inn for the night, I presented them with the following scene.
“Broke something, did you, noble paladin?” The harsh voice of Madame Fortuna issues from a shadowed corner. The gypsy stands and moves unerringly into the light, despite the two gaping eye sockets in her deeply lined face. “Now, that just won’t do…won’t do at all. We’ll have to remedy that, won’t we?” She grins, showing rotting teeth.
“I know someone who can repair your precious axe…make it like new – better than new! What say you? Will you trust me?” Madame Fortuna cackles as though at some private joke. The giant green emerald in the top of her cane glimmers with an inner light, and she stops laughing, cocking her head to one side as if listening.
The old woman’s mood changes drastically. She turns and walks slowly back to her shadowy corner, her cane thumping on the wooden floor. “Let me know what you decide, noble paladin. Let me know just how far I need to go…”
As a DM, I felt I was doing Aerosatar a favor, giving him the opportunity to fix his character’s weapon in exchange for a favor (plot hook) instead of paying the dwarven weaponsmith to repair it. He didn’t trust the gypsy, so his cut of the dwarven king’s reward ended up going toward mending Belthil. (If you’re wondering how he broke the axe, I use a house rule that says if you roll a “1” on an attack, you must roll another d20; if you roll another “1,” the weapon breaks.) Sometimes accidents happen, and there are setbacks; plenty more treasure out there in the multiverse.
When the heroes arrived in Sigil and completed their first adventure there – returning a sentient book to its creator at the behest of a shopkeeper-cum-petitioner in the form of a talking cat – they were rewarded with the aforementioned shopkeeper’s shop, complete with deed. Now, Shemeshka the Marauder wanted the shop, as it occupies prime real estate at the edge of the Grand Bazaar, but the party members refused to sell it to her – enemy #1 in Sigil. Since they’re gone for long periods of time hopping through portals or guarding the modrons on their relentless march, the shop stands unoccupied and vulnerable; they’ve returned to find it trashed, to find threatening notes pinned to the door with daggers, or to find enemies lounging on the couch and eating their food. Oh, and the Us (a conglomeration of cranium rats whose communal intelligence is almost godlike) like to send representatives in to discuss business with party members taking a bath. But those are just the kind of everyday annoyances one should expect when living at the center of the multiverse.
When our heroes snuck into Azzagrat, the triple-layered realm of the demon prince Graz’zt, at the behest of a handsome bard and rescued a unicorn scheduled as the main dish for one of Graz’zt’s parties, they also made off with three chests filled with abyssal bloodiron ingots, each chest valued at over 20,000 gold pieces. Looking for a buyer, the characters turned to the ruler of Tatsukatsukai, a kingdom on Bytopia. He sent out queries and received the following letter in reply.
To the Great and Illustrious Mogohura, Lord of Tatsukatsukai, Guardian of the Diamond Gate, and Unbreakable Hammer of Ama-Tsu-Mara,
We of the adu’ja ecosytem beseech you to aid us in our endeavor. While many may consider it to be a fool’s errand, our people are determined to take control of the Plain of Infinite Portals, thereby crippling the demons’ already limited mobilization efforts. If we succeed, this will be a boon to all deserving creatures throughout the multiverse.
To that end, we need to acquire weapons useful against demonic opponents. Trader-of-Goods is authorized to speak on behalf of the ecosystem, and we trust its judgment. If the accompanying funds are not sufficient, we can arrange delivery of additional precious metals.
With Respect,
Holder-of-the-Gate
Adu’ja Ecosystem
The adu’ja (plant people bent on wiping all non-plants from the face of the multiverse) offer was overly generous, but the party members refused to sell to them. Instead, they sold the ingots to Tatsukatsukai for less than their value, with the understanding that Mogohura would NOT sell the bloodiron to the adu’ja. Again, I thought I was being a kind and generous DM, giving the players an opportunity to make the adu’ja the target of Graz’zt’s attentions, as they would have his bloodiron and planned to use it to assault his metaphorical doorstep. Instead, the heroes are still on Graz’zt’s hit list, and the adu’ja send waves of soldiers against Tatsukatuskai’s walls, trying to get the ingots. (Although the attacks have abated lately, thanks to a change in adu‘ja plans – they now assault the Flower Infernal in the hopes of making that giant fiendish plant their planar base.)
Because the modrons need neither rest nor sleep, their march is continuous and at a relentless pace. After consulting a priest of Boccob about magic that would let the adventuring party keep up with the clockwork outsiders, our heroes visited a demonologist in the Outlands who possessed a travel token that considerably shortened the travel time between any two given points on the Outlands. The demonologist GAVE the travel token to the group, believing in their cause. Ergeheilalt, the cleric’s player, made the following note about the gift in his character’s journal.
Portery handed the token to Pasha, which is only proper I suppose, seeing as how she paid for the information. The little sage claimed that he was done with it, his task served. This tripped my suspicion wires. It seemed a little too kosher for my tastes. Of course, my ego is rather large and I like believing that some Power found it important enough to have tasked Portery to look out for us.
I suppose the cleric was suspicious mainly because the token was also a holy symbol of Aoskar the god of portals, whose worship was banned in Sigil by the Lady of Pain. If anyone in Sigil found out the party possessed it, they would be shunned at the very least, and mazed by the Lady Herself at worst. Still, it was quite useful.
When the cleric was assassinated, I gave the heroes the opportunity to amass enough money to resurrect him by presenting them with a hidden crypt overrun by undead and brimming with treasure – but they took none of it! They slew the undead so they’d have safe passage back to the surface (they were on their way to negotiate with the Us about some other business), but felt it would be “wrong” to loot the forgotten coffins and crypts of the wealthy and fabulous from Sigil’s past. (Again, I was overly generous, placing a crystal coffin in one of the crypts that could have restored the cleric to life for FREE! They didn’t even open the crypt.) Instead, they hocked nearly everything they owned and hired another cleric to return Sakor to life.
When they gained possession of a creation forge, one of three artifacts Sakor needs to resurrect his dead god, they immediately squirreled it away on the Plane of Shadow, lest someone try and take it from them. When Faarlung’s Algorithm fell into their possession (another artifact useful in Sakor’s endeavor), they refused to touch it, fearing the effects; it now lies in the possession of an NPC.
I’m beginning to think my players don’t trust me…
