Mammon, the Lord of Minauros, is the operator of the largest treasury in the Multiverse. He keeps and counts all the gold in Baator, operating Asmodeus’ baroque and insane command economy from the Sinking City in the vile and acid bogs of the Third Hell. And, of course, he skims himself a generous helping.
Of course, the Treasury can’t all be Baatezu. For a start, many - many - Devils have a vested interest in seeing certain sections of the Nine receive more gold than the others. And, for another thing - silver burns devils. They hate the stuff, and mortals just insist on using it for money. So inconsiderate.
So, sometimes, an indebted mortal can be a useful thing.
Besides - mortals can go where the Baatezu can’t.
And the Treasury really wants to go everywhere. After all, there’s probably VALUE out there, just WAITING to be MERCILESSLY EXPLOITED. Why, the mere idea of it is enough to get one’s pedipalps twitching.
So, the Treasury trains wizards (for a price).
You know that thing, where spells ask for a “Diamond worth 300 gold?” The Treasury decides how much diamond that is. They have a (persuasive) claim to having come up with the idea of currency, as a method for the ensnarement of mortal souls.
Class as per your Favourite Wizard Chassis
Starting Equipment: Ominous notebook, golden Treasury badge, pen with unlimited ink, set of manacles, hooked dagger (light), black oilskin clothing, three pieces of Plutocrat’s Equipment.
Perk: You can spend 50 gold to add +1 to the [sum] of a spell you just cast. The gold evaporates into reeking smoke. You can burn as much gold as you want at once.
Drawback: You begin the game 9999 gold in debt to the Treasury of Hell. This was the cost of your education. They expect weekly contributions. At the end of each year, the remaining debt multiples by 1.3, rounding up to the nearest gold. Once you’ve paid this off, you have been assured you will start making a lot of money.
You can count the number of objects in a pile instantly, up to 10000.
You can produce a writhing sigil of smoke in the air, which serves as your Treasury badge. Banks the multiverse over recognise the symbol of the Treasury with respect, terror and, in some cases, frothing admiration.
You can throw any metal into a portal and have it redirected to the Treasury of Hell. Doing this with coins or valuable metal objects lowers your debt.
Instantly summon [sum]*20 gold coins from the Treasury of Hell. They stink of brimstone for a few minutes. This increases the debt you owe to the Treasury by the amount you summoned. The coins appear wrapped in wax-paper, in 20-coin blocks (100 coins to a slot). You can instead fling loose coins as you summon them - people-sized and smaller creatures are likely to be startled or knocked off their footing, if they get hit with a flying cloud of a month’s wages.
With 1MD, learn the value of a target object to the nearest gold coin. With 2MD, also learn any magical properties it has. With 3MD, also learn if the object is cursed, blessed or otherwise enchanted. With 4MD, also learn the identity of the previous owner of the object. With 5MD, also learn the previous owner’s exact location.
Copper to Poison
Transform [sum] slots of copper into green, crystalline, water-soluble poison. A dose of this poison fills a slot, dissolves in a cup of water, and does 1d6 damage to anything that drinks it per dose, save for half.
The opposite of Literal Translation. Turn a piece of text you can touch into a simple substitution cipher you know the solution to. With 2 or more dice, the cipher becomes more complex, requiring days of effort to solve. With 3 or more dice, you may code up to 3 distinct meanings into the cipher. With 4 or more dice, the cipher ignores translation magic of all kinds. With 5 or more dice, the cipher is completely unbreakable without the assistance of divine intellect or a complex machine. You may designate up to [dice] specific creatures who may immediately bypass the cipher.
For [dice] hours, coins will leap up and obey your mental commands. Affects all unattended coins in 30' of you. Coins can be commanded to follow you, hide in crevices, or serve as rollers for heavy statues, but they are mindless and feeble.
Silver to Flame
Turn up to [sum] slots of silver you can see into fire. The transformation crawls across the silver relatively slowly, giving it the appearance of ‘burning up’.
Target object appears to be incredibly valuable to all onlookers, inspiring the greedy to desire it, and those inclined to thievery to try and take it. Even mildly greedy characters must save or desire it greatly. Has no effect on committed ascetics and communists.
Iron to Glass
[sum] slots of iron or steel you can see transform into cloudy glass. Glass weapons break if they roll maximum or minimum damage.
Obliterate [dice]*2 slots of items into gold coins, equaling their monetary value, and a pile of flammable red dust, equaling the remaining weight.
Lead to Ruin
Transmute [sum] slots of lead into dynamite. As they say, the road to Hell is paved with nitroglycerin. Dynamite explodes when exposed to fire or a powerful shock, for 2d6 damage and 10’ of radius, per slot, save for half.
You conjure up a 4+[dice]HD Orthon, a bulky, chitinous Baatezu that wields a massive crossbow, has a variety of horrible trick bolts, and can turn invisible. It will either guard a location or object you tell it to, or hunt a creature you tell it to.
Place a piece of any metal into your mouth. [sum + dice] slots of metal that you can see permanently transform into that metal. The metal is consumed in the process. Using this to produce free gold is considered a social faux-pas by the Treasury.
MD only return to your pool on a roll of 1 for 24 hours.
Suffer 1d6 damage as you transmute some of your skin into glass.
Act and spend impulsively for [dice] hours.
Vomit [sum] frogs over [dice] rounds. If you vomit more than 3 frogs in a round, suffer 1d4 damage.
Act and spend with extreme caution for [dice] hours.
Suffer immensely for [dice] rounds, unable to do anything and incredibly impressionable.
A portal shreds open and a gang of 1d6 Treasury-employed Baatezu, 1d6 adventurers and a Plutocrat with 1d4 Templates bursts out and demands all the money that you have on you. If you turn it over, you lower your debt by that much. If you refuse, they attempt to arrest you and bring you in for punishment for 1 Month per 1000 Gold you still owe.
A portal shreds open and a gang of 2d6 Treasury-employed Baatezu, 2d6 adventurers and 2 Plutocrats with 1d4 Templates bursts out and demands all the money that you have on you, plus any you have at your home base. They’ll escort you there, if you like. Right now, in fact. If you turn it over, you lower your debt by that much. If you refuse, they attempt to arrest you and bring you in for Torment for 1 Month per 1000 Gold you still owe.
No Death, Only Taxes
A Gate rips open, pulling you through to a cell in the Treasury’s Internal Affairs Department, a name that strikes fear in Baatezu the planes over. For each gold coin you owe to the Treasury of Hell, you’re condemned to a year in a Punishment Pit, chained to a rock, half-submerged in the stinging, sickly water of the bogs of Minauros. Your life is artificially extended to make sure you fulfil the sentence. Then, you die and go to Hell properly.
You can avoid your Doom by paying off your debt (of course) or hiding somewhere portals can’t reach.
Acidproof Raincloak - Green-black oilskin, with a face-obscuring hood, voluminous sleeves, and a sickly sheen. Repels most acids. A distinctive piece of Plutocrat attire.
Top Hat - Tall black stovepipe made of felted beaver fur.
Musket - 2 slots, medium. Wrapped in green wax-paper to keep out the persistent Minauran damp. Comes with 20 pieces of shot and a powder horn, which take up another slot.
Lockpicking Imp - An imp from Hell. A minor devil which will certainly snitch to its superiors in Minauros if you act against Hell - except, the little bastard is an amazing lockpicker and clockworker. Comes with its own tools. 2 Slots if you have to carry it, but it can usually fly.
Smallsword - A light weapon of shiny steel. Carries an air of courtly refinement.
Lock-Mangler - 3 small keys which seem to be made of yellowy wax. Melt into a sort of acid glue that deforms iron, when immersed in alcohol. Comes with a little glass bottle of pure alcohol. Total of 1 slot.
Telescoping Stilts - A pair of 8 foot poles that telescope down to 3 feet long, each. They have foot stirrups for stilting with. Folded, they take 2 slots.
Ledger of Debts - Enchanted book which allows you to determine via eye contact if a creature owes any money to the Treasury, and exactly how much. Many, many of them do. 1 slot.
Dust (Evil) - A bag of dust which reads as Evil to spells that detect these things. If you cover something in it, it reads as Evil too. Also, causes sneezing and is probably a carcinogen. 1 Slot.
Collapsible Dinghy - 2 Slot cube of oilskin, whalebone, green steel springs and canvas. Can unfold into a boat that seats 6 when a tab is pulled. Unfolds with some force. Stand well clear.
Gas Mask - Terrifying! A huge iron construction you have to seal with a (provided) key, layered with rubber. Renders you immune to fogs, gases, cloudkills and so on and so forth. 2 slots.
Nightmare Projector - Huge, comical setup of pipes, gears, tubes of crystal and green-steel wires. Has a tripod on the bottom of the setup. and a hand-crank on the side. When set up and cranked, the main pipes can be pointed, firing a narrow cone 400’ long which gives sleeping or inebriated creatures terrifying hallucinations of invulnerable wasps, causing a fear effect. If a sleeping creature wakes up afraid, the fear (and hallucinations) last for 24 hours. 3 slots.
Folding Armour Stand - This wooden contraption springs out into a sort of crude human-sized mannequin when a switch is pressed. Could be used as a 5ft tall ladder in a pinch. 1 slot folded up.
Infernal Merit - A certificate written in the Infernal Tongue, representing meritorious behaviour in Hell’s service. Worth 500 gold, or a favour, to a devil.
Prize Winning Hog - Holy shit that is a big pig. Eats anything you feed it, is perfectly loyal to you, and considers itself a porcine divinity (possibly with good reason). Takes up 10 slots if for some ungodly reason you’re carrying it, instead of vice-versa.
Metal Teeth - Six false molars - one silver, one green-steel, one normal steel, one copper, one adamant and one brass. Good for chewing. If you start with them, you can choose to have them loose, or replacing six of your own molars. Either way, no slots.
30ft of Silver Wire - As it says. Burns the skin of fiends.
Big Bottle of Acid - So many uses! 1d6 damage a round to the susceptible, 10 doses. 2 Slots.
Opheilematic Monocle - A green glass monocle that allows the wearer to see debt as green smoke.
Kyton Chain - An animate, enthusiastic chain that obeys you in exactly the manner of a huge, dumb, long dog made of iron.
Telstang Ring - Shiny blue alloy of silver and something. Prevents any transmuting magic (polymorph, size-change, haste, slow, petrification) from affecting the wearer, for good or ill.
Writ of Nails - Baatezu writs are invested with the authority of the terrible Pact Primeval, the agreement between Asmodeus and the other gods which dictates the very form and motion of Hell. This particular writ gives you permission to torment the damned and harvest their suffering, which is effectively the Hell equivalent of getting a cushy tax-farming job.
Lycanthropy - Fills a Psyche Slot, as it’s a curse. Whenever you’re exposed to a full moon of any sort, you transform into a slavering wolf until you’re next under sunlight or the light of a hearth.
+2 Sword - Shaped like a huge butcher’s knife. You repossessed it from a very angry and very high-level adventurer.
Truemetal Musket-Ball - Also called Mythril, Kingsteel and Archdevil’s Bane. Indestructible, hyperreal, magical superconductor. A tiny piece of rainbow-prismatic, unbelievably rare metal. Said to be able to harm gods, if used as a weapon. Worth 10000 gold coins.
A lot of games are frightened of letting players manipulate money too much, but that seems like a missed opportunity to me. This seems like a good class for a campaign that might pivot into domain play.ReplyDelete
First of all, this is extremely cool. I really like this idea, though I'm not sure I would set the Bank in the 9 Hells, but that's just personal preference.ReplyDelete
Also, I forgot to mention this, but the quote is "The love of money is the root of all evil."Delete