The Root of All Evil (Wizard School: Plutocrat)

 

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. 

Cantrips: 

• 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. 

Spells:

1. Loan
   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. 

2. Identify
   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. 

3. 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. 

4. Crypticise  

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. 

5. Command Coins 

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.

6. 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’. 

7. Fool’s Gold 

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. 

8. 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. 

9. Extract Value
   Obliterate [dice]*2 slots of items into gold coins, equaling their monetary value, and a pile of flammable red dust, equaling the remaining weight. 

10. 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. 

11. Summon Orthon
    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. 

12. Metallic Transmutation
    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. 

Mishaps:

1. MD only return to your pool on a roll of 1 for 24 hours. 

2. Suffer 1d6 damage as you transmute some of your skin into glass. 

3. Act and spend impulsively for [dice] hours.

4. Vomit [sum] frogs over [dice] rounds. If you vomit more than 3 frogs in a round, suffer 1d4 damage. 

5. Act and spend with extreme caution for [dice] hours. 

6. Suffer immensely for [dice] rounds, unable to do anything and incredibly impressionable. 

Dooms:

1. Involuntary Contribution
   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. 

2. Armed Robbery

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. 

3. 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. 

Plutocrat Equipment: 

1. 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. 

2. Top Hat - Tall black stovepipe made of felted beaver fur. 

3. 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. 

4. 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. 

5. Smallsword - A light weapon of shiny steel. Carries an air of courtly refinement. 

6. 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.  

7. 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. 

8. 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. 

9. 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. 

10. 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.

11. 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. 

12. 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. 

13. 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. 

14. 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. 

15. 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. 

16. 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. 

17. 30ft of Silver Wire - As it says. Burns the skin of fiends. 

18. Big Bottle of Acid - So many uses! 1d6 damage a round to the susceptible, 10 doses. 2 Slots. 

19. Opheilematic Monocle - A green glass monocle that allows the wearer to see debt as green smoke. 

20. A Curio!

1. Kyton Chain - An animate, enthusiastic chain that obeys you in exactly the manner of a huge, dumb, long dog made of iron. 

2. 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. 

3. 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. 

4. 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. 

5. +2 Sword - Shaped like a huge butcher’s knife. You repossessed it from a very angry and very high-level adventurer. 

6. 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. 

The Goblin Market

 Your boots crunch in the snow, down Magpie Alley way. Your guide, half your height and totally silent, snuffles exaggeratedly. The noise is deliberate theatre. You fix your gloves, adjust your hat. He, his feather-cloak and wicker snowshoes. 

“So, what are you looking for, guvnor?” He asks. 

“Just here to browse, goodsir.” You reply. 

“Goodsir? That’s some unfamiliar politeness, from a human.”

He laughs in a reedy pitch and undoes the hair-woven scarf, lifting a bronze flask to his lips. They peel back and the teeth, like nails, bite into the bottle-neck. Whiskey goes in, and a little wisp of his breath comes out. You catch a little whiff and nearly wretch. Smells like dead pigeons. 

On, down the lane. Snow falls in quiet curlicues. 

He stops and turns. He produces a crow of iron and begins to pry at a wall with it. You look over your shoulder. Between the goldsmiths and the pawn-shop you are situated. You glance up at the three spheres hanging from the bar, as your guide pries free a stone.

There’s a hole in the wall, two feet wide and issuing vapours. Patterned cambric curtains hang, chains rattle. The smoke is tobacco and wood. 

“In here?” You ask.

“In here. Mind your feet, guvnor, and touch nothing you don’t plan to buy.”

He squeezes in. You kneel and follow. 

The Goblin Market

“AND A MERRY CHRISTMAS TO EVERYONE NOT WELCOME IN POLITE SOCIETY”, a voice like a bell rings over the bedlam.

There’s an answering cheer, a sound like animals in the woods. 

Wooden stairs have appeared beneath your feet. The curtains part to show a swaying, hazy cavern. It seems as though the stones themselves are sozzled. Wine drips from the walls and pools around the paws and claws and occasional patent leather shoes. 

There is a furred and scratching crowd down below you, where the wine pools. Among them are a few of the human kind. Gentlefolk and poor alike. 

There are tall goblins, furred like cats and ugly in face. Short things like bats forced upright, galloping on their hands and slurping from the floor. Tiny men with long white ears and big pale eyes, scuttling and sweeping. Skinny things dancing with long limbs and donkey’s brays. The smell is unbelievable.

All around the stairs, leaning towers of detritus stand atop ancient hope chests and by armoires of doubtless provenance. Strange artefacts, things you’d probably label Egyptian, stacks and stacks of books in the arms of classical statues and at the feet of eerie little shrines. 

Your guide scuttles down the stairs ahead of you and you follow. 

“You believe in Christ?” You ask your guide, who is shedding his cloak. 

He flings it over a statue covered in birdshit, labelled DIS PATER. Then, he scuttles behind it. A table covered in swaying fabrics and towers of bric-a-brac walks out, legs bending like it’s alive.

He springs up on it, and lays out a little sign: “SELLING ODDITIES”. 

“After a fashion, I suppose. You believe in Mithras?” He asks, arranging the mess on his table. 

“What’s that have to do with anything?” 

“You asked me first.” He retorts. 

“Listen, what are you selling, anyway?”

“Hang on, there’s a speech.” He coughs, and it sounds like someone grating a live cat. 

“CAVEAT EMPTOR, Cicero said, and you be Emptor tonight, goodsir. You stand at the stall of Little Shuck, the Hob. Our nation of goblins shoes all shoes for prices, repairs the windows of good Christians, and sweeps the floors of sleeping witches.” He says. 

He throws aside the hair scarf, and you get a good look at him. Two feet in height, hands deft, eyes like two black coals. A furred body, like a cat wearing a mask of an old man. He has small tweeds, sized right for himself. 

“You practise that speech?” You ask.

“Just buy something, tall.” Shuck complains. 

1d6 Oddities at the Hob’s Table

1. Giant’s Broom - A twelve foot tall broom. Sweeps tenfold more than an ordinary broom, and catches mice, rats, bugs and other floor-denizens safely in its massive bristles when it does so. Also, can easily sweep a normal person physically off their feet. 

2. Witch-Shears - When you tell them to, these shears hang in the air, and when you tell them to, they cut. They can do both at once. 

3. Dracobezoar - Coughed up by Y Ddraig Goch himself. Hot to the touch, tastes like coal, grey like iron. Eat this and you will literally shit fire, but all disease, pain, ache and poison will leave your body by the next morning.  

4. Gyr-Carling’s Knitting - The knitting of the ogre-queen of witches. A black sweater a thumb’s thickness, made of Old Scratch’s chest hairs. Turns aside pointed implements, unless the Devil wants them to hit you. Smells like brimstone and goat sweat. 

5. Innocence, Jarred - Lasts for about four hours, minus half an hour for each decade you’ve been alive. Returns you to an innocent state, allowing you to be kind, forgiving, and (crucially) protected by the angels, at least for the duration. 

6. Ancien Cor Anglais - Solid horn and gold. A knockoff of Olifant, the horn of Roland, made by some wizard-knight in the 1100s. It ‘only’ deafens half the countryside for seven miles and knocks out anyone that blows it. 

“That sweater is vile.” 

“Authentic, too.” 

“I think I’ll keep browsing.” You make a half wave, and he wiggles his fingers, grinning. 

“Mind my advice!” He calls, as you walk away.

You stumble between two stalls supported on doric columns. One thing, a little like a sickly dog in a banker’s suit, is attempting to hawk a statue of a Babylonian winged bull to a young woman dressed richly. You nod to each other as you pass. 

Beyond them, a tall, broad-bodied woman, almost human but for her twice-long arms, clawed hands, and deer’s nose, stands dressed in peasant’s dress from three centuries ago. Her eyes are large and dark, and her hair is ginger-brown, tousled and tangled. 

You nod to her, she coughs and recites:

“CAVEAT EMPTOR, Cicero said, and you be Emptor now, love. You stand at the stall of Jinny Knifegrinder, the Bug-bear. Our nation of goblins frightens children into right behaviour, startles the lonely in the woods and warns others when witches be dancing at their Mass.” 

Her voice is deep and low. 

“I see. Well, good work, I think? What do you sell?”

Her table is covered in cloths, bowls, and huge sprigs of plant-life. 

“Things from woods and witches, sir.” She says,.

1d6 Herbs at the Bugbear’s Stall

1. Aglaophotis Flowers - They look like peony’s flowers spun from threads of gold. They glitter gloriously. A dose wards off fever, demons and all witchcraft for one cycle of the moon. 

2. Mandragora - A root that screams and kills all human listeners when harvested. Luckily, this one’s freshly picked. A key ingredient in ointments and potions which allow flight. I can sell you the recipe, too! 

3. Irrwurz - A black fern. Whosoever steps on it immediately becomes lost, and cannot find the way back to where they came from. Preserved in a jar of formaldehyde. One jar contains the potent Tyrolian Irrwurz, which teleports you to the nearest swamp or knacker’s yard when touched. 

4. Sanjeevani - Grows only on Ṛṣabhādri, the ox-shaped mountain stolen by Hanuman. A powerful medicinal herb, restoring 3d6 hitpoints and a limb per dose. I don’t advise trying any when you’ve all your health and limbs. 

5. Apple of Gomorrah - Harvested from the great tree that now stands where that city once stood. A grey-black apple. When touched by a human hand, it bursts instantly into smoke, embers and flames, igniting all flammable nearby.

6. Raskovnik - The five-leafed clover grown in Bulgaria and Serbia. When it touches anything locked at all, the lock springs open. Normally harvested by walking prisoners through a field in leg irons, and waiting to see which goes free first. 

“Hm. Thank you for showing me.” You say, moving to go. 

“Merry Christmas, love.”  She says, with a smile. 

You turn away from the Bug-bear’s stall, and walk on. 

Far beyond everyone, a huge alcove is cut into the stone of the wall, dressed in hanging brocades and gold tassel rope. A roaring cough echoes from within. 

You tilt your head down and look. Below you, spread on a tartan blanket is another stall. It’s managed by a little creature, two feet tall, long like a ferret, but with human hands and eyes, and bright gingery fur. It wears a little cap and a rawhide belt with a pipe stuck in it. It looks up at you. 

The little creature coughs and sprays a fine mist into the air. You pull your scarf up.

It speaks in a reedy gasp: 

“CAVYAT EMTER, Cicero said, and yer Emter now, lad. You staun at the stall of Jock o’ Glaschu, the Wirry-cow. Our nation a’ goblins assist a’ drunks and ruffians, helps count the coins o misers, and frightens awa preening men o law and cloth.” 

The little creature’s accent is that of a Scotsman. 

“I imagine you have plenty of work, then.” You say. with a smirk. 

“Hah! Bastard! Buy something!”

It gestures: 

1d6 Acquired Goods, on the Wirry-cow’s Blanket

1. Gold Crucifix (Italian) - Never know when it might come in handy. One of the arms is a little bent ‘cause I dropped it when I ran off with it. 

2. Cohuleen Druith - The magic silvery hood of a merrow (or undine, if you ask Paracelsus). It allows them to travel between the dry land and the deep seabed without fear of drowning in air, and it’ll let you do the same without fear of drowning in water. Though, be wary of the previous owner. 

3. Giant’s Draught - A clay jar, sealed, containing a quart of beer from a giant’s barrel. One sip will have a tall fellow drunker than a New Year’s party. I recommend it for a New Year’s party! 

4. Gnome’s Smoking Pipe - Hah! Gnomes! Silly little fellows would barely notice if you robbed their beard off their face. This pipe lets you smoke any rock or stone as if it were tobacco, bolstering the spirits and the bones. Smoking precious stones has been said to send people on spirit-trips to chthonic realms near Hell. 

5. Huldra’s Charcoal - Special charcoal, made from the friendly partnership of a Huldra and a charcoal burner in deepest Sweden. Then I nicked it. Produces a smokeless yellow flame that casts back illusions and smells of sweet flowers. 

6. Dwarf’s Hammer - Pretty-much indestructible. Grey-adamant, I think. Of course, she wants it back, so look out for a short woman called Guðrún, awright? 

“Hm. Not for me, thank you. But good luck.”

“Don’t step in horse-shit.” He says, as a farewell.

On you go through the wine-stink and the humid air. Lots of people are breathing in here. A human, dressed as a beggar, passes you, clutching a staff with a golden bull’s head on the end. 

He walks away from a hole carven into the wall. Inside, a creature sits, tall and blue, legs dangling. Two little eyes above a face entirely made of nose. It snuffles loudly, hesitantly.

A voice comes from the nostrils as you get near. 

“CAVEAT EMPTOR, Cicero… etc. You stand by the wall-hole of Jack o’ Flour, the Kilmoulis. Our nation of goblins works hard for all millers, plays tricks on the lazy and is charged to steal food for the angels.” 

“For the angels? Do they need to eat?”

“I suppose they enjoy it. Are you buying anything? My wares are unparalleled.” It snuffles, pointing behind itself. 

1d6 Wizard’s Curios at the Kilmoulis’ Hole

1. A Scholomance Schoolbook - Written by the Devil himself. Contains all manner of grim sorceries and strange methods, like how to communicate with the dead or produce a ring of invisibility from frozen mercury. 

2. A Skull from Baba Yaga’s Fence - Mount it by your door, and it will scream bloody murder when your enemies come nearby. 

3. Merlin’s Spare Wand - The very same one on the Ace of Wands card. Old yew, dead but still growing leaves. Any sorcerer or witch who bears this is recognised, legally, as a demon, and can strike fear by merely pointing it. 

4. John Dee’s Book of Angels - Written in Enochian, so I hope you can read it. Effectively, an address book for the Heavenly Host. Contains everything you need to invoke angels, so long as you are an occultist of means. The chapter on the Archangel Michael warns in strong terms not to summon him lest ye have Evil for him to smite. 

5. Koschei's Cloak - One of the many items owned by old Koschei. Stolen by a lucky fellow in the fields of Poland just last year! No, Koschei isn’t dead, that soul in that egg was a decoy. You think he got called the Deathless by only having one soul stowed away? Anyway, the cloak protects you from all smoke and fire so long as you don’t swear while you’re wearing it - then it immolates!

6. Jack-o-Kent’s Boots - A pair of old leather boots, mud-caked and singed. The footsteps of the wearer leave them buried to the knee but unslowed by what they step on, and, should they dance a jig, their heels will crack stone and split them. 

“These are some remarkable provenances.” 

“What’s a proffynence?” 

“Oh, nevermind. Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry–”

It sneezes like a gunshot. 

You move off. 

You’re stopped almost immediately, as a huge, broad-backed goblin, wearing a white kerchief round his neck, stumbles in your way. He’s carrying a whole bench like a tray. He’s bony, with grey skin, short-furred, and a horsey, toothy face. 

“CAVEAT EMPTOR, Cicero said, and you be Emptor tonight, goodsir. You stand at’ stall of Rudefellow, the Brag. Our nation of goblins bedevils travellers, saves the lost and embarasses the well-off.”

“Well, the stall stands at me, surely?” 

“Don’t get smart. Buy something, won’t you?” 

He gestures with the bench, plaintively. 

1d6 Bandit’s Friends, at the Brag’s Bench

1. Saltbox - An old fashioned +1 revolver, which fires in total silence with a bright white flash. When you’ve fired six shots from it, it has to be prayed over by a (Catholic) priest, or the next shot brings up a demon from Hell and a faery out from the Otherworld. 

2. One of Jack’s Irons - A chain from the apparel of a famous bandit giant that haunts Yorkshire. Very hard to break, and whips and twitches to break the ankles and wrists of watchmen and bank-guards. 

3. Hand of Glory - The pickled sinistral hand of a hanged man, set with a candle made from his very own tallow. When the candle’s lit, any who see you carrying it must save or be rendered completely immobile. 

4. Tarnhat - A ushanka hat, sewn with tin charms and an iron plate, a cheap knockoff of the Tarnhelm. Allows invisibility to all humans, and can catch fire to instantly transfer your body and your soul (but not possessions or clothes) five miles in any direction. 

5. Mask of an Honest Man - Smiling, yellow-lacquered birch. Rosy cheeks and dog-hair eyebrows. Put it on, and everyone sees you as just that - an honest man. Specifically, John Dodgson, 54, a miller from Coventry, born in 1348. 

6. Letter of Marque, Scribed with Alder Leaves - A letter from the court of the Erlking, giving the bearer legal passage to plunder and rob on the roads of England and Wales, so long as they give every sixth shilling to the Fair-folk.

“Erlking?”

“Well, you know how your human-queen is a Hanoverian German?” Rudefellow says. 

“Yes?”

“Well, our faery-king is also a German. Isn’t that funny?” 

Rudefellow chuckles. 

“I suppose so.” You reply, unsure. 

“Well, either buy or piss off.” He snaps. 

“I’ll keep browsing.”

You piss off. 

Out into the market again. You step over a little rivulet of wine in which little men and women, barely a foot tall, with gossamer wings, frolic and fly. Perhaps, a few months ago, you’d have been surprised by pixies. 

You see that great yawning alcove again, and curiosity takes you. 

Onwards towards the curtained alcove you go. A pair of Bug-bears clad in moss, sedge and the branches of yew trees play fiddle and pipes, sitting on the bench outside. They play a soothing song, by a table covered in chains, hooks, and pointed implements.

There’s a little bell. One of the musicians rings it with a bare and clawed foot when you approach.

You hear the stall’s owner approaching, grumbling deep as a bull as it pushes through the silken curtains. 

The massive thing pushes out from his alcove, turning aside the curtain by the blade of a messer. Half a sail’s worth of damask and brocade follows out, cladding the huge creature in an open coat. A boot bigger than your head presses on wine-soaked cobbles. 

He rather reminds you of the tiger you saw at London Zoo. Or of old Obaysch the Hippopotamus, in terms of frame. He’s wide around the waist, heavy of head, thick of limb, covered in silky, spiky fur, in shades of black and russet. His mouth is practically spilling fangs, and his rolling eyeballs are too human for comfort - brightly blue. 

They roll to you and you stumble back a pace, bumping against a long-limbed goblin with a dog’s face hauling a crate. He barks a slur at you.

You step back into the thing’s reach. He yells: 

“CAVEAT EMPTOR, CICERO SAID, AND YOU’RE EMPTOR. YOU STAND AT THE STALL OF REDBEARD THE OGRE. OUR NATION OF GOBLINS EATS THE FLESH OF MEN, KILLS GOOD CHRISTIANS ON THE ROAD, AND ENFORCES THE PEACE OF MARKET.” 

After a pause, you respond with:

“Evening, Redbeard. You sell…?”

“RED TOOLS. KILLING THINGS.”

He sets down the messer and gestures widely with his massy hands. 

1d6 Red Tools, at the Ogre’s Stall:

1. “Thankless Job”, a +1 1856 Burnside Carbine. This very modern tool drips with blood and accepts any bullet-sized bodypart in place of the gun’s usual unique cartridges. The gun’s report sounds like an American shouting curses.    

2. “The False George” , a +1 awl-pike wrapped in holly and red ribbons. Deals an extra point of damage for each consecutive week you’ve missed Mass, but blunts and bends if you miss the feast of an important saint. The bite of its point causes fear in crocodiles, wyrms and all other reptiles of the Earth. 

3. “I Shall Equalise”, a +1 Colt Walker Revolver with a poem carved into the horn grip. Does double damage to creatures with less than half or more than double your Hit Dice. Shiny and clean. 

4. Kanabo, authentic, from far Japan. This is my cousin’s one and don’t tell anyone I’m selling it. Far too large for any ordinary fellow to use in a fight, but it can crush anything in one.

5. ULTIMA RATIO REGIS, a Prussian cannon. It’s infused with the power of royal disregard, and it breaks all laws in a hundred miles when lit and fired. Anyone witness to the firing is an accomplice, legally. 

6. Excalibur - An Oakeshott Type XVII. Shines with an eerie light, wrapped in black damask silk. Set in the cross-bar is a gem of forest green that glints enticingly. You can hear the sharpness. It stings your eyes.

Hm. 

“Excuse me, Redbeard, I notice you’ve labelled this as Excalibur -” You begin.

The Ogre startles, and rushes from his alcove, eyes rolling in his head. The size of him throws a gust of wind afore him. He snatches up the wrapped blade, then yelps, sucking a cut finger. He chucks the sacred relic behind himself into the alcove. 

You hear it embed into a wall. 

“OOPS! WAN’T MEANT TO BE SEEING THAT. YOU DIDN’T SEE, IF ANYONE ASKS.”

He points a knife the length of your torso at you.

“Ah, yes, of course.” 

“THANKS KINDLY.”

You back away, to let swearing Redbeard struggle with his cut thumb, and wander off into the Market. 

You find yourself suddenly in a quiet corner, shared only by a tall wooden shrine. It has a pair of oaken doors, and is covered in dribbly red candles. Inside are two statues, with nearly-human faces, metal antlers, enamel eyes and pointed ears. They carry staves and bows, real ones, placed in their wooden hands. Carven wolves sit by their feet, fangs dripping wine and water. 

At their feet, sit their wares. It seems even the shrines sell things at this market. 

Carved into the wood below them: 

Caveat, inquit, Cicero, ET VOS HAC NOCTE ILLE EST. AD SANCTUM ERLKING ET NICNEVEN, DOMINUS ET DOMINA NOSTRA. Ejiciunt nos, sed amamus usque adhuc. NATIO EORUM SUNT PULCHER, GWYLLIO ET VENATIO. NIL NIHIL NON PENSITO VEL SEQUENTIA.

You narrow your eyes.

“Goodness, this Latin is abysmal.” 

1d6 Negotiable Offerings, at the Shrine of Elf Royalty

1. Prester John’s Grail - A hobgoblet of iron. Drinking wine from it provides infinite courage to even the most shuddery poltroon. 

2. Elfshot - A bundle of twenty stone-headed arrows. They vanish when you shoot them, and deal internal damage at the point they would’ve struck. They’re fletched with the Simurgh’s feathers. 

3. Wild Hunter’s Dagger - Long, thin. Seems to be made of black glass. Wickedly sharp. When you cut someone with it, you know where they are exactly until the wound stops bleeding. 

4. Prepared Evil Eye - A real eyeball, in chemical jelly. Does the cursing for you, when ordered, and it can’t be traced back to you! Indispensable to the modern occultist. 

5. Glasses of Real Intent - When worn, those who look at the glasses become an open book to you. What they intend for all they see is known to you. Be careful what you learn. 

6. Scrap from the Sail of Wade’s Boat - When burned, bears you across the sea as if held in the hands of a giant running at full tilt. It’s a bumpy, cold, and uncomfortable ride. Wade and his boat are in Hell, at the moment, and you can ask to be borne to him, if you desire. 

You look left and right for the owner of the stall, then, giving up, you pick up the glasses and slip them into a pocket.

You walk back through the market, fighting through the bedlam one carefully applied shove and cane at a time. You nod to Little Shuck, who winks at you, and you mount the stairs, ascending from the sea of smoke and silks. 

In the architrave, you thumb the glasses in your pocket. 

You hastily glance back at the glaring statues.

You hurry out into the dark.