Theo and Sam nod gravely as I describe how the last skeleton collapses into a heap of bones at the crushing force of Odo II's war hammer, its arm still grasping the cruel shining sword that falls at Black Mary's feet. "So the sword is shining?" says Theo. "It's not rusty? I'm asking if it's rusty because I want to take it out of the dungeon and sell it?"
Anything that's not tied down my boys will try and take. I have to be careful setting the scene with old armories or hallways lined with suits of armor, as the game drags while the boys carefully inspect every item in the dungeon that might possibly fetch some coin at the local market.
They are not content just to grab the silver candlesticks from the mantlepiece; they ask me to appraise the mantlepiece itself, if it's just wood or perhaps quality marble, and if it could be removed without damaging it. I suggest that is too heavy to be worth the trouble of carrying out of the dungeon, but they take that as a challenge and ask if they could use an old door as a sledge. They pay no mind to the wandering monster rolls I fudge in an effort to move them along, in fact they are distracted by the bone charms worn by the orcs. "Are they well made? Could we sell them?" "Probably not, orcs scare common folk." "We'll take them anyway. How many belts did you say there were? And you're sure we can't use their armor?"
There is an upside to this. The boys have a truer, more elemental kind of avarice that can't be summarized by a count of gold pieces. I'm now replacing standard treasure items -- coin, gems, jewels -- with ad-libbed magical tomes or maps of kobold trade routes. Nothing with any immediate use. The boys are satisfied with the idea that the mage Morloch mentoring Smarty Lardlo our magic-user will be interested in the old scrolls and books, or that the as-yet unnamed local baron will be able to dispatch his patrols more effectively with the kobold maps. I give the characters XP matching the loot I traded out, and make a mental note that they're getting in good graces with nearby important people.
Anything that's not tied down my boys will try and take. I have to be careful setting the scene with old armories or hallways lined with suits of armor, as the game drags while the boys carefully inspect every item in the dungeon that might possibly fetch some coin at the local market.
They are not content just to grab the silver candlesticks from the mantlepiece; they ask me to appraise the mantlepiece itself, if it's just wood or perhaps quality marble, and if it could be removed without damaging it. I suggest that is too heavy to be worth the trouble of carrying out of the dungeon, but they take that as a challenge and ask if they could use an old door as a sledge. They pay no mind to the wandering monster rolls I fudge in an effort to move them along, in fact they are distracted by the bone charms worn by the orcs. "Are they well made? Could we sell them?" "Probably not, orcs scare common folk." "We'll take them anyway. How many belts did you say there were? And you're sure we can't use their armor?"
There is an upside to this. The boys have a truer, more elemental kind of avarice that can't be summarized by a count of gold pieces. I'm now replacing standard treasure items -- coin, gems, jewels -- with ad-libbed magical tomes or maps of kobold trade routes. Nothing with any immediate use. The boys are satisfied with the idea that the mage Morloch mentoring Smarty Lardlo our magic-user will be interested in the old scrolls and books, or that the as-yet unnamed local baron will be able to dispatch his patrols more effectively with the kobold maps. I give the characters XP matching the loot I traded out, and make a mental note that they're getting in good graces with nearby important people.
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