Since the beginning of FRPGs, GMs have been warned to place magical treasure with care. We all know the practical, game balance reasons for this, but can the GM justify such restrictions within the campaign itself?
Seeking Balance
Casual readers may decide that, in order to remain true to the genre of fantasy roleplaying, the game campaign must be overflowing with magic and enchantment. While this criterion may satisfy the bulk of wide-eyed novices to the game, it is not recommended, lest the milieu suffer from extreme imbalance as hordes of invulnerable characters ravage the countryside wielding all manner of fantastic weapons and items of magical investure.
But still, fantasy is fantasy, and magic, in all its forms and functions, plays an integral role in the affairs and deeds of fantasy populations. That said, the Reader is warned that this statement is not to be taken lightly. While magic may be casually observed to exist in the world by its inhabitants, it should by no means be commonplace. In order to more fully conceptualise this recommended aspect of game play, consider magic to be an institution somewhat akin to technology in our own world. We are all exposed to technology, everyday, and in myriad forms. We may use it regularly, and we may even understand some of it, but chances are, unless we make it our specific task to comprehend them, the workings of the bulk of technological advances remain to us a mystery. We take technology for granted and are content to simply accept it as part and parcel of our lives.
So too is magic in a fantasy campaign world. The populations of such are aware of magic, they have perhaps benefited from it on occasion, and they are even more likely to have seen some manifestation of its power at some time or another. Yet it is unlikely that many can fathom the mechanics of the magical arts. It remains for the wizards and sorcerers of fantasy realms to release upon their homelands the enchanted energies of the multi-verse—much like the scientists and inventors of our own world who struggle to understand the quantifiable and tangible laws of physics of our own earth and within our solar system.
Magic Item Creation
As a result of such conditions, magic items—artefacts and relics—are not likely to be commonplace in the well-maintained and balanced fantasy milieu. There are too few spellcrafters in the world to crank out endless supplies of enchanted weaponry, crystal balls, or staves of uncompromised (or even middling) power. Even if there were an abundance of wizards, not all would be willing to spend a majority of their time thus. Certainly, there would be new powers to research, apprentices to instruct, kings to advise, and rivals to exterminate. And, as we shall see, the creation of a single artefact is an undertaking of considerable cost, energy, and time. Would just any wizard suffer to interrupt his personal research long enough, make himself vulnerable through physical exhaustion, or risk colossal failure and embarrassment in order to construct an enchanted sword with which his liege might hack his foes to bits?
He might, if his lord promised construction materials of unquestionable quality. Perhaps, if his lord swore to protect and shelter the mage in an impregnable safe-house from which could be conducted the necessary enchantments without costly interruption. If the spell-caster were under no feudal obligation, then anyone commissioning his work had better be able to offer up rich payment indeed—just to get the wizard’s attention. And mere coin would be insufficient; any mage worthy of his grimoire would demand payment in the form of new powers, unique tomes of antiquity, alchemical recipes, rare components, etc., etc.
These conditions are not vastly different for those priests who would bless (or curse) relics of their own. But while the mage is likely to enjoy his freedom and solitude during his personal research, the priest may be in quite the opposite position. Priests of all types commit their energies and purpose to their patron church or temple. Subsequently, not just any priest will have the ability to excuse himself from his clerical responsibilities long enough to see the lengthy enchantment time through to its proper completion. And if he does so without the permission of his elders, he might as well abandon any ideas of blessing an item with Divine magic, for his deity will surely deny the priest’s prayers for the necessary powers.
Of course, priests of higher rank may have more latitude in this respect—who will tell the High Priest that he cannot take a few weeks or months to create a sacred urn which imbues holy water poured into it with the ability to cure disease? Not any lesser clerics of the temple, to be sure. But will the high priest have time in the first place? If the same high priest must advise the local ruler and see to the welfare of his congregation, report to distant superiors within the same diocese, as well as entertain foreign dignitaries through the hospitality of his church, the question from whom does he receive permission to spend valuable time enchanting items becomes moot.
Further, priests, who rely on their patron deity for their powers, will not be successful in their attempts to create a relic if their spiritual patron does not approve of the relic to be manufactured. Consider the high priest from above. While his goal to produce a vessel to heal his followers of disease is noble and well-intentioned, his deity might rather that the high priest spend his efforts converting or conquering that troublesome barbarian tribe to the west. Even if the high priest possesses sufficient resources so as to delegate this latter task to subordinates, the deity may chose to withhold certain (crucial) powers—necessary in the manufacture of the urn—until the effort is complete. If the campaign to convert the barbarians were a failure, the deity may have other consequences in mind—a panaceaic urn will be least on his list of priorities.
Restrictions and Fantasy
All of the discussion above must be heeded judiciously; it is cautionary and realistic, but not absolute. After all, you are running a fantasy game, and there are magic treasures about. What band of adventurers would not undertake a quest to recover a long lost artefact of power? What warrior would not give a king’s ransom for an enchanted blade? Given the above, the Reader might be wondering where it is that these devices originate (for they surely exist). If it is not the magi and priests of the world, then who?
No one else but the magi and priests of the world, of course! But the reader is heartily advised that this condition must occur in the strictest moderation conceivable. If magic items are to exist, wonderful. Player characters in such a campaign will have mighty tools with which to carve their deeds into the Book of Ages. They will have lofty adventuring goals for which to strive. They will have the opportunity to attain rich rewards at the conclusion of a perilous quest.
But an overabundance of magical prizes shall make them each anticipated and worthless. If every warrior owns an enchanted blade, the value of such weapons is diminished considerably. In short, value (to the player, the character, and within the context of the overall setting) is inversely proportional to supply. Those game masters who would maintain the worth of enchanted items would make them exceedingly rare.
Such a strategy has benefit other than that stated immediately above. There is also the advantage of maintaining game balance. Campaigns in which an average-sized band of adventurers, armed to the teeth with magicked weapons, armour, and devices are little more than tedious exercises in boredom.
For, after supplying player characters with a veritable arsenal of enchanted armaments, there is little a game master can do but sit back and watch in horror as those same PCs destroy the setting down to its very foundation. (In such cases, the destruction of the milieu is not necessarily a grievous occurrence, for any setting which offers up such a plethora of magical “goodies” is doomed to failure in any event, and the wanton demolition of a campaign setting is a harsh (but invariably) effective instructional experience for the offending GM.)
If handled properly, magic items are difficult rewards to garner. But this aspect of their inclusion in the game can provide the campaign with endless flavour and detail. Consider: Their rarity is such that each are unique—from the small, innocuous arrow +1 to a grand suit of plate mail armour +5 passed down from generation to generation. Each item is likely to have its own name and history. Each has been created for a specific purpose, for a specific owner, and at a specific time in the history of the setting.
This sets up magical treasure not only as a reward for PCs, but as an aid to GMs who wish to develop their setting.
An Example of Balance
As a result, the role of magic treasure is altered significantly. No longer does the rogue possess a generic pair of magic daggers. Now, he is the keeper of Hither and Yon, a mated pair of blades commissioned by a master assassin of the realm early in the ninth century. The former blade is a dagger +2 which, when drawn, glows a faint red when there are opposing combatants within 50′. The second of the twain is a throwing dagger +1 which will return to the thrower if the intended target is missed. Of additional import is the fact that both blades must be owned in concert for either to function.
In such a way, the GM has enriched the quality of his game. The lucky rogue who owns this pair of dirks has a sense of how valuable they are, he has a better idea of the history of his realm, and he has a broader appreciation for the power he wields when the blades are drawn. The player of this character also has a better understanding of his GM’s campaign, as does the game master himself, who can now use the details above to fabricate additional—and logical—adventures for his players:
What if some sect of assassins comes looking for the rogue who is rumoured to own the very blades carried by their long-dead guildmaster? What if one of the blades is lost? The other becomes worthless, and the character will certainly want to regain his missing property. Perhaps a bullying NPC will wish to own the daggers for his own after having been witness to their properties. This list may go on for as long as the GM wishes.
Conclusion
In the end, it is the decision of the GM as to how profuse and powerful the magic items are in his campaign. Place them with care and consideration, and they will serve as a source of realism, motivation, and reward. Include them injudiciously, and their power will be realised only after they have destroyed the campaign.