Minimalist Magic Item table

I've spent a lot of time trying to finish this table. Probably too much time, honestly. It’s one of those things that works exactly as I wanted once it’s done, but just by looking at it, you can’t really see the amount of effort I put in. This is my Dark Fantasy Magic Items in minimalist form (although I think that book is still worth a read at $1.49; it has some additional stuff). 

After polishing it quite a bit, I am almost satisfied with the result.

The idea is this: anyone can create a table with 1,000 magical items (a single d1000 table or d10 versus d100 etc). Since you’ll never use more than a few dozen (maybe not even that many) in a campaign, you’ll never really know the true value of the table. If the results don’t make sense to you, you’ll just think you got unlucky when rolling.

What I wanted was a table that could be easily judged by anyone at a glance. For example, you can easy see how common is a magical dagger compare to a magic ring or rope.

I could also have a table meant purely for inspiration, with a completely abstract and open format, where you combine an effect with an item, no direct relation between the two. The problem is when the effects often don’t fit the items very well, so you end up with armor that deals extra damage or axes that make you move faster, etc. 

I had the impression this was the case in Shadow of the Demon Lord.

Or, ideally, I'd have a big list of common, uncommon, rare, legendary magic items... with sub-tables and elaborate descriptions, maybe prices too. I think this is what 5e does, maybe AD&D too. But it wouldn't be really "minimalist", would it? Anyway, I want to fit mine in a page or two.

The table below boils down to about 10 categories of objects and 20 categories of effects. Since the objects are divided in practice, we end up with more than a thousand possible combinations of effects and items. The difference is that I tried to make it very clear which effects fit best with which objects, so that most of the items you generate using the instructions will actually make sense, and "common" magic items will be, well, actually common. In fact, I toned don't some of the more fantastical and looney tunes effects (e.g., portable hole) to fit my favorite genres of fantasy (low fantasy, dark fantasy).

To illustrate the tables, I included a few items as examples at the end of the post.

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Magic Items

The most common magic items are listed below with their usual effects. You can replace the effects (or alter them, if you roll 1-4) using the effects table, below. It is recommended you do that when you roll an odd number in the first d20, at least until you need more variety.

 

1–2. Apparel. A piece of clothing. Sometimes it only affects an specific part of the body. Examples [1d8]: 1 amulet (+1 to all saves), 2 belt (your Strength becomes 18 or gets a +3 bonus, whichever is better), 3 boots (+10’ movement, i.e., walk 25% faster), 4 bracers (like belt), 5 cloak (+1 AC and saves), 6 gloves (+4 to manual tasks such as picking locks, pockets, etc.), 7 helmet (+4 vs. mind effects), 8 GM's choice.

3–4. Armor or shield. +1 AC. Roll 1d4 for type: 1 light, 2 medium, 3 heavy, 4 shield.

5–6. Potion. Restores 1d6+1 hit points.

7–8. Ring. Rings can do almost anything. Roll on the effects table.

9–10. Scroll. Contains a common random spell, anyone can cast. Roll 2d6, keep the lower die, for its level.

11–12. Tool. A magic tool that resembles an ordinary object but is supernaturally more efficient. Examples: Roll 1d6: 1 rope (you can command it to climb walls, tie itself, etc.), 2 lantern (burns without fuel for up to 10 hours on command), 3 bag (weighs one unit but holds 10 units without changing size or weight), 4 key (once a day, it can open any ordinary lock), 5 tinderbox (creates flame on command like a strong modern lighter), 6 waterskin (creates water on command, up to a gallon a day).

13–14. Wand / rod / staff. Cast one spell (see Scroll, above). Roll for maximum charges (wand 1d6, rod 2d6, staff 3d6). Casting spends charges equal to the spell's level; regain one-third of maximum (round up) at dawn.

15–16. Weapon. +1 to attack and damage. Ammunition comes in a bundle of 3d6 pieces, each expending its magic on a hit. Weapon type: 1 axe, 2 spear, 3 hammer/mace, 4 bow or crossbow, 5 ammunition, 6 polearm. See below for size if needed.

17–18. Sword. +1 to attack and damage. Roll for size if needed: 1 dagger (1d4), 2–3 medium (1d6), 4–5 long (1d8), 6 two-handed (1d10).

19–20. Special. Either roll 1d20 on the Effects table, then invent an unusual object to carry it (19) or roll for the object, then give it a remarkable or combined effect (20).

 

 

Magic Item Effects (d20)

Some effects fit some items better. Entries 1-4 can fit almost anything (if you don’t have an obvious effect, a roll of 1-3 might require you to roll twice); 5-6 are ideal for weapons; 7 (spells) are better left for scroll and wands, although magic swords can sometimes cast spells; 8-15 are mostly passive defensive and they can work well for armor or potions or apparel; 16-17 are more “mental” and better suited to helmets, necklaces and similar; 18 and 19 are rare and are only an easy fit for scrolls (summoning) and big apparel or amulets (transformation). 20 is for all items.

If the effect does not fit the item, decide what to do, randomly or otherwise.

E.g.: 1d6: 1-2 be creative and make it fit or allow it to be weird, 3-4 roll again, 5-6 fall back to the ordinary effect.

 

1. Cursed. The item carries a curse that may manifest at the worst possible time.
2. Temporary. The item becomes mundane after being used 2d6 times.
3. Powerful. The item is unusually strong. For a numeric bonus, roll 1d20: 1–10 the effect is +2, 11–16 +3, 17–19 +4, 20 +5. Similarly, a d6 becomes 2d6 to 5d6, and a 50% reduction becomes 1d20 × 5% (minimum 60%).
4. Conjuring. The item seems to return or appear from out of nowhere, as the owner conjures it with a word or gesture. Alternatively, it is very easily concealed, foldable or very light. If it’s a thrown weapon, it returns to your hand instead.
5. Elemental attack. Deals an extra 1d6 damage of one type. Roll 1d8: 1 acid, 2 cold, 3 fire, 4 lightning, 5 necrotic, 6 poison, 7 psychic, 8 radiant.
6. Hatred. Deals an extra 1d6 damage against one type of creature. Roll 1d12: 1 aberration, 2 beast, 3 celestial, 4 construct, 5 dragon, 6 elemental, 7 fey, 8 fiend, 9 giant, 10 humanoid, 11 monstrosity, 12 undead.
7. Spells. Cast one type of spell. Roll 2d6 and keep the lower die for the spell's level, the higher die for maximum charges. Casting spends charges equal to the spell's level; regain one-third of maximum (round up) at dawn. Alternatively, simplify "magic missile, three charges" to something like "cast magic missile three times a day" when desired. Best left to rings, wands, staves, and scrolls.
8. Protection from element. Reduces incoming damage of one type by 50%. See entry 5 for type.
9. Protection from creatures. Reduces damage or attacks from one type of creature. See entry 6 for type.
10. Protection (saving throws). +1 to all saving throws.
11. Defense. +1 to Armor Class.
12. Augmentation. Raises one ability score by +3, or sets it to a fixed value (18), whichever is better. The stat affected is usually physical and adequate to the item in question. If necessary, roll 1d6: 1 Strength, 2 Dexterity, 3 Constitution, 4 Intelligence, 5 Wisdom, 6 Charisma.
13. Resilience. 50% resistance to a hazard or condition. Roll 1d8: 1 poison, 2 fear, 3 charm, 4 sleep, 5 exhaustion, 6 disease, 7 petrification, 8 an environmental hazard (hunger, thirst, drowning, suffocation).
14. Movement. Move faster or in new ways. Roll 1d8: 1 fly, 2 climb any surface, 3 swim, 4 burrow, 5 walk on water, 6 ignore difficult terrain, 7 leap great distances, 8 slip free of grapples, shackles, and cages.
15. Misdirection. Disguise yourself, your movement, or your actions. Roll 1d6: 1 invisibility, 2 silence (move without sound), 3 impersonate someone, 4 create illusions, 5 leave no traces, 6 pass as another kind of creature.
16. Perception. A supernatural sense. "Keen" versions of ordinary senses grant advantage. Roll 1d8: 1 darkvision, 2 keen hearing, 3 keen smell, 4 blindsight, 5 detect invisible, 6 see auras or magic, 7 detect lies, 8 truesight.
17. Communication. Understand or speak across barriers. Roll 1d8: 1 all humanoid languages, 2 all spoken languages, 3 all written languages, 4 one exotic tongue (celestial, infernal, draconic, sylvan), 5 speak with animals, 6 speak with plants, 7 telepathy, 8 understand any language you hear.
18. Summoning. Call or create a creature to serve you. It looks friendly and possibly loyal but is not enslaved. Roll 1d6 for HD, 1d6 for number of creatures (limit total to 10 HD), and see entry 6 for creature type.
19. Transformation. Turn into a creature, usually an animal. Roll 1d12: 1 insect or spider, 2 rat, 3 owl, 4 snake, 5 wolf, 6 fish, 7 cat or tiger, 8 ape, 9 bear, 10 hawk or eagle, 11 boar, 12 a monster (see entry 6 for type).
20. Special. Roll twice and combine, invent something unexpected, or make the item especially noteworthy with multiple functions.

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Examples:

- Cloak: grants flight.

- Heavy armor +1 AC.

- Potion of cold resistance.

- Scroll holding a 2nd-level spell and a 3rd-level spell with 5 charges (this is a special result; I'd probably change this to a single 5th level spell, or replace it by two separate scrolls)

- Spear +1, +1d6 lightning damage.

- Two-handed sword +1 (1d10).

So far, these are cool if a bit ordinary. I haven't changed a thing. Let's try a few more:

- Helm that allows the wearer to see magical auras.

- Light armor that raises Dexterity by +3 (or sets it to 18) [I could change this, but since its is light armor, I think the Dex boost makes sense].

- Potion of healing.

- Belt of Strenght.

- Scroll of Levitate

- Shield that reduces damage from fiends by 50%.

I didn't even need to re-roll anything. Last pass, with some die rolls:

- 19, 6, 11 - Now this requires some input. I'd say it is a holy symbol that makes you a monster slayer (+1d6 damage to monsters) while you carry it. Maybe a sigil, tabard, etc.

- Level 1 scroll.

- 6, 2, 13 - We could stop at 6 and make it a healing potion, or roll on the second table and make a potion with 2d6 uses that protects you from fear.

- 8, 13, 5 - A ring of protection from disease.

- 16, 6, 17*, 11*, 14*, 6, 12 - A "mace of communication" sounds funny but doesn't quite work for me at first, so I re-rolled three more times (roll with asterisks were discarded) until I got a mace that causes additional 1d6 damage to undead. I could have stopped at a +1 AC weapon, come to think of it.

- Ring of Constitution.

As you can see, no "Legendary" status items, these would require rolling more 20s. But almost all the results are perfectly usable with little effort. I'll probably tinker a bit more with it before I finish my Old School Minimalist PDF (if I ever do), but at least I think I've found the right path here. Or almost...

Did I miss any obvious cool item or effect?

"Serious" fumbles I can enjoy

As I’ve said before, I usually don’t like fumbles or critical failures in combat, at least in more "serious" campaigns; they make fighters look foolish.

Worse, the higher level a fighter gets, the more attacks they make; if every natural 1 is a fumble, fighters end up failing far too often. When you’re rolling 4 or 5 attacks per round, one of them is almost guaranteed to be a ridiculous blunder. Critical failures do happen in real life, but not nearly as often as a single die face suggests.

The idea of a saving throw to confirm whether the fumble actually happens is a decent (mathematical) fix; but with multiple attacks and multiple saves you end up with lots of rolls that don’t lead anywhere.

Instead of focusing on the character, we could focus on the weapon or the environment. Keep fumbles, but only in situations that are genuinely risky; and the effects shouldn’t make the character look like an idiot, but highlight the limitations of the weapon or the setting instead.

For example, a longsword needs space to be effective. In a cramped tunnel it still works (you can use half-swording, etc.), but it’s suboptimal; that could cause the fumble. You could even build a table of things that might go wrong on a natural 1, but only if it makes sense in context. If there’s no additional danger, then nothing funny happens.

Another option is to give the enemy an opportunity to strike with an advantage; maybe you overextend, make a reckless swing, and miss, opening yourself up to a counterattack. That way the focus isn’t on your “stupid mistake,” but on the danger you’ve exposed yourself to.

Let's try to combine both ideas. Here is how an actual rule I might use would look like:

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When you roll a natural 1 on an attack, it is always an automatic miss. In addition, it can cause serious consequences if you’re in a risky situation:

• Close allies: If an ally is too close to your target (e.g., shooting into melee or attacking a grappled foe), roll again to see if you hit your ally.

• Tight spaces: If the area is too cramped for your weapon, you strike a wall and take a –4 penalty on your next attack with that weapon.

• Flails and chains: If you’re using a flail, roll again to see if you hit yourself (half damage).

• Fragile weapons: If you’re using a low-quality weapon or one unsuited to the target (e.g., a common blade against a stone creature), your weapon may break or lose its edge (–1 damage until repaired).

• Dangerous stunts: If you’re attempting a dangerous stunt, such as jumping form a higher point etc., you failed catastrophically. Fall prone, take damage, save for half.

• In all cases: You lose your footing, expose yourself, and take –2 AC until the start of your next turn, unless you spend an attack to regain balance.

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By the way, this is the best rule I have for "shooting into melee". Being  a good archer improves your chance to hit an ally close to targe (an incompetent archer is more likely to miss both entirely), and this also takes into account your ally's armor.

It is time to ditch the "good GM"

The myth of the "good GM is required to play" is an old tale in our hobby. I thought the myth had been laid to rest, but it is often raised from the dead with talks of "elite GMs" that know all the rules by heart, or "great GMs" that are skilled voice actors or that have amazing improv skills.

It is time to ditch this idea. In fact, it’s long overdue.

The "good DM" was often used as an excuse for “difficult” games: “this confusing game is great, it just requires a good GM to function.” Or, more neutrally, as a warning: “this game is good BUT it requires a good GM to run.” For me, it should be used as outright criticism: “this game is not easy to use, and it requires a GM that is above average to make it work.”

There is no objective way to measure or evaluate the quality of GMs, and no serious research exists AFAICT. People who usually talk about “good GMs” are often just talking about themselves in a display of arrogance and bravado.

Until we have objective evaluation, we can imagine that GMs divide into good, bad, and average, with the majority (around 68%) sitting in the middle of a normal curve. If you’ve read the DMG or know basic statistics, you understand this.

Imagine rolling 3d6 for your GM skill as a "prime requisite": requiring a result above “average,” say 13–14, would exclude most people unnecessarily from the “class” of GM.

A good RPG should be good for most players and GMs, except when you’re deliberately making niche content.

In short: most GMs are mid, great GMs are rare, and that’s fine. A game that is only viable or fun for the highly skilled is doomed to fail; even chess, poker, or football can be fun for beginners.

Great creativity, memory, improv skills, mastery of 200 pages of rules, and vast literary knowledge are wonderful things to have, but they shouldn’t be required to run a good game.

In fact, we all remember the time (often as kids or teens) when we barely understood the rules, had never read any RPG theory, and still managed to have memorable adventures. RPGs should be fun for the averages and even below-average, not only the self-professed “elites.”

In addition, RPGs should help me run a game, not force me to fight the system in order to make it work.

That’s why I try to create good tables and tools, so you (or, frankly, I) don’t need to be an awesome GM to make something great with them. I don’t want to put all the burden of creation on your shoulders if you’re using my games; in fact, I want to save you as much work as I can.

[Here is one example. My goal with the setting is not to require you to read Edgar Rice Burroughs, Clark Ashton Smith, Lovecraft, or Roadside Picnic in order to enjoy it, even if I would recommend you do. The idea is that you can get the same feel I enjoy simply by rolling the tables as written, without needing to construct it all yourself].

One of the happiest feelings I have after creating random tables is rolling, combining and realizing the combinations instantly generate cool ideas I hadn't considered. In other words, not because I thought of something cool, but because I found something I hadn’t thought.

Likewise, when I’m running (or writing) a module, I want things to be simple and clearly spelled out. I don’t want to be unexpectedly forced to train my creativity or improv skills. My focus should be on running the game and responding to the players’ choices—not wrestling with the text.

In conclusion: 

By all means, read all the rules, memorize (or even tinker with) the most important ones; dive into Appendix N books if you want (you know I do); learn how statistics work; try improv; make voices; crack jokes; write your own adventures, and tweak or complete existing ones. 

These are all useful, fun skills, and they will make you a better GM and a better player. But they are absolutely not required to play RPGs.

Zothique revisited, and more Ashton Smith

I have wondered many times (and even tried to investigate as best I could) why Clark Ashton Smith is not in the Appendix N. Not only because his stories, genre, and era would make him a perfect candidate, but because he would be even MORE fitting than most of the books that are actually listed there.

He is certainly a precursor, considered one of the three giants of the "weird" fiction genre alongside Lovecraft and Howard, both of whom receive prominent placement in the Appendix. Clark Ashton Smith has a touch of Howard's sword and sorcery, a measure of Lovecraftian horror, but blends genres more freely than either (including also a larger dose of humor and imaginative worldbuilding).

His tales, like few others of his era, genuinely feel like D&D adventures, something that would only be matched by the later works of Leiber and Andre Norton (Leiber was influenced by Smith, although Norton's toad-like beings might be an indirect influence). He is one of the most important originators of the Dying Earth genre, which would go on to shape Jack Vance, himself a major influence on Gygax. In the same vein, Smith's ornate and vivid prose likely had an enormous influence on Gygax's writing style, perhaps also filtered through Jack Vance.

The Zothique stories are among Clark Ashton Smith's most impressive work. I recently reread the entire cycle, and truly each one of them could stand on its own as a D&D adventure. Dunsany's stories have a similar effect, but many of them seem to build toward a single climax of maximum strangeness, whereas the Zothique tales are more often defined by a succession of unusual situations, traps, monsters, and obstacles. His protagonists, too, are very D&D-ish: not legendary heroes like Conan or the largely outmatched humans of Lovecraft, but brave, sometimes foolish, often selfish, adventurers that live or die based on skill and sheer luck.

(They are also sometimes found in parties, or with hirelings/servants, which is rare except for Tolkien).

Could it be that Gygax simply did not know Smith? Given his enormous influence, I find that unlikely; several elements of D&D appear to be directly inspired by the author, such as the Geas spell (also adopted by Vance), and the rich vocabulary for the dead and undead: ghouls, liches, necromancers, and more. Another hypothesis, perhaps more plausible, is that Gygax simply was not a great fan (which, again, is odd given his influence and proximity to R. E. Howard, Fritz Leiber, Jack Vance, and H. P. Lovecraft , some of "the most immediate influences upon AD&D"). 

Maybe Smith was simply less popular, which seems to be the case. This is the most likely explanation I have so far.

At least the Zothique stories point to another reason, one that seems rather obvious in hindsight but that I may have overlooked because I am already a dark fantasy reader: many of the stories are too dark, and a significant number involve acts that constitute or suggest necrophilia (though not explicitly) alongside torture, alcoholism, cruelty, decadence, revenge, and so forth, sometimes with no heroic characters to serve as counterweight.

Even so, the Zothique cycle strikes me as particularly grim, and not all of Smith's stories follow the same tendency. It now seems worth revisiting his other tales (equally impressive and equally suited to D&D) to determine whether this explanation is sufficient, or whether another reason might yet be found. For now, the mystery remains.

The Face in the Frost (review)

The Face in the Frost, by John Bellairs, is a somewhat odd book to include in the Appendix N. Apparently, Gygax was a big fan of it (though he said he read it after D&D was created), as mentioned on Dragon magazine #22; it is also mentioned in the DMG itself (thanks to @John_Cyrano, on X).

Dragon #22

DMG

The whole book has a certain young adult fiction vibe; a blend of satire, oneirism, and postmodernism. The first thing I noticed is that it spends long paragraphs describing the setting: the rooms and chambers of a house, the plants, the locations, the roads, even the weather conditions and clothing. The few action scenes, however, are described in an extremely rushed manner. In a way, it's as if the common criticisms of Tolkien's work had been made flesh: pages go by describing details that seem non-essential to the story. That's not necessarily a bad thing; in fact, the landscapes are so vividly described that you can often picture yourself inside the story, or at least inside its physical world, even if the action itself isn't very exciting.

All in all, the book has many strengths: it is well written, the descriptions are beautiful, there is plenty of humor, and it even manages to blend (in a postmodern way) fantasy with history, constantly keeping you uncertain about the exact relationship between the world of the story and our own. The worldbuilding, however, is not very developed, but merely hinted at, perhaps as a running joke.

The book has its cool moments, like a stroll through a dark fortress, but some boring ones too, and seems to point to a great climax that never truly arrives. What the book lacks, essentially, is action. The characters are charismatic, but not especially memorable. In fact, I often thought the book had to have some prequel that would explain why we should care about these people.

The magic bears little resemblance to D&D, despite Gygax's comments, but it is a postmodern mess of religion, tarot, and randomness. There are very few monsters or warriors. The most obvious comparison is with Terry Pratchett's Discworld, which shares a similar, somewhat satirical sense of humor, but managed to develop the form with greater success.

Overall, a fun but ultimately unsatisfying read, and not one of the strongest entries in the Appendix N.

Dungeon Crawler Carl (book review)

This was a fun read if not particularly meaningful. It takes place in an RPG world that works like a televised tournament, similar to The Running Man and The Hunger Games. Participants, like Carl and his cat, face obstacles and fights, can earn sponsors, and have to balance the ever-present danger with the marketing persona they build for the public.

The book is very light and doesn't take itself seriously, which is good IMO. It's more laid-back than other books that try to have fun with RPG tropes, like Kings of the Wyld, but it also doesn't go much further than those tropes. The humor is very tied to current internet culture — silly jokes, profanity, and even a cat that seems to exist purely to attract online audiences, alongside memes and foot jokes. The author's social media even shows up at the end of the book, reinforcing that vibe.

The protagonist is at once a hero and full of "modern" flaws, like apparently being cheated on by his girlfriend. The writing has plenty of irony and sarcasm. Even though the book is structured entirely like a video game (with frequent, small dopamine hits from gaining treasure or leveling up) some descriptions are quite cinematic, as if it were designed from the start to become some kind of TV series, maybe animated.

Curiously, the aspect of everything feeling like a video game is underexplored. You'd imagine that, given the structure of the game, people who are heavy gamers would have a huge advantage, but the protagonist seems to succeed more through strength (he is some kind of military and lifts weights; he  sounds likes like an redditor "bro" with above-average might and empathy), smarts, and luck. He does use some gamer tactics, but the other competitors also seem to win more by chance or brute force than by being strategic nerds. Maybe that gets developed in later volumes.

The monsters aren't especially interesting either, they're basically D&D monsters, kobolds and orcs, along with a few meme creatures like "Karens", hoarders, meth-heads, goths and roided-up jocks. The spells don't stand out, the traps are absent so far, and the map doesn't bring much that's new. Overall, it's a book about D&D that won't give you great ideas for your own dungeons, unless your game happens to be based on X-crawl.

The book fits squarely in the so-called "progression fantasy" genre, where the appeal is watching characters accumulate powers and stat boosts. This is the first of that genre that I've read. For me, it takes some of the joy out of the journey (well, this even bothers me in D&D, so much so that I made a recent post about it that stirred up some controversy). There are moments where the book could have let the hero make serious mistakes, but it seems to rescue him from unintended consequences without apparent reason (though maybe there is some explanation later in the series).

On the other hand, it is all very honest and straightforward. What you see on the cover is what you get in most of the book, and I'm guessing this will continue throughout the other books (although a look at the covers indicates that there might be at least one unexpected twist). Being the first in a series, it plants a lot of seeds but resolves no major conflict. It feels like just the beginning of a long list of conflicts that will resolve after several books; I think the series might have 10 or more; I am unlikely to continue at the moment, but if this kind of fantasy suits you, I'll admit it was often a page-turner and an enjoyable read.

Minimum Viable Fighter (B/Xish)

I’ve written before about how the B/X fighter feels too weak compared to other classes, and even less interesting than dwarves or clerics. In my minimalist OSR project, the goal was to add as few features as possible while still giving the fighter a boost in power and fun.

I avoided the complexity of proficiencies, fighting styles, and the dreaded feats (even though I like them) and instead settled on two additions.

First, the cleave mechanic gives fighters a boost they need: it shines against hordes of weak foes, scales with level, and eventually offers some advantage even against stronger enemies. It’s also very satisfying to see a fighter mowing down hordes of minions, like Conan or Elric.

Second, extra attacks ensure damage keeps pace. At level seven, the extra attack raises damage combat output and cleave potential*; at level fifteen, another attack continues that trend, aligning with AD&D’s progression.

(*I think I like this way of dealing with 1.5 attacks, but maybe 2 then 1 then 2 works better, not sure).

This may not make fighters as versatile as clerics who can raise the dead, but it does make them far stronger than before. The open question is whether demi‑human classes like dwarves, elves, and halflings should share these benefits. In my system, races are separate from classes, so I haven’t tackled that.

Anyway, here is my minimum viable fighter.

Will playtest soon.

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Fighter. 

You might call yourself a knight, a barbarian warrior, a soldier, or a ranger, but it makes no difference: your main skill is violence. A useful talent in this perilous world.

§  HD: 1d8.

§  Attack Bonus: level.

§  Saving Throw: level +3.

§  Cleave: When you reduce an opponent to 0 HP, you may immediately make an additional attack against another opponent in range, for a maximum number of times equal to your level.

§  Extra Attack: Fighters gain 1½ attacks* per round at level 7, 2 at level 15, and 3 at level 20. (*This means your second attack deals half damage, round up).

Minimalist OSR equipment list

Maybe I spent more time than I should have studying this list, but I believe I managed to summarize most of the equipment needed for a D&D adventure into major categories in a reasonably coherent way.

The price of one gold piece per day for food is expensive by historical standards, but it aligns with what most D&D editions recommend. And, of course, it can easily be swapped for a silver standard, if you prefer.

This updates the list on Dak Fantasy Basic slightly and convert prices to gold.

I believe this list is compatible with B/X prices when possible, but also the prices of items relative to one another are more accurate by historical standards and more sensible overall.

Please let me know if you have any corrections or objections!

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Currency

The usual currency in this game is coins of various metals. For simplicity’s sake, assume all coins have similar weight, and each metal is ten times more valuable than the next in the list.

1 platinum piece (pp) = 10 gold pieces (gp) = 100 silver pieces (sp) = 1,000 copper pieces (cp).

Players start the game with 3d6 x10 gp. A gold coin is enough for hot meal, a cold beer or a night in a collective room. Copper pieces are rarely worth carrying for adventurers, but are common currency in hamlets etc. A common laborer will earn rough 1 gp per day and eat cheaper food.

100 coins weight one “item” (i.e., roughly 3 pounds).

  

Miscellaneous equipment

 

Food (one day): Fresh (1 gp, weight 1), must be eaten within a week. Rations (2 gp, weight 1/3) last for one month. A hot meal or cold beer in a tavern costs 1 gp.

 

Common tools (5 gp, weight 1): backpack (holds 10 weight), bedrolls (winter bedrolls: 10 gp, weight 2), blank book, block and tackle (requires rope), board game, camping gear (flint, small blade and hammer), chain (per feet), climbing gear (for wood surfaces or similar; stone climbing gear is 10 gp, weight 2), clothes (winter clothing: 10 gp, weight 2), cooking tools, crowbars, fishing tools, grappling hook, hammers, healing kits (10 uses), hooded oil lantern, hunting traps, merchant's scale, musical instruments (small, like drums, horns, trumpets; larger and more complex instruments cost 10 gp or more), rope (silk, per 20 feet), shackles, steel mirror, winter blanket.

 

Heavy tools (5 gp, weight 3): caltrops (enough for 10 square feet), shovel, pick, iron spikes (30), tent (1 person).

 

Cheap tools (1 sp, weight 3): 15 torches, 10' pole, 20 candles (weight 1).

 

Expensive tools (25 gp, weight 1): holy symbol, lock picks, grimoire, luxury versions of common tools (that might be 10% better or give you a +1 bonus to a test).

 

Liquids: water for one day (usually free, weight 1; weight 2 in very hot weather), pint of oil (1 gp, weight 1/3; can be lit and thrown 20' for 1d6 fire damage), holy water (25 gp, weight 1/3; can be thrown 20' for 1d8 damage against undead, demons, etc.).

 

Skills & tools

Skills will often require tools such as a healing kit, climbing gear, lock picks, etc. Improvised tools will often cause disadvantages. Some tasks will be impossible without tools (GM's call).

Additional reading:

https://methodsetmadness.blogspot.com/2026/03/minimalist-weapons-2026.html

Snakes & Ladders: The Problem of Linear Progression in D&D

Among games that remain popular to this day, one of the oldest in the world is called Snakes and Ladders, a game that practically everyone knows (see image below). Movement is essentially linear, from start to finish, but there are two types of shortcuts/detours: ladders, which accelerate your progress toward the goal, and snakes, which send you back a few spaces. It is a simple mechanic, but one that creates real tension between advancement and setback.

The Goal of D&D and Its Structural Problem

Without getting into the debate about what exactly the goal of D&D is, certainly one of the central purposes of its characters is to become more powerful, that is, to rise from level one, where they are basically beginners, all the way to becoming legendary heroes. Gygax himself (if I'm not mistaken) has stated that this was the goal of the game: to transform starting characters into heroes like Conan or Elric.

The problem is structural. In game terms, the route from level one to level twenty always moves in the same direction. You only gain XP, you only gain levels, you never lose them. It is a one-way street.

The older designers did not entirely ignore this problem. Hence the mechanic of undead creatures that drain levels, creating an effect similar to the snakes in the original game. The Dungeon Master's Guide also included situations that could temporarily reduce your levels, such as exhaustion after a grueling march, or situations of permanent loss such as aging, which can only be reversed with very powerful spells.

Of course, XP is not the only measure of a character's power. With experience, a character gains abilities and hit points, and some abilities can be lost temporarily (often for no more than a day). HP can also be lost, and in older D&D this could have more lasting consequences (perhaps weeks rather than days) than in modern versions. Finally, one can lose money (whether because raising the dead comes at some cost, or through theft, etc.).

It must be acknowledged that some RPGs, such as Call of Cthulhu, famous for its downward spiral into madness, and other horror RPGs in general (Unknown Armies, certain versions of Kult, etc.), exhibit quite clear and lasting negative effects in their systems.

In any case, aside from the issue of undead creatures draining levels, there are not many truly permanent losses in D&D. The only real loss available is the death of the character, which even then can easily be circumvented by a resurrection spell. In most versions of D&D, there is no universal mechanism for lasting negative consequences: the loss of an attribute, the amputation of a limb, a permanent scar (except as an optional rule in the DMG to save a PC reduced to zero HP, an option I find quite appealing). There are no significant setbacks, save death itself. Using the original metaphor: it would be as if every snake on the board led back to the first square.

There are other tools in the game that attempt to work around this limitation, such as creatures that destroy equipment (even magical weapons), that petrify characters, or that impose curses and other lasting effects. But these are isolated/specific solutions, not structural ones; they only happen with a very small percentage of creatures and situations.

Another problem is that D&D players, accustomed to constant and uninterrupted advancement, tend to dislike losing special items, levels, or anything they have already incorporated as part of their character. They may even come to see this kind of loss as a form of cheating.

In modern D&D, there is debate over whether characters can even die at all, so the line of advancement becomes, in the end, a conveyor belt with no way back: you can only move forward.

Source: Wikipedia.

The Parallel with Video Games

It is worth noting that older video games, also divided into "levels" (or stages), followed a logic quite similar to that of Snakes and Ladders. Reaching the end of a stage meant advancing to the next, but dying at any point sent you back to the beginning of that stage, not to the beginning of the entire game, and never (or almost never) to a previous stage. Alongside this, there was a system of permanent loss: a limited number of "lives" which, once exhausted, forced you back to the very beginning of the game (that is, "level one").

Some more modern and less linear games that generate enthusiasm among RPG players (such as Dark Souls, Bloodborne, and Darkest Dungeon) play with this question of real loss in more sophisticated ways. Death in Dark Souls does not send you back to level zero, but it frequently causes the loss of all accumulated XP. In the case of Darkest Dungeon, where you control groups of characters, the death of a hero is a permanent loss for the team, something no spell can undo.

Why This Matters

Even for those who prefer a narrative in which characters never die and always advance, that advancement would be more interesting if it were not purely linear, that is, a little more like Snakes and Ladders. In other words: on the road to heroism, you always lose something.

High-level characters would carry, in their character sheets and their stories, a series of losses, obstacles, and scars. This enriches both narrative and simulation, whatever the goal of the players at the table may be.

In more narrative games influenced by story games, setbacks make the narrative more interesting (and there are books and RPGs at least partially built around this concept of gain and loss, such as Hamlet's Hit Points, Fate, etc.). In games that aim to reproduce cinema, literature, or the hero's journey, an advancement without setbacks makes little sense either.

In games focused on challenge, obstacles become more complex and dangerous when there are real chances of loss. Likewise, in games that seek simulation or immersion, such dangers make the game more believable and realistic.

In short: from any angle, questioning (and perhaps overcoming) the unidirectionality that governs character advancement in D&D may be an experience not only valid, but necessary for the evolution of the hobby.

(Solutions? Probably the subject of a future post. However, I will say permanent wounds are a great idea, IMO, as they could happen in any combat not just against very specific monsters. This could take the form of scars, diminished abilities, etc. Alternatively, expand level loss to include other situations besides undead and marching, maybe as a general fatigue mechanic, so that wounded/tired MUs cannot cast their best spells and tried fighters attack a bit slower).

Additional reading:

https://methodsetmadness.blogspot.com/2024/12/nothing-to-lose-but-their-lives-stakes.html

https://methodsetmadness.blogspot.com/2023/09/ad-dmg-cover-to-cover-part-ix-pages-100.html

Currency, precious metals, taxes, and training

I'm currently writing the equipment section for my "minimalist OSR" game. I've recently gone back to XP per gold spent. Hopefully, that will encourage PCs to donate to church, sleep indoors, carouse, or whatever is appropriate to their alignment and personality. But that's a whole other discussion.

What I want to talk about today is precious metals, and specifically a problem I keep coming back to: gold's value is severely degraded in D&D. On one hand, I want to be more or less faithful to the original rules. On the other, I like to maintain at least a minimum of internal coherence, and I can't shake my discomfort with the idea of any common weapon being worth almost its weight in gold (or, in the case of a bow, more than its weight in gold). At that point, gold is too heavy to even be considered a viable currency, and copper starts to feel less like medieval coinage and more like the Weimar Republic, with people hauling wheelbarrows of coins just to buy bread.

I've heard various explanations for this, the most common being a kind of gold rush that inflates prices across the board, so a sword ends up costing ten to a hundred times more than it would in actual history. Then there's the coin size problem: ten coins weigh about a pound, which is absurdly impractical (in my current system I am considering 100 coins to weight about a couple of pounds, which improves things somewhat).

The other issue is player wealth. If characters earn more than half their XP from gold, a fighter reaching level six might already be sitting on 10,000 gp or more. He can essentially buy every piece of available equipment (and wagons to carry it, with horses to pull it...), even at inflated prices, and hire several retainers on top of that (which isn't necessarily bad). The problem is that my players, specifically, start treating wealth accumulation as the point of the game. They stop spending, the pressure to go out and find more treasure starts to feel increasingly artificial and forced, and the whole economy becomes more and more implausible, even if the adventures keep coming.

There are several standard fixes for this. Many people suggest draining gold through taxes, maintenance fees, making PCs targets for bandits, or (as AD&D recommends) requiring them to pay for training to level up. 

None of that appeals to me. I can hardly imagine Conan or Elric paying for a trainer (although they must have been trained according to their culture in status in the past). And my players, being perfectly rational (and I mean this is a fantasy, setting, of course...), will dodge every tax and respond to any tax collector with disproportionate violence. Worse, constantly handing out gold just to take it back makes me spend even more time focused on wealth, which is the opposite of what I want.

Then I read some Gorgon's Grimoire posts about the subject (like this), and an idea clicked into place; one that solves several of these problems at once, by letting the things I dislike cancel each other out.

Here's how it works: imagine that the legitimate local currency is whatever is stamped with the official seal of the local lord or empire (as suggested in conversation by Gorgon's Grimoire - thank you!). The coins the PCs pull out of dungeons are "frontier" coins; recovered from lost empires or inimical creatures, unregulated, unofficial, not recognized within current civilization. Any merchant who accepts them still has to exchange them for official currency before they can use them to buy anything inside the normal economy, which means they'll charge a heavy premium to cover that conversion cost.

This explains inflated prices without requiring an extreme gold rush. It's not only that goods are (notably) more expensive, it's that the PCs' money is worth less because of what it is and where it came from. They can't be bothered paying taxes or regularizing their hoard, and the prices they pay reflect that. Some merchants might try to smuggle the coins or find workarounds, but that's not the PCs' problem. Most will simply take the treasure to the appropriate authorities, pay the conversion fees, and pass the cost along.

It's a solution that feels organic rather than punitive, and it actually fits the fiction.

Of course, the occasional tyrannical ruler might start thinking the PCs are still not paying enough taxes, and some criminal guilds might consider a heist followed by forgery to make the coins legit... but then again, only occasionally. Money is not the main focus of the PCs or the game.

EDIT: BTW, these big costs include some upkeep too, so I can also ignore those...

Single roll combat (and more minimalist mass combat)

I nearly finished a document of about ten pages on mass combat in OSR systems. 

My idea, as I had already discussed a few times, was not to introduce a new/alternate system (Chainmail, Warmachine, etc.) new types of data, replace the d20 with a d6, or rewrite a troop list, but to simply to use the rules/stats as they are written in systems like B/X or AD&D, and extrapolate those rules to cover a much larger group of creatures at once, or to cover a longer period of time. In other words, to try to summarize several rolls into a single one.

I approached this issue through four paths: one versus one, which I thought could simply be ignored; one versus many, allowing powerful characters to attack many weak enemies at once; many versus one, which allows the opposite; and many versus many, which are rules for battles between groups of different sizes against each other.

In the end, I decided to add a small idea about how to resolve any combat with just a single roll. Ultimately, I am concerned that this idea may have made all my other ideas obsolete, since it solves almost any situation. The only caveat is that the combats must be between creatures of approximate power. If you avoid absurd situations like a thousand versus one, it should work in situations up to fifty versus twenty, one versus ten, and so on.

Here are some ideas that might give you the gist of it. And maybe this is already enough that the doc is not needed... But let me know if it sounds interesting.

---

The margin of success

When you make an attack roll, subtract the target number from your result. That difference — positive or negative — is your margin, and it is added directly to damage on a hit. Optionally, a miss works the same way in reverse: a near-miss deals reduced damage rather than nothing, meaning every roll moves the fight forward.

A fighter needs a 10 to hit and rolls a 14. Margin: +4. His sword deals 1d8 — say he rolls a 5 — for a total of 9 damage. If he had rolled a 7 instead, missing by 3, the optional rule gives him 1d8 minus 3 — perhaps 2 damage — a glancing blow that still counts.

The group attack bonus

Ten bandits attacking a single knight roll once, with a +10 bonus, and deal one die of damage plus the margin. No rolling ten separate attacks. One roll, one result.

Conversely, the knight can attack all ten in a single attack with a -10 penalty. If he hits, he damages ALL ten bandits at once (10 is the hard limit; the knight cannot attack 100 at once).

The bandits need a 12 to hit the knight and roll a 9, adjusted to 19 with their +10 bonus. Margin: +7. They deal 1d8+7. The knight is not struck ten times; he is overwhelmed by a sustained press whose worst moment is captured in that single roll.

The knight strikes back. He needs an 8 to hit a bandit and rolls a 14, but with a -10 penalty that becomes a 4. A miss. The bandits' formation holds for now. Next round he rolls an 18, adjusted to 8. He hits, margin 0, deals 1d8 damage with his sword. If the bandits only had 4 HP each and he rolls 5 damage, he might have cut down all ten at once.

Groups of different sizes

When two groups of different sizes fight each other, the larger group gets a bonus and the smaller group gets a penalty, equal to the difference in size. Seven bandits against five knights: the bandits attack with +2, the knights with -2.

In some cases the groups can be reduced to a common denominator. Six bandits against four knights can be treated as three bandits against two knights, keeping the same proportions with fewer units to track. Twelve against eight becomes three against two. This is purely a matter of convenience — the math is identical either way.

The single roll method (optional)

Both sides roll one attack each, simultaneously. Apply the margin to average damage. Compare remaining HP. The side with more left wins; the loser drops to zero; the winner keeps only their remainder. Two rolls, a subtraction, a comparison, done.

Two ogres, 19 HP each, average damage 6, needing a 10 to hit. Ogre A rolls 16, margin +6, deals 12 damage, leaving Ogre B with 7 HP. Ogre B rolls 9, margin -1, deals 5 damage, leaving Ogre A with 14 HP. Ogre A wins. Subtract: 14 minus 7 = 7 HP remaining. Bloodied but standing.

---

Obviously this is intended for NPC fights and mass combat, mostly. Most players do not want their PCs to be killed in a single roll, and that can absolutely happen here. But it can be used in a limited way even for PCs: if your fighter is attacked by a mob of goblins that could never realistically kill him, a single roll quickly tells you how much damage he sustains before cutting through them, and everyone moves on.

Minimalist treasure 3: superfast treasure generation

I really liked the last post. I think it opened my eyes to several circumstances that will be very useful in my games. For example, regarding the fact that each of copper/silver/gold/platinum is worth ten times  than the other, but especially that gems/jewelry are worth ten times more than gold on average, and that magic items are not far from ten times more valuable than gems. 

Even so, the result, although satisfactory, still ended up being quite complicated (and a bit abstract) for the game I want to call OSR Minimalist. I realized that by reducing the types of treasure to a 2d6 table similar to a reaction table, you could keep the roll simple while at the same time producing varied and concrete results for quickly describing treasure.

| Roll        | Result                          |

|-------------|---------------------------------|

| 2 or less   | Heavy objects, Copper, Silver   |

| 3–5         | Copper, Silver, Gold            |

| 6–8         | Silver, Gold, Platinum          |

| 9–11        | Gold, Platinum, Gems            |

| 12 or more  | Platinum, Gems, Magic Items     |

A lot, some, a few

This treasure is immediately easy to describe with "a lot, some, a few". So 6-8 means "a lot of silver coins, some gold, a few platinum pieces".

But how many, exactly?

| Roll        | Result         

| 2 or less   | d6×10,000 Copper, d6×1,000 Silver, Heavy objects

| 3–5         | d6×10,000 Copper, d6×1,000 Silver, d6×100 Gold

| 6–8         | d6×1000 Silver, d6×100 Gold, d6×10 Platinum

| 9–11        | d6×100 Gold, d6×10 Platinum, d6 Gems

| 12 or more  | d6×10 Platinum, d6 Gems, d6×0.1 Magic Items

So, each item in the list has the same value on average.

Also, each line is worth slightly above 1,000 gp on average.

So if you find a hoard worth 5,0000, just multiply every result by five.

Neat, right?

Now, following the intuition from the last post (that larger hoards should be more weight-efficient, the "nobody buys a Ferrari with dimes" point), let's assume the table is calibrated for a 1,000 gp hoard. Roll with −1 for hoards under 500 gp, +1 for over 5,000 gp, +2 for over 10,000 gp, and +3 for over 20,000 gp.

This is optional, of course. If you don't apply the modifier, a dragon might end up sitting on piles of copper, which is fine.

Alternatively, if you want more variety, you can roll on the table multiple times for a large hoard, treating each roll as a separate component.

Bjorn Pierre (unsplash)

A note on heavy objects and magic items

I added some heavy objects to the table because I like the idea of some hoards containing statues, pelts, rugs, clothes, etc., but you can easily ignore it.

Magic item, OTOH, are d6×0.1 per each thousand GP. If the hoard is smaller than that 10,000 gp, you can treat it as a small chance of having a magic item, a low value magic item, etc.

Even more variety?

I am tempted to add a secondary table of "special effects" that take effect if you roll the same number on both dice. But that is just for extra flavor. To keep the minimalist vibe, that 2d6 table is all I need.

Minimalist treasure 2: generating hoard types

Continuing from the previous post, I wanted a way to generate treasure without complicated tables. The goal: a single roll that tells you not just how much treasure there is, but what kind — and how much of it is worth carrying.

Introduction (designer's notes)

Modern economists, following Aristotle, identify (at least) three qualities of sound money: portability, divisibility, and durability. In D&D, coins are certainly durable, but portability and divisibility are more situational. Few millionaires keep a significant share of their wealth in one-dollar bills — and no one with fifty thousand dollars in assets holds it as a single diamond. The denomination also has to match the transaction. Nobody buys a Ferrari with piles of dimes.

Put simply, the wealthier a person is, the more efficient their treasure tends to be per pound.

A handful of silver coins offers more divisibility than gold, but the gold is more portable. A gem offers more portability still, at the cost of divisibility, since dividing a ruby makes it lose most of its value.

In D&D, perhaps only a dragon — a compulsive hoarder by mythological nature — would accumulate the kind of mixed, inefficient pile that the encumbrance system is quietly designed to punish. Everyone else, given the choice, gravitates toward the top of the table.

This system takes all of this into account. If I may say so, it ended up being a lot easier to use than I expected.

The system

You already know the total value of the hoard (roughly 100 gp per HD, as discussed before; a lair of 100 bandits has a hoard worth about 5,000 gp). This roll tells you the composition — what the treasure is made of, and how efficiently it's packed.

Roll d20, then add +1 for every 1,000 gp in the hoard, up to a maximum of +20 (corresponding to a 20,000 gp hoard). Larger hoards should be broken into smaller parts and rolled separately. The result determines treasure type from the table below.

Roll	Treasure type	Value density
0 or less	Low-value or heavy objects (junk, pelts, tools)	= gold / 1,000
1	Reroll -10	—
2–9	Copper	= gold / 100
10–11	Reroll ±10	—
12–19	Silver	= gold / 10
20–21	Reroll ±10	—
22–29	Gold	= gold
30–31	Reroll ±10	—
32–39	Platinum	= gold × 10
40–41	Reroll ±10	—
42–49	Gems & Jewelry	~ gold × 100
50–51	Reroll ±10	—
52–59	Magic items	~ gold × 1,000
60	Reroll +10	—
61+	Legendary item or artifact	~ gold × 10,000

A quick note on the value density column. Each tier is roughly 10× more efficient per pound than the tier below — a clean order-of-magnitude progression that makes the table easy to understand.

And this progression looks very reasonable and not that far from the original. Consider:

Gems and jewelry in B/X are worth about 1,000 times their weight in gold (the 100× figure in our table is a deliberate simplification). In the real world, everyday jewelry is worth only slightly more than its gold content, but gems span an enormous range — common stones are worth a fraction of gold per gram, while fine rubies and emeralds can reach 2,000–5,000×.

Magic items vary immensely in price and weight, but 1,000× their weight in gold is not absurd as a round number. The spread is enormous: a Ring of Invisibility is roughly 3,300 times more valuable per pound than +1 plate armor, which works similarly to the gem range — the same category contains both a pebble and a diamond.

Because of that, gems and magic items might deserve their own sub-tables (which are already in B/X, AD&D etc.).

Treasure composition

The digit at the end of your result — the ones place, from 2 to 9 — tells you how heterogeneous the treasure is. This is where Pareto comes in: if a player takes only 20% of the treasure by weight, how much of the value do they recover?

• Digit 9: 90% of the value is in the top 20% by weight. Highly varied — gems scattered among coins, a magic item wrapped in cloth at the bottom of a chest of silver.
• Digit 5: roughly 50% of the value in the top 20%. Moderately mixed.
• Digit 2: 20% of the value in the top 20%. Nearly homogeneous — a chest of nothing but copper pieces, uniform all the way down.

A result of 24 (gold, digit 4) means: the treasure is worth its weight in gold on average, and taking the best 20% by weight recovers about 40% of the value (this 40% is mostly platinum pieces, some gems, etc.). A result of 27 (silver, digit 7) means: it's heavy and low-value on average, but picking carefully gets you 70% of the value in 20% of the weight — there's some gold in there.

Results ending in 0 or 1 are rerolls: 0 means roll again and add 10, 1 means roll again and subtract 10. This preserves the natural 20 as a potential windfall and the natural 1 as a setback, while keeping the table open-ended in both directions. The +20 cap means most large hoards cluster in the gold-to-platinum range, with gems and magic items requiring either a lucky roll or a genuinely exceptional hoard.

Treasure appearance

Homogenous treasure (i.e., digit 2) is easy to describe. For example, result 22 is basically a big pile of gold, etc. Mixed treasure, however, will look mostly as one tier below. E.g.,  result 25 is maybe almsot half silver, around 20% gold, around 20% copper, and only a bit of platinum.

Pocket money

Individual creatures carry roughly 1% of the lair's total value on their person, in the same denomination as the main hoard, provided they can carry it. A gnoll lair worth 3,000 gp in silver means each gnoll carries about 30 gp worth of silver coins — enough to be worth mentioning, not enough to change the logistics. This also gives the party a small preview of what's coming: creatures carrying gold suggest a gold hoard ahead; creatures carrying gems suggest something more interesting.

Outliers

Even a very small hoard can contain gems and magic items. This isn't usually a problem — as noted above, both categories vary enormously in value. A potion might be worth 50 gp, a semi-precious stone even less.

If you roll gem and magic item values separately, you face a choice: fix the results to match the hoard's overall scale, or let the dice fall and accept that a lone goblin might be carrying a ring of inestimable value. Maybe that deserves a table of its own... but that's a post for another day.

Carrying mixed treasure

The digit makes it possible to record treasure concisely and make decisions about it later. A player might note "30 pounds of platinum (34) Treasure" — meaning the hoard is platinum-tier (so, it is worth 3,000 gp) and the digit is 4. Back in town, or at a bottleneck in the dungeon, they can decide to keep only the best 20% by weight: that recovers roughly 40% of the value, or about 1,200 gp, at one fifth the encumbrance. If they have a cart, they take it all. If they're fleeing through a collapsing corridor, they know exactly what to grab first and what to leave behind — and they have a number to justify the decision at the table rather than an argument.

Pareto to infinity?

The system can recurse. A gold-tier hoard contains a platinum-tier sub-hoard — roll again to find what share (the digit, as before). That platinum sub-hoard may itself contain a gem-tier portion, and so on, until you've identified the single most valuable in the pile. Stop whenever the detail stops being useful, or when the digit is 2 (meaning a uniform pile of coins, homogeneous all the way down). In theory you could choose the best gem in a handful... But few adventurers are wealthy enough to leave any gems behind!

Time is money

One thing I haven't analyzed here (nor have I seen it addressed in any D&D rulebook) is the time required to sort a hoard. A disorganized dragon hoard could take hours to sift through properly. Most human-administered treasures, by contrast, will have at least some organization and can probably be assessed and selectively looted in a few minutes, depending on size. In a rush, however, PCs might be forced to carry a few random bags and trust their luck!

But does this actually make sense?

Yes!

For example, if you rolled 24, this is what a treasure could look like. This is mostly AI-generated but fixable by adding more copper and gems, and probably a human with excel could do a similar job.

Hoard: ~10,000 gp total, result 24 (gold tier, digit 4)

Item	Weight	Value	% of value
30,000 cp in copper coins	300 lb	300 gp	3%
40,000 sp in silver coins	400 lb	4,000 gp	40%
3,000 gp in gold coins	300 lb	3,000 gp	25%
120 pp in platinum coins	12 lb	600 gp	6%
5 gems (avg 80 gp each)	0.1 lb	400 gp	4%
2 pieces of jewelry (avg 200 gp)	0.2 lb	400 gp	4%
1 magic item	0.5 lb	1,000 gp	10%
Total	~1,013 lb	~9,700 gp	100%

The top 20% by weight is ~203 lb. That's:

• the magic item (0.5 lb, 1,000 gp)
• the jewelry (0.2 lb, 400 gp)
• the gems (0.1 lb, 400 gp)
• the platinum (12 lb, 600 gp)
• and about 190 lb of gold coins (1,900 gp)

Total: ~203 lb, ~4,300 gp — about 44% of the value in 20% of the weight.