No newspaper circulates with evil want-ads in the back. No Quest Givers sit around in taverns trying to get evil to go on evil missions and join Evil Empires.
A household evil name is more than a brand. It’s a stamp of evil quality. Murder Hobos know what they’re getting when they run with that brand.
Violence makes things messy and inconvenient. Corporations like things neat and convenient. And bureaucratic.
Algorithms become faster, smarter, and more efficient. Nastier. More aggressive.
For strange reasons mostly associated with the vomiting hellmouth outside town and the theoretical quick riches found therein, the Diviner’s Guild in Drumport kept losing their working Diviners to mis-adventure.
That hoard comes out to roughly 588,000 gold, plus the associated weight of all the other interesting stuff sticking out of it. It’s a huge sum of cash. But there’s an issue.
It’s unlikely the old man is agenda free. Something is out there. The old man is using the party to kill it. Or feed it.
Once they exited the throne room, the Emperor said, bored, to his functionary, “How many more parties of self-proclaimed heroes do we have today?”
“Six, Excellency,” the functionary said.
With a couple of tweaks, filing off the serial numbers, and squinting, tontines are a great inspiration for one-shot, short campaigns, and, in some contexts, longer running story arcs.
“This is a Tontine,” the Transmuter Banker tells the Guild Master as she underwrites the investment vehicle. “And considering adventurers, a terrible idea.” And then she signs the paperwork because, in her mind, Adventurers + Investment = Funny.