It’s interesting watching PCs (and their players) slip through a varying appreciation of cash. The same folks who will cheer at a 100 gp payout at 1st level will gradually become far more jaded towards their bank accounts as the levels tick past.

“I’ve only got 2,000 gp!”

Ah, yes. You poor dear. You’ve only got as much money as the average person makes in two lifetimes.

Of course, this might all be funnier if it didn’t happen in real life and with real money all the time.

In the Middle Ages, the wealthy were known to sponsor holy pilgrims. Like modern millionaires funding a NASCAR team, the sponsors would share in the reflected glory of the pilgrimage. Of course, as in all matters of salvation and piety, there were also deeper spiritual entanglements to consider in such things: Acting in their name and as their agents, the pilgrims would receive blessing not only for themselves but for the lords and ladies in whose name they journeyed.

Historically speaking, the sponsoring of pilgrimages were partly a matter of holy duty (like any other form of tithing) and partly a matter of expediency (for those too busy to make the journey for themselves). In a fantasy setting, however, it would be fairly easy to imagine a third parameter: Danger.

Enter the adventurers.

Imagine, for example, an ancient holy site which is now located in the upper lairs of the Bloodreaver Dragons. Or in the Lava Caverns of the Myrmarch. Or lost in the eddies of the Astral Sea.

And in a world where the gods are active (and perhaps even malevolent) forces, the stakes for successfully performing such pilgrimages might be incredibly high. Thus those who have proven that they can make the greatest dangers into their play-things could easily find great profit in performing such journeys.

A sponsored pilgrimage could be a fun, exploratory travelogue (an appropriate sub-structure for any hexcrawl); it could be tied into a larger scenario (“we need guidance from the Forgotten God of the Purple Seas, and you must journey to his Broken Temple lost among the Steppes of the Black Wight”); or it could be the seed for even larger adventures (“we went to Thor’s shrine for you, but now we all seem to be having visions of Ragnarok”).

Found a great word the other day: Scurrier.

It’s an old term referring to “one sent out to reconnoiter or scout”. It originally seems to have applied specifically to military scouts (who would be sent out to “scour” the countryside), but in the 16th century it seems to have migrated into more domestic concerns as a sort of “special agent” before abruptly disappearing from the language.

I just love the archaic tang of it. It makes it sound like the perfect job for a group of PCs: Whether exploring a vast wilderness; investigating extraordinary crimes; acting as agents in a foreign land; or any number of other activities.

It could also be readily applied to any number of modern milieus as well: Scurriers of the Knight Templars emerging from the hidden sanctuaries to pursue the Order’s agendas in the 21st century. Or perhaps agents of an ancient order which has charged itself with scourging the planet of the vampiric plague.

What about applying it as a bit of cyberpunk slang referring to the ‘runners who scout out the digital frontiers?

Once you start looking, it seems like there’s no place you won’t find scurriers scurrying.

The malero (meaning “the taking of sin”) is a religious ritual of cleansing.

Its origins lie in the auto da fes performed during the Years of Heresy by the Imperial Church. In these public processions, those found guilty of heretical crimes would be marched through the streets of a city before being led to a place of judgment where many would be tortured or executed.

The first bearer of the malero was Saint Alesia of Malthusta, who received a holy vision to lift the burden of sin from her town and bear it herself before performing a mighty geas to cleanse her own soul of its weight. Similar maleros were performed throughout the Years of Heresy, allowing those accused of heretical crimes to instead go free.

The practice of malero continues today in a lessened form: Holy warriors and knights are given tasks by the church in order to periodically cleanse their communities of the “vestige sin” which accumulates wherever men gather in great numbers.

More rarely, a malero be assumed in an effort to lift a curse or blight from a particular region.

THE MALERO IN YOUR CAMPAIGN

A malero can serve as a convenient scenario hook. Knights, paladins, and clerics associated with the church may be called on directly to perform them. In other cases, churches may put out a general call for anyone willing to undertake a malero. (This is particularly true for smaller churches with more limited resources.)

Notably, maleros are often called for in the wake of great tragedies. Have the PCs just captured a serial killer? We’ll need a malero to cleanse the community of such weight sin. Did they just save the village from some natural calamity? The gods must be cursing us with such times of trouble because of our sins; must be time for a malero.

A failed malero is a particularly weighty manner. If Sir Godric has taken on the community’s sin and has fallen before it could be cleansed, that means that the sin has merely been concentrated and is now free to roam once more. Who knows what mischief such sin might get up to? Once the players are familiar with the concept of the malero, you can use a failed malero to crank up the stakes for them.

You shouldn’t forget to play up the ritualistic component of the malero, either. Functionally it may not be much different from a guy hiring them at the local tavern; but the devil is in the details, and you can imbue the malero with a lot more unique flavor than that: Anoint them with oils. Make them swear a holy oath. Let them receive a proper blessing.

Make the malero significant.

I’ve been spending quite a bit of time delving through the 1st Edition Dungeon Master’s Guide recently. Which means I’ve spent more than my fair share of time staring at the cover… which I have always hated.

The poses are stiff. The composition boring. The anatomy problematic. It is, in short, a disappointing and amateurish piece of work.

And this is particular true when you compare it to the back cover of the same book, which depicts a glorious, panoramic shot of the City of Brass which seems to invite you to a world of adventure in a dozen different ways.

The interesting thing, of course, is that these are both the same piece of art. It’s a panoramic cover that wraps around the spine. Because of its composition, however, this can be rather difficult to appreciate unless you can look at the whole thing all at once:

I really like the framing effect which the fully visible arch has on the City of Brass. That half of the painting is great.

Sadly, seeing the full piece in context only makes the other half of the painting look even worse. I mean, the composition of the efreeti and the adventurers was already suffering from some internal problems with its perspective. But once you put them into the context of the larger scene, where exactly are they supposed to be standing?

Look at what happens when you draw in the perspective lines of the wall:

As far as I can tell, the efreeti is standing in the wall.

I’m as much a fan of non-Euclidean geometry as the next guy. But this just looks sloppy to me. And it actively repulses my eye.

EDIT: Those of you suggesting in the comments that the efreeti and possibly the adventurers have actually been painted on the wall have an interesting theory. But if that were actually the case, we would expect the cover to look something like this:

Which, of course, it doesn’t.

I suppose one could argue that this is a painting of another painting which has been painted in order to appear 3D from the position which the meta-painter has placed his easel… But, honestly, there comes a point when you’re just making excuses for sub-standard art.