(17 replies, posted in LotFP Gaming Forum)

Devaluation happened primarily during the middle ages in Britain, beginning mostly with William the Conquerer and going from there, where coin standards were constantly being shifted (how much silver is in a silver coin, how much gold...). However, until Henry the VIII coins were worth purely their weight, after Henry many coins were valued based on an arbitrary standard (X pennies to a Y) instead of their weight.

In RPG terms I always, ALWAYS, use coinage valued by its weight, not an arbitrary numbering system. If 100 silver coins are the same value as a gold coin, then that much raw silver is worth that much raw gold (Right this second it's closer to 63 to 1 based on USD value of a both). Since coinage is never a set weight from mint to mint, let alone era to era, it's much easier to just say treasure is worth weight, not value, and attach the weight to something simple (As an example, 1 ounce of silver could keep a farm running for a month) and extrapolate from there. So a party doesn't find 10,000 silver coins in a pile, they find, say, a hundred ounces of silver, which is enough to fund a barony for quite some time. Or get blown on equipment and whores. Whatever.

Figure rations are emergency supplies unless someone wants to hire a bag-boy or mule to carry the food; your party should plan to hunt for their meals most of the time if they want to travel light. As for the slot thing, think about what a week's worth of food, for one person, really looks like, even if it's hard-tack and dried meat. That's a lot more stuff, both in terms of ease of carrying and space, then a small tool-kit, a blade, whatever.

The way I do it is I separate wealth and XP reward while maintaining a reason to be wealthy aside from the ability to afford things, so the character who undermines the divvying up of the loot will slowly become more wealthy, and in my game gain higher station, quicker than the others; in my case it could mean he would become a minor lord and, by local law, be able to order the others around at his whim.

Clearly it's a game of chance, perhaps concocted by some mad wizard or cult of drug-addled monks and using a twisted chimera-baby. At least the rules are simple: players alternate between betting and poking. The first player at the table bets, putting their money on which part or parts of the chimera they think will react when it is poked by the player to their left. Odds and betting amounts are based on the chimera on hand, the weather, the players, the environment, and a dozen or more other factors which are, generally, made up on the spot, and winning bets are paid out by the pool, a predetermined amount of money each player has paid into at the beginning of play. Once the betting player puts their money down the poking player does their job, jabbing at the chimera with one finger to encourage it to shift. Anything which moves on the chimera after being poked is considered a reaction, from opening and closing an eye to reaching out and smacking at the offending digit. Losing bets are placed in the pool, winning bets are paid out, and the turn ends.

The play order shifts one to the left each turn, so the previous poker is now the better and the person to their left is the new poker. Play continues until the pool is empty, the players agree to end the game, or the chimera intervenes on its own behalf.

As for the women, clearly Alice and the princess are arguing about the proper poking method, Alice favoring the downward poke of the farmers of Reis and the princess declaring the benefits of the upward-poke of the nobility of Vornheim. The Magic-User is tired of their bickering and ordering another drink to dull her hearing and her urge to care about the stupid game, while at the same time agreeing that the upward-poke is the better method.

The chimera? It has to pee. Eventually a poke is going to make it pee, and then the whole world will rue the day the chimera race was subjugated for this stupid game.