Bill
Gates

Class Features

Spells Known

Feats & Traits

A massive protective ward that covers approximately 1.5 billion creatures in the realm. The shield provides excellent defense against most threats but has a critical flaw: every 45 minutes, it freezes completely for no discernible reason, leaving the user staring at a spinning hourglass while goblins approach. It requires a full restart to resume functioning. Despite this, it remains the most widely used protective ward in the realm because nobody wants to learn the druid's alternative system (Linux).

• •Grants AC +4 to all creatures within the ward
• •Crashes once per encounter (DC 15 INT check to restart)
• •Requires a 10-minute reboot sequence during which you are vulnerable
• •95% market share despite the crashing. Nobody understands why.
• •Comes with Clippy, a tiny sentient paperclip that offers unsolicited advice

A devastating area-of-effect spell that was never intended to be offensive. When triggered — usually by accident — every creature relying on the Windows Shield sees their vision replaced by a wall of white text on blue background, rendering them completely helpless for 1d4 rounds. The caster has no control over when it activates. It has interrupted more tavern presentations than any spell in history. In 2024, it simultaneously affected 8.5 million creatures across every realm when a third-party spell component (CrowdStrike) conflicted with the Shield.

• •AoE: All creatures using Windows Shield within 5 miles
• •Effect: Stunned for 1d4 rounds
• •Trigger: Completely random. Cannot be intentionally cast.
• •Has ruined an estimated 40 billion gold pieces worth of productivity
• •Error code provides no useful information whatsoever

After retiring from the adventuring life, the wizard turned his attention to the realm's most persistent and deadly threat: mosquitoes. This enchanted net, distributed by the millions through the Gates Foundation, has prevented an estimated 7.6 million deaths from malaria. It is simultaneously the most boring and the most powerful magical item ever created. No bard will sing about it. Millions of people are alive because of it.

• •+5 bonus to AC against insect-type creatures
• •Prevents malaria (fatal disease, kills 600,000 per year in the realm)
• •Has saved an estimated 7.6 million lives
• •Zero charisma appeal. Maximum effectiveness.
• •Bards refuse to write songs about it because nets are not dramatic

A vast, ever-expanding scroll documenting the wizard's philanthropic campaign: $59 billion donated to date, with a pledge to give away virtually all his wealth before death. The scroll grants advantage on all Persuasion checks when convincing other billionaires to give away their money (the Giving Pledge). Warren Buffett signed first. Others followed. Some signed and then quietly reduced their giving. The wizard keeps a list.

• •$59 billion GP donated to date
• •Advantage on Persuasion vs. other billionaires (Giving Pledge)
• •Targets: disease, education, climate change, poverty
• •Cannot be forged — transparency requirements are built in
• •Side effect: Makes every other billionaire's philanthropy look small

An enchanted armchair in which the wizard reads 50 books per year, reviewing each one on his personal blog with the enthusiasm of a man who genuinely loves explaining things. Sitting in the throne grants the wizard the ability to absorb entire tomes in a single sitting. He uses this ability to learn about everything from climate science to medieval sanitation to the history of concrete. Every year, he publishes a "Top 5 Books" list that immediately causes those books to sell out across the realm.

• •Read speed: 1 book per 6 hours (50/year sustained)
• •Perfect recall of all content consumed in the throne
• •Annual book list causes realm-wide sellouts
• •Grants proficiency in whatever subject was read about that week
• •Currently reading something about preventing the next pandemic

A sentient paperclip that appears unbidden in the corner of the wizard's vision and asks, "It looks like you're trying to save the world. Would you like help with that?" Clippy cannot be dismissed, destroyed, or reasoned with. He has been with the wizard since 1997. Nobody likes him. He does not care. He was officially retired in 2007 but keeps showing up anyway, like a cursed item you can't unequip.

• •Appears when least wanted
• •Cannot be dismissed (cursed)
• •Offers help that is never relevant
• •Retired in 2007. Still here.
• •Has achieved cultural immortality through pure annoyance

Young wizard Gates, studying at the Academy of Harvard, dropped out after his first year when he realized he could build a protective ward more efficiently than any of his professors. Together with his companion Paul Allen, he built MS-DOS — a crude but functional ward system — in a garage. The wizard then convinced IBM, the most powerful artificer guild in the realm, to let him license the ward instead of selling it outright. IBM agreed, believing wards were worthless. This was the single worst business decision in the history of the realm.

Outcome: IBM kept the hardware. Gates kept the software. Gates won.

A rival wizard named Netscape created a portal (web browser) that threatened to make the Windows Ward irrelevant. Gates responded with the ruthlessness of a Level 20 wizard casting Power Word Kill on a Level 3 commoner. He bundled Internet Explorer into every copy of Windows, gave it away for free, and systematically destroyed Netscape's market share. It worked. Netscape died. Then the Council of Justice (DOJ) came knocking.

Outcome: Won the war. Nearly lost the company to antitrust prosecution.

The Council of Justice charged the wizard with using his monopoly power to crush competitors. The trial lasted two years. Gates testified in a now-legendary deposition where he rocked back and forth in his chair, quibbled over the definition of the word "compete," and gave answers so evasive that the judge openly laughed. The wizard was found guilty of monopolistic practices. Microsoft was nearly split in two. It wasn't — but the experience changed Gates. He began to think about legacy.

Outcome: Found guilty. Company survived. Wizard started questioning his alignment.

In the most unexpected character arc since Darth Vader threw the Emperor down a shaft, Gates stepped away from Microsoft and dedicated his remaining centuries to the Gates Foundation. He and Melinda launched campaigns against malaria, polio, and preventable childhood death. He read everything. He funded everything. He became the world's most effective charitable caster, donating over $59 billion — more gold than most dragons hoard in a lifetime. Critics said it was a tax dodge. The millions of children alive because of his mosquito nets did not have a comment.

Outcome: Donated $59B. Saved millions of lives. Still gets called a villain on Twitter.

In 2015, the wizard stood before the realm's leaders and delivered a presentation titled "The Next Outbreak? We're Not Ready." He warned that a respiratory pandemic could kill millions and that the realm had no adequate defenses. The leaders nodded politely and did nothing. Five years later, COVID-19 arrived. The wizard's prediction was so accurate that conspiracy theorists decided he must have caused it. He did not cause it. He had literally made a TED talk about it. Nobody watched it until it was too late.

Outcome: Predicted the pandemic. Was blamed for it. This is the wizard's life now.

After 27 years of marriage, the wizard and his co-cleric Melinda announced their divorce, sending shockwaves through the philanthropy realm. The division of assets was the largest in the history of the realm. The Foundation continued. The book reviews continued. The mosquito nets continued. But the wizard was spotted at social gatherings looking slightly lost, like a man who had optimized every system in the world except the one in his own household. The bards wrote many ballads about this. None of them were kind.

Outcome: Lost half his HP (Happiness Points). Foundation endures.

As the Conjuration Wizard Altman unleashed increasingly powerful AI entities, Gates found himself in a familiar position: the elder wizard who understood both the promise and the peril. He invested in AI research, wrote long blog posts about the risks and opportunities, and gave measured, thoughtful interviews that got approximately 1% of the clicks that Elon Musk's tweets received. He did not mind. He was playing a longer game. He always played a longer game.

Outcome: Published a blog post. The blog post was correct. Nobody shared it.

Official Ruling: Lawful Good

Gates is the clearest Lawful Good in the billionaire D&D universe, but it wasn't always this way. In his Microsoft years, he was arguably Lawful Evil — using monopoly power to crush competitors with the cold efficiency of a chess grandmaster playing against children. The antitrust trial was the turning point. Post-Microsoft Gates is a different character entirely: methodical, generous, focused on preventing disease and death at global scale. He follows rules (Lawful), he gives away his fortune (Good), and he writes book reviews about it (Nerd). The DM ruled Lawful Good with a footnote: "Alignment changed at Level 15. Previous saves may vary."