January 2023: The Tale of the Tower-Breaker
From the windows of Torinhall’s Great Solar:
Window 1: The Tower of Vines
Originally part of the great barrier of thorns which once demarcated the border of the Flowering Court’s domain, the Tower of Vines continued to endure even after the disappearance of its creators. Bereft of the controlling influence of its builders, its tendrils continued to grow uncontrollably, frustrating all attempts to contain it.
For two generations, the tower’s influence expanded, rendering much of the land around it unsuited for settlement. Despite attempts involving fire, magic, and siege engines, the tower itself remained impervious to any serious harm.
Window 2: Torin Ascends the Tower
Torin of Arnault was a rebellious scion of one of the city’s most powerful merchant houses. Rejecting in turn the roles of dutiful daughter and son, he turned his family’s wealth to adventurous pursuits, and the investigation of the Flowering Court’s remains.
Having made a study of the Tower of Vines, he concluded that its growth was driven by some manner of internal force, and that the tower itself would only be vulnerable from the inside.
Thus, he found a way into the interior of the tower- where no human had ventured before – and began his search.
Window 3: Torin Breaks the Heart of the Tower
After three days of searching, Torin’s efforts were rewarded by the discovery of a pulsating red crystal, set at near the the highest point of the tower’s interior. Over the course of another week of careful ascent, he was able to bring the crystal within reach of a heavy warhammer.
At first, the crystal proved highly resistant to his blows, but after an hour of near-constant battering, it finally began to chip. However, it was only after an afternoon and an evening of heavy blows that its light finally guttered out.
Window 4: Torin Burns the Tower’s Remains, and Raises a Hall
After the crystal heart of the Tower of Vines was destroyed, its outer form began to fall apart almost immediately. With the aid of a team of fast horses, Torin was able to outrun the news of the tower’s fall.
When he returned, it was with a large force of knight assembled by his family’s wealth and influence. With their aid, Torin was able to secure the area once controlled by the Tower of Vines, dispose of the tower’s remains, and raise the fortress that would eventually become the centre of the city of Torinhall.
February 2023: The Cities of the Flowering Court
A Transcript from a Lecture by Dottoressa Professoressa Lucrezia di Pontecorvo, University of Fiore
Dottoressa Professoressa di Pontecorvo:
“How does a city grow?” This is not, if you will excuse me, a metaphorical question, but a literal one. As we have previously discussed, much of the trritory of the mainland was once occupied by a civilisation which called itself the Flowering Court. This name was given by the Concordati who settled the land after the disappearance of this culture, due to the peculiar method in which this people constructed – or rather – did not construct their cities. In essence, it was observed that this Flowering Court did not so much raise cities out of timber and stone as they did grow them from trees and vines and other foilage.
Since the acceptance of this conclusion, the mages and scholars of the Concordat have expended immense amounts of effort in an attempt to understand the basic principles behind this means of city-building – or perhaps city-raising would be the proper term. Would anyone like to hazard a guess as to why? Yes, Maestro Antonelli?
Student:
Because the Concordati are savages who do not understand Mercato’s Principle of Multiplication?
Professora di Pontecorvo:
I regret to inform you, Maestro Antonelli, that the Concordati have, in fact, mastered agriculture – an achievement which, I do believe, makes them more academically advanced than you.
[SCATTERED LAUGHTER]
Professoressa di Pontecorvo:
An answer perhaps less contemptuous of the capabilities of our mainlander cousins, perhaps? Maestra Montileschi?
Another Student:
They wish to understand the principles by which this Flowering Court arranged and ordered their cities in hopes of applying such principles to their own settlements?
Professoressa di Pontecorvo:
A fine guess, but I fear one which does not stand up to a cursory inspection of the Concordat’s own cities. You see, Concordati build their settlements with much the same principles as ours: defensibility, easy of traversal, access to open water, and so on. Their towns would seem very familiar to almost anyone here: tightly-packed houses and shops within curtain walls. The Flowering Court, on the other hand, built based on entirely different principles: you may think of them less as settlements in the conventional sense as individual complexes of dwellings, workshops, and other such edifices, linked together over the forest canopy by long passages. At best guess and based on the evidence recovered by the rare adventurer who does not burn anything they cannot sell, this manner of tree-and-passage network served as a vast layer which covered the whole of the Flowering Court’s territory, which means that in essence, the Flowering Court’s entire territory was made up of one gigantic, linked city.
Yes, Maestro Luccatelli?
Yet Another Student:
Professora, has there been any evidence that the Flowering Court built also on the forest floor?
Professoressa di Pontecorvo:
One Concordati scholar, Gisela of Ambervale, has hypothesised that the tree-spires which we consider the main part of the Flowering Court’s settlement were in fact, merely the organisational and political hubs of their culture, like our own citadels. She has suggested that the bulk of the Flowering Court’s population – those who were not members of the nobility or their servants – lived in a vast carpet of dwellings on the forest floor.
Meanwhile, every other serious scholar studying the Flowering Court has suggested that Gisela of Ambervale see a surgeon about her drinking problem.
[MORE LAUGHTER]
Professoressa di Pontecorvo:
Not to put too fine a point on it, but there is no evidence that the Flowering Court used the forest floor for any manner of serious habitation. There are, of course, signs of their civilisation found in the undergrowths of the forests they left behind, but that signifies little. If one finds the bones of a sparrow buried in a garden, that does not mean sparrows are subterranean.
Another? Yes, Maestro Contarini?
A Fourth Student:
Perhaps they mean to decipher the means by which the Flowering Court was able to defend itself from them? They could use whatever magic that civilisation employed to strengthen their own fortresses and castles, surely?
Professoressa di Pontecorvo:
Yes, now I think perhaps, we are getting close to the root of the matter. You are, I believe, almost correct, but you have framed the question too narrowly.
[THE PROFESSORESSA PRODUCES A STRANGE, GNARLED SHAPE WHICH APPEARS TO BE A SINGLE PIECE OF WOOD. UPON CLOSER INSPECTION, IT BECOMES CLEAR THAT THE SHAPE IS ACTUALLY TWO PIECES OF WOOD, SO CLOSELY INTERTWINED AS TO BECOME ALMOST ONE.]
Professora di Pontecorvo:
This, is one of the few pieces of the Flowering Court’s architecture which has been recovered relatively intact and without being distorted by the forces which caused that culture’s disappearance. It has been classed, somewhat euphemistically, as a ‘mating piece.’
[A PAUSE]
Professora di Pontecorvo:
I understand some of you in this lecture are from the College of Alchemy, and are thus unfamiliar with the term, so allow me to explain. ‘Mating’ is a practise which two or more creatures may perform when they are attracted to each other…
[UPROARIOUS LAUGHTER]
Professoressa di Pontecorvo:
Now, I am going to pass this piece around, examine it carefully, and note two things.
[A PAUSE]
Professora di Pontecorvo:
First, note how tightly the two pieces fit together, without use of martar, glue, nails, or lashing. A master crafter could not create a joint this perfect and with such tolerances, yet these two pieces simply fit together, like the pieces of a puzzle.
Secondly, I would like you to notice the slight marks on the surface of both pieces. Those are marks made by a felling axe, with which the adventurer who retrieved this piece first attempted to sever this joint. At the risk of stating the obvious, I would point out that heavy two-handed blows by a good steel axe have barely even scratched the surface of the wood.
[ANOTHER PAUSE]
Professoressa di Pontecorvo:
I would also like you to keep two things in mind. Firstly, that these joints were strong enough to bind together all of the Flowering Court’s tree-spires, constructions which could be hundreds of paces apart. These joints would not only have to resist the forces of wind and the tension caused by the movements of large plants which we know could grow to immense size, but also the weight of the passages themselves, which might have been equivalent to the weight of five or ten large galleys.
Second, I would like you to remember that these joints and the passages which they connected were not built, but grown. These structures were not made of dead and inanimate material, but still-living components, ones which could not only grow further and reinforce themselves, but heal from damage. Were that joint in your hands still alive, it might have easily healed from the marks which the adventurer’s axe made over a course of days, if not hours – which was why the Flowering Court’s defenses and constructions were so difficult to breach when their inhabitants still lived.
Now consider our own society, and all the things which we must build with wood and stone and iron. Think of their strengths and weaknesses. Now, imagine material stronger than iron, as light as wood, and with the solidity of stone. Imagine it could be joined together with other pieces so tightly that it might seem like a single block, all without the use of tools or magic or fasteners. Imagine ships that can plug their own leaks, fortress walls which can repair their own damage, lances and arrows which can be grown like wheat, and buildings which could be made higher and lighter and more sturdy than any we could possibly imagine.
[A LONG, ALMOST REVERENT SILENCE]
Professoressa di Pontecorvo:
So you see, Maestro Antonelli, it would be unwise to call the Concordati savages. And if they ever find out the secret behind how the Flowering Court grew their cities – which, I suspect, they eventually will – it would be even unwiser still.
March 2023: The Path of Care
I have seen them in the sanctuaries of stone,
mending cuts and bruises and broken limbs.
I have seen them work healing with naught but faith,
and ask to be paid only what might be afforded,
even if all that can be given is faith in return.
And all revere them as they walk past,
for they walk the path of care.
I have seen them in their great surgeries,
their tables strewn with brass and leather.
I have seen them restore the broken bodies,
with pin-point precision and iron magics,
and win them reputations as workers of miracles.
And all revere them as they walk past,
for they walk the path of care.
I have seen them on their sand-strewn courtyards,
as they carry the stricken from one world to another.
As they guide the dying into eternity,
and carry them into the burning sands,
to let the desert embrace them.
And all revere them as they walk past,
for they walk the path of care.
I have seen them walk the wild paths,
beyond where even the Gods do not dare tread.
Who bring the hope of the healer’s light
up the most turblent and frothy rill,
and along the longest and narrowest road.
And all revere them as they walk past,
for they walk the path of care.
I have seen them in the sea of canvas tents,
and marching in column behind the reed flutes.
As blades flash beneath the Sultana’s banners,
to bestow life, rather than to steal it away,
and to cut the boundaries between decay and renewal.
And though some look askance as they walk past,
they walk the path of care.
I have seen them in the under-grown halls,
as they go surrounded by the dead.
With torch in hand, they care for those long gone,
to remind those left behind that one’s memory
does not end with their death.
And though some look askance as they walk past,
they walk the path of care.
I have seen them in their sea-smelling laboratories,
with great copper tables stained green with time.
With scalpel and probe, lens and spell,
they open up the bodies of the volunteer dead,
to better serve those who heal the living.
And although others look away as they walk past,
they too, walk the path of care.
And I have seen them pick over the fields of death,
with cloth over their mouths and tears in their eyes.
To do the things which all say must be done,
the things which when come the moment of necessity,
no others seem able to do.
And although others look away as they walk past,
they too, walk the path of care.
April 2023: Creeds and Cults Pt 1
One does not go a day without feeling the influence of the Divine Court in our lives. True, it is the Watchers and Judges who act and observe and record and render judgements in its name, but their influence goes far beyond that. Peasants, knights, and nobles alike swear their oaths by them to seal their agreements. Crafters invoke them to guide their hands, and when things go very poorly or very well, it is the Divine Court which receives thanks, or condemnation.
Yet what are the Divine Court, exactly?
Ask some, and they will tell you that the Divine Court is a panel of magistrates,sitting up above as our own rulers do below. They see them as richly appointed patricians, old bearded wise men, majestic women, sitting before a bench with badges of office. That is how they recreate them, in carvings, in paintings, in icons of stone and wood and canvas, in an attempt to ape the divine with the implements of the mundane. To such people, the Divine Court are themselves little more than human – larger than life, perhaps, but still very much within the reference of human understanding, of human comprehension, of human scale.
But that is the simpleton’s answer.
Ask others, and they will say that the Divine Court is a fiction, intended by those with power to keep those without content in the way they live. They argue that as a result of the Divine Court’s presence in the lives and thoughts of the peasant and the labourer, the noble and the knight are safe in their positions. That if the high born are asked by the low why some must sleep on straw and others on feathers, they may simply declare that the Divine Court willed it, and thus it must be so. For those who think only in the laws of mortals, and have no wonder or curiosity in their hearts, such an explanation must seem convenient, sound, perhaps even unassailable.
Yet that is the cynic’s answer.
As for the true answer, that is both something simple to explain, yet difficult to grasp.
Take a piece of wood, and put it in a barrel full of water. Then, take a piece of coal and do the same. The wood floats, and the coal sinks. Why? They are both hard materials which are capable of being split by iron, they both grow from the ground, they both catch fire when lit. Yet despite all these similarities, when they are placed in a body of water, they behave entirely differently. When confronted with such an observation, the curious cannot help but wonder. Why? Why does coal sink and wood float? Why does iron bend and glass shatter? Why does grass grow only in sun? Why does the sound of thunder come a moment after the flash of lightning? And who decides such things? There, you will find the influence of the Divine Court – for the laws they determine are not of kingdoms and duchies, but those of the very universe itself.
And make no mistake, these laws are tested, these judgements are deliberated upon and ruled through. Every time a crafter hammers an iron nail into a wooden beam, he relies upon the Divine Court’s ruling that iron is harder than wood. Every time a hunter drives an arrow into the neck of a deer, she relies on the Divine Court’s ruling that a creature cannot breathe without a throat. Every time a child is born with the same hair colour as their parents, it is because of the Divine Court’s ruling that such must be so. All things in our world are determined by such rulings, and our own understanding of his world, of the rocks and trees, of the rivers and deserts, are merely the imperfect observations we have made on the rulings which the Court has passed down. All our knowledge is merely the shadow of that which the Divine Court passes down.
Yet that does not mean that the Court’s rulings are pitiless, or even final. The Divine Court is not just the power of nature, but that of will and thought. It is ultimately a thing of reason, as our mortal world is ultimately a thing of reason. Although our understanding of its rulings are imperfect, we still retain the right to examine, question, even argue against the laws with the Divine Court has passed down. Such is the true nature of the arts of magic, for those who work the magical disciplines are ultimately more lawyer than crafter. Through years of study, they seek to understand the laws and rulings of the Divine Court, and through these understandings, deliver their arguments before the most powerful and august of judges. That the Court deigns to listen is perhaps a sign of their patience and benevolence, that the Court often accepts the arguments delivered and makes exceptions in the laws which they decree can only prove that they are no mere figments of metaphor or abstract principle, but very real in their power, their intelligence, and their infinite capacity for reason.
Of course, this does not mean that they are our servants, any more than we are theirs. It may be possible to argue a case before the Divine Court, but that does not mean it is easy to convince them. Through the centuries, every mage has found that it is a simple thing to ask for a trivially favourable interpretation of the the Divine Court’s laws, but another thing entirely to request a more substantial change. To argue such a case successfully might take the whole of even an experienced mage’s power, and even then there is no guarantee that the ruling passed down will be wholly to their satisfaction. Here again is proof of that the laws of the universe bear the imprint of the Divine Court’s seal – for if such laws were not theirs, why would they scrutinise and resist those attempts to alter them so readily and sternly?
Yet let it not be forgotten that such alterations are always exceptions, never the rule. A law of existence may be defied, even changed for a time, but never on a universal scale, and never permanently. Were the foundations of existence otherwise, then the acts of mages would have long since undone the strings which hold existence together. No, the will of a mage may change the single case of a law of the Divine Court for a moment, or an hour, or perhaps even for centuries, but the change of such a case does not serve as precedent for others, and although the patience and strength of a powerful mage may last long, the universe itself will surely outlast it. We need only look towards the ruins of the Iron Marches to see that even the most powerful magic eventually fades and collapses. It may take days, months, or even ages, but the laws of the Divine Court always reassert themselves, and enjoin us to live by its precepts.
And now at last we come to our own role, that of those who watch the world around us, seeking insights into the rulings of the Divine Court, and those who do all we may to ensure that such laws are followed not only amongst the forces of nature, but of those of people as well.
This, ultimately, is our charge and our mandate: to examine the interplay of the natural world to better intuit the details of the Divine Court’s rulings, and then to use that knowledge to apply such laws as best we can to the communities which we observe, supervise, and serve. When we observe the natural world and see that creatures of the forest live longer and more happily when they are uninjured, we apply the same ruling to those around us. It is for that reason that we heal ailments and injuries within our Sanctuaries. Likewise, we see that those beasts who move and live in groups will assist each other. When one lacks food, the others will feed it. When one lacks shelter, others will make room for it. Thus we attempt to follow such rulings for our own groups, providing charity when it keeps the poor from starvation, and labour to raise roofs over those who have none.
Thus it could be said that we are instruments of the Divine Court, enforcing their rulings in the world of mortals as they do in the world of nature. Yet it ought to be remembered that we are imperfect instruments at best – and that although we may benefit from generations of accumulated knowledge based on our observations of the Divine Court’s rulings, such knowledge remains the work of imperfect human eyes, recorded by imperfect human hands, and recalled by imperfect human lips.
But this too, is our charge and our mandate. To keep our eyes open, to continue observing the rulings of the Divine Court, and to correct ourselves should we find their laws more complex and more nuanced than we have once assumed.
May 2023: The Vagrant’s Handbook to Socially Acceptable Graverobbing
INTRODUCTION: THE POOR FELLOW’s ERRANTRY
Knight-Errants, we’ve all looked up to them once. Every decent children’s story seems to have one, all done up in surcoat and maille, sword in one hand shield in the other, righting wrongs, fighting injustices, and otherwise being heroic. We’ve all thought what that might have been like, smiting evil, parading down the street under a cloud of rose petals, getting kisses from fair lads and maidens, all very fine stuff.
Well, I’m afraid I have some really bad news: you’re probably never going to be a Knight-Errant. That shining maille and that carefully sharpened sword doesn’t come from anywhere. It has to be paid for, which means you either need to come from a big rich family or be really close to someone who does. If you’re reading this book in the first place, then those criteria probably don’t apply to you, which is a shame.
But don’t let that stop you! Although the glittering life of a Knight-Errant from the poems and ballads may be out of your reach, you can still rectify one injustice: the fact that you were born too poor to achieve the heroic reputation you so clearly deserve. Within this guidebook are some well-worn and reliable pieces of advice to make that adventurous spirit of yours good for something other than daydreaming about might-have beens! Noble blood and rich parents may count for a lot in this world, but so do guts, determination, and using your head. This book might not make you the hero of any heroic ballads, but it just might keep you keep you alive – and a few silver pennies ahead.
You might never be able to achieve those childhood dreams of being a Knight-Errant, but with enough courage, luck, and the advice of this volume, you might just be able to make your children or younger siblings will.
1: FIRST STEPS
First things first. Before you start thinking about how you’re going to become rich and famous, you need to think about how to be not-dead. Far too many adventurers meet their ends when they go off on their first expedition and bite off far more than they can chew. The key to not joining them is knowing your limits, and the only way to know your limits is to test them – preferably in a place where failing won’t get you killed.
That means practise: find a safe place to do that. Climb up and down a tree on the outskirts of your village to see how far up you can get. Have a friend (or an enemy) throw rocks at you to see how many you can dodge, and how clearly you can think while some knave is throwing rocks at you. Figure out how good you are at navigating by landmarks in a forest near your home. Practise navigating by the stars, but only to the tavern and back. Once you figured that out, then it’s time to try something a little more complicated, maybe a little more risky. A local cave, maybe a Flowering Court ruin that’s already been cleared for generations. Get a few tastes of risk and danger – just not enough for a fatal dose.
2: FINDING AN ANGLE
Now that you have some idea of what you are and aren’t capable of, it’s time to find a location for your first big score. Now, it’s usually a good idea to at least have a general idea of where you’re going before you set off. Sure, you could just wander off into the Sorcerous Wilds with a pack full of supplies and hope you find something worth exploring, but you’re far more likely to find nothing, get lost, and get eaten by some kind of wild animal – probably not what you had in mind when you were thinking about “adventure”.
So, it’s usually best to do some reading ahead of time. Most of the major cities in the Concordat have archives which might give some ideas when it comes to ruins worth exploring. There’s private collections belonging to the families of past adventurers too, those are always good places to start.
A word of warning here: there are definitely some sorts of places you want to avoid exploring. For example, some noble houses use former Flowering Court ruins as vaults for their own treasure – the Ducal House of Kendrickstone most prominently. Unless you want a lot of angry people with very sharp weapons after you, definitely avoid exploring those ruins. Likewise for ruins that seem too inviting: ones marked unexplored close to cities or the main roads or the coast. Chances are, there’s a good reason nobody’s finished exploring them.
Ultimately, your best bet for a starting expedition is a minor ruin which has been marked, but not yet explored, far from the well-traveled parts of the world. In theory, that means a ruin that was probably beneath the notice of a more better-equipped adventuring party – which means there’s probably still some useful loot inside.
3: DRESSING FOR NON-FAILURE
Another reason to know more or less where you’re going before you set out is that this means you know exactly what to pack for the occasion. Going north? Get yourself a fur-lined cloak and a decent set of warm stockings. Going south? A light cloak and a wide-brimmed hat will keep the sun and the dust out, and an extra water-skin or two might literally save your life. Headed into the forest? Bring a few snares so you don’t have to carry all of your own food with you. Headed for the plains? Bring a sling or a bow. They might be more useful on open ground.
Which brings us to another point: weapons. Now, you’re probably thinking a sword or the like, but swords are expensive – chances are, if you can afford a decent sword, you don’t really need this guide. A heavy iron-tipped staff or cudgel might serve your needs – and your coinpurse better. A short spear is usually a good option too, though in either case, you’ll want a long knife or a hatchet to chop firewood and clear brush.
There’s other pieces of equipment you definitely don’t want to consider too: an arbalest, for example, might seem like a good backup plan – until you remember that it takes half a minute to reload. A pike or a hunting spear might keep your enemy at bay, but it’s also something you’ll have to lug around everywhere you go. Same goes for a big shield or heavy armour. You’re better off keeping a hand free – and if you’re ever in a situation where you really need a shield, you’re probably done for anyhow.
On the other hand, there’s a few things you probably should bring along: flint, steel, torches, some dry food that will keep for a long time, a bedroll, bandages, some way to boil water, and enough money to get you where you’re going and back.
And rope, always rope. Never leave without a good solid length of rope. If you can’t take anything else, bring rope. It can basically serve as a substitute for everything else I’ve just mentioned – even the food, if you’re desperate enough.
4: ON THE ROAD
In the stories, Knight-Errants often travel alone, but as we’ve already established you’re not a Knight-Errant. Brigands and bandits see a big professional soldier in maille atop a giant warhorse and they think “better find an easier target.” They see you, walking along or riding a mule, and they think “this idiot’s going to be paying for my drinks for the next month.” Travel in a group, trading caravans usually go between major towns, and peasants usually go as a group between market towns and their villages because they don’t want to be easy targets either. Get yourself a spot in one of those groups, pay them if you have to, just don’t travel alone until the last possible minute.
Speaking of paying for things, you’ll also want to stop at inns and the like whenever possible. Sure, you might have a couple days of rations and a bedroll, but those you should be saving for when you go off the road. The key is to get to that point with you and your equipment and supplies in as good a condition as possible – because there won’t be any inns waiting for you when you go into the wilds. Better to have a reserve of food in your pack then than to have eaten it all on the way there for the sake of saving a few pennies.
5: OFF THE ROAD
Eventually, you’re going to have to get off the road and into the untamed wilderness to start the last leg of your journey. Generally speaking, you want to do this as close to your destination as possible. The kind of distance you can travel in a day on a road could take four or five in the wilderness, so unless there’s an actual mountain in the way between the shortest route from the road to your destination, it’s always best to spend a bit of extra time on the road.
Once you’re off the road however, there are no signposts or directions. It becomes really easy to get lost. Check your orientation based on the position of the sun, the growth of lichen on the trees, and the position of the stars regularly. Leave markings on trees or in the ground as you go, and make sure you can see two of those marks at any given time – so you’ll know if you’re still going in a straight line or not. When you make camp, take the time to check the direction you’re facing again, then make sure the area you plan on sleeping in isn’t right on top of some wild animal’s den. Light a fire, that’ll scare off most predators. If you can, hang your pack from a tree branch to keep it out of reach of scavengers.
And whatever you do, don’t camp on top of any ancient stone circles. There’s a reason why all the stories involving that sort of thing usually ends with the words “and they were never seen again.”
6: GETTING IN
Well, here we are, the whole reason you picked up this book in the first place. I’m sure you’re already imagining it now: a bold expedition into the deepest darkness, dodging deathtraps and strange sorcerous creatures, vaulting over great chasms and evading ancient magic just like in the stories you’ve been told since you were a kid.
Well uh, don’t.
The reason those stories become so popular is because of the danger in them, and that kind of mortal peril only happens when something as gone horribly wrong. “Our hero went in, found a load of great loot, and got out safely” doesn’t quite have the same sort of dramatic flair that sorcerous lightning and angry walking mountains do, but they’re also far less likely to leave you a nasty smear on the floor.
If you’ve been paying attention through the rest of this guidebook, then hopefully, you haven’t chosen the kind of ruin with deathtraps and feral magical creatures in the first place. Remember, the Flowering Court were a lot like us, if we were long-lived, complete masters over magic, and extinct. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the ruins they’ve left behind aren’t arcane laboratories or magical forges, but places to sleep, eat, work, and play. They’ll be no more likely to have a death trap over their door than someone would over the front door of their cottage, or the lid over their privy.
Of course, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be careful. Just because you’re probably not going into one of those ruins from the stories doesn’t mean you can be sure. Always open doors with something that isn’t your hand. Avoid raised stones or strange protrusions in the floor, never stick anything you don’t want to lose inside strange holes or openings. Keep a lit torch or a lamp on you at all times, and never go so far deep into a ruin that you can’t see the exit. If you’ve reached a point where you’re two hundred paces in and you still see passages stretching off into the darkness, then turn back, and leave that mess for someone else with more equipment, and more expendable friends.
Now, I’m sure this has gotten a lot of your worried. You were thinking that you’d be carrying home bags full of magic swords and ancient spellbooks, and glowing rocks that make you live forever. But don’t despair! Just because your loot is likely to be mundane doesn’t mean it won’t be profitable. Even the most mundane Flowering Court object is a unique artifact which has never been replicated, and that alone means that what you find is likely worth putting in your bag for later sale.
Assuming you can get back to town alive.
7: GETTING OUT
Okay, so you’ve found your way to the ruin you were looking for, you’ve found your way in, and you’ve even found some decent loot. The hard part’s done, right?
Well, no, not really. That just means you’re face-to-face with the most difficult challenge of all: knowing when to quit when you’re ahead.
See, when you’re putting all that loot in to your pack, it becomes too easy only to think about how much money it’s going to make you, and what you’re going to spend all that money on. Don’t do that. Instead, think about what it’d feel like to haul that loot across every stream, over every hill, and down every ravine you’ve passed to get here. Now imagine hauling that down the road by yourself as you try to make your way to the nearest settlement. All that loot isn’t just going to be exhausting to carry, but it’s also going to slow you down, making it so it’ll take longer to get back than it took to get there. Sure, your haul might not be as valuable it could be if you stick to small, relatively light items – but you can only spend money while you’re alive – and you can always make a second trip to pick up the stuff you left behind the first time. If you’re really attached to it, you could always bury that extra loot in a marked cache close by – just so long as you aren’t carrying it all the way back.
Travel light, travel carefully, and whatever you do, don’t tell anyone where you’ve been or what you have on you until the very moment you’re ready to start selling it.
CONCLUSION: WHAT NOW?
So, you’ve made it back to town, with your hide intact, and more importantly, with a pack full of loot. How do you turn that loot into silver, gold, and drinks?
First of all: Court Mages. Most of them collect Flowering Court artifacts as a matter of course, and because their budget comes from their patron, that means they’re willing to spend more money to get a first look at them. On top of that, because most of them are experts, they’ll know right away that the loot you’ve brought them is genuine, so they won’t try to knock pennies off the price by insinuating that they might be fake. If you’ve been honest, then they’ll know you’re being honest, and they’ll offer you probably the best price you’re likely to get.
Second, rich merchants and aristocrats, and other people with more money than sense. These kinds of folks love displaying exotic ancient artifacts in their houses. They think it makes them look sophisticated and scholarly, or that it implies they had a famous ancestor who got them all this stuff. They don’t really care about how authentic a piece is, just that it looks authentic. Of course, they’re also actually spending their own money, so they’ll try to haggle – or send someone to haggle for them. Don’t worry too much about weaselling every last penny from them. Even a Flowering Court inkwell can easily sell for the price of an entire Fiorentine desk. You’re better off having a few rich idiots who think you’re a good and cheap source of useful conversation pieces than a few coins and a bunch of powerful enemies who think you’ve cheated them.
If you still can’t find a buyer after exhausting those two sources, only then should you start to look elsewhere: guild halls, traders, other professionals who might be able to sell your haul for a profit somewhere else.
Of course, all that gold and silver is going to be heavy. Your first thought is probably going to be to get rid of as much of it as you can. This is a mistake. Do that, and you’ll quickly end up poorer than you were to begin with. What you want to do is to invest that money carefully, in a way which will keep it out of the hands of pickpockets and brigands, and in a place where it’ll work for you.
How do you do that? Well, you can start by buying my next guidebook: A VAGRANT’S GUIDE TO AFFORDABLE SOCIAL-CLIMBING, wherever fine (or at least affordable) books are sold!
June 2023: Lost Colonies
From the Files of an Assessor of the Iron League
Settlement Name: Low Rapids (Case 45)
Location: Second cataract of the Rustflow Rush, approximately six days out from Montfort along the Iron Road.
Established: Approximately fourteen years ago, at the behest of Master Florian, of the Furrier’s Guild of Arnault – with the permission and endorsement of League Councilors R. of Kendrickstone, W. of Torinhall, L. of Rider’s End.
Purpose: Settlement was intended to exploit seam of coal discovered in nearby hills. For this reason, a trail was cut from the Iron Road to an appropriate location for a settlement. Brush cleared for several marginal fields deemed sufficient to feed the necessary mining force. Market square, workers’ quarters, homesteads for farmers, mining office, and hostel for visitors duly established. Sanctuary planned, but Watcher never took up residence.
Population (at height): Approximately 80, split evenly between miners and their families, and homesteaders and the same. Representative from Iron League and Furrier’s Guild both present.
Reason for Abandonment: Coal seam proved more shallow and more difficult to exploit than expected. After eight seasons without meaningful return, site was deemed unprofitable by mutual agreement betwixt Furrier’s Guild and Iron Council. Support was thus duly withdrawn.
Case Status: Resolved. Miners have moved on. Remaining assets divided and sold, with proceeds split between Iron League and Furrier’s Guild as per previous contract. Approximately a dozen homesteads still remain on land.
Settlement Name: Mcmill’s Bluff (Case 51)
Location: Rise over the former course of the Silver Stream, approximately two weeks out from Montfort along the Iron Road.
Established: Unknown, time of establishment predates the imposition of order or construction of the Iron Road. Local sources claim that settlement was founded by freeholder and adventurer by the name of MacKay of Amberhelm at some point approximately one hundred and twenty years ago, although such sources are obviously suspect and cannot be fully verified.
Purpose: According to local sources (see previous qualifications), the settlement was founded primarily around a large water mill founded by the aforementioned Mackay of Amberhelm. This mill served local homesteads, and eventually became the centre of a sizeable settlement. Services included several unguilded crafters, a trade office representing the regional interests of the League, and a full Sanctuary with Watcher in residence. Name of the settlement derived from gradual shortening of “The Village Atop Mackay’s Mill’s Bluff” over the course of multiple generations.
Population (at height): Approximately 250, mostly crafters and their families, or local homesteads considered resident within the settlement for administrative purposes.
Reason for Abandonment: Emergence of Silverspur Horror (Case 50) caused severe flooding of the Silver Stream, resulting in mill no longer being viable due to shifting of stream. Settlement gradually disbanded as homesteaders began seeking alternative facilities elsewhere along the Iron Road.
Case Status: Active. Iron League representatives have secured most of the remaining assets within the region, and are now seeking to either repurpose them to new ends, or relocate them to more profitable areas. Only remaining resistance to such measures derives from descendants of Mackay of Amberhelm, who are pursuing litigation in Montfort.
Last Respite (Case 58)
Location: Approximately three days’ travel west of the end of the Iron Road, in territory mostly unexplored and uncharted.
Established: Unknown, purportedly some time in the past thirty or forty years. Last Respite was an unofficial settlement mostly made up of those in the Iron Marches harbouring long-term disaffection with the presence and policy of the Iron League. As a result, records regarding its characteristics were either never made avaliable to the Iron League, or were never composed in the first place.
Purpose: Last Respite served as a haven for those elements of society which disagreed strongly with the order imposed along the Iron Road by the League. As a result, it became a gathering-place for vagrants, disaffected former labourers, and other ne’er-do-wells. While allegations that the settlement had been used as a base by bandits have been common over the course of the settlement’s existence, these accusations could never be substantiated with the degree of certainty needed to justify the expense of a sufficiently equipped expedition to restore order.
Population (at height): Unknown. Much of the settlement’s population was transient or seasonal. Eyewitness accounts vary between 150 to 300 at any given time.
Reason for Abandonment: Unknown. Travelling merchants customarily serving the settlement reported to nearest authorities that the settlement had been found wholly abandoned. Evident signs of violent struggle had been discovered in the outskirts of the settlement, and several outlying homesteads had been found burned and laid waste. Discarded weapons and fired arbalest bolts in great abundance, as well as approximately three dozen bodies too damaged to identify.
Case Status: Closed. After a comprehensive investigation, the Iron Council has concluded that the inhabitants of Last Respite have been the victims of a great misfortune resulting from their close collaboration with criminal elements, lax attitude towards brigandage, and unwillingness to cooperate with agents of the League. As a result, the Iron League bears no responsibility for the disappearance of the settlement’s population. However, to prevent further such incidents, the Iron Council has adopted a more proactive policy regarding unofficial and unauthorised settlements within the Deep Marches.
July 2023: An Land of Obscene Criminals (and also Bandits)
A Land of Obscene Criminals (And Also Bandits)
The Iron Marches! A land of opportunity! A lad of freedom! A land for the brave and the enterprising to make their own fortunes, or so they would tell you. Well, let me tell you something different. I have been to the iron Marches. I have travelled up and down the Iron Road, visited every little settlement and town, and I will say this: the statements are accurate, to a degree. The Iron Marches surely are a land of opportunity – to be robbed of everything you own. A land of freedom – to be exploited and treated no better than an animal. A land for the brave and the enterprising, for you would have to be both to put up with the constant suspicion and hostility of the wretched, greedy, vicious, and small-minded miscreants which call it home.
“Yes, of course,” you reply. “The Iron Marches have a bandit problem, we’re all aware of that”. And yes, that part is very true. The Iron Marches do have a bandit problem. It’s the reason why most travellers go in groups, even along the Iron Road. It’s why every little settlement has its own militia and tall fence around its perimeter, and why every inhabitant carries a long knife and a stout club when they go out of doors, even if it is just to relieve themselves. Travel the Iron Road alone for any period of time, and you’ll run into bandits soon enough: ragged, glaring sorts who will point and prod you with spears and axes demanding your valuables. Usually, it’s a good idea to give them over: bandits won’t attack travellers unless they’re absolutely sure that those travellers will make for easy enough targets.
Yet the bandits are almost the most hospitable of the Iron Road’s people. Make a pitiable enough of a scene, and they will let you keep a few pieces of silver for yourself. Show that you have nothing, and some of them will even share a little of their own spoils for you, before asking if you would like to join them. Show yourself to be wearing armour, or a sword, or travel in the company of those who are, and they will even go so far as to politely step aside, and apologise for the intrusion. For folk with no permanent homes, no families, and no regular craft, they are remarkably solicitous, especially to those whom they see as fellow vagabonds and members of those parts of society dispossessed by bad luck.
No, the real thieves are not those lacking home or work or family, but those with all three. The danger comes not when you are on the Iron Road, but when you step off of it, past the gates, and into the dirty, rutted streets of one of those little towns or settlements which string themselves across the length of the road like pieces of rancid meat along a skewer. When you travel the Iron Road, it is not the bandits, but the “honest” folk you need to fear.
“But how could that be true?” I can already hear you asking. “The people of the Iron Marches keep close communities. They have to trust each other to ensure their settlements survive against a hostile environment!”
All of that is very true. The folk of the Iron Marches would lay down their lives for their family members, their friends, and their neighbours. They would saw off their own foot to feed a starving friend, and if another in their village finds themselves in trouble, the whole wretched settlement will come out to help them in any way they can. All that is very true, I have seen it for myself. The smaller settlements of the Iron Road are more like extended families in their own right, always willing to help, never afraid to make whatever sacrifices necessary to ensure the well-being of others of their village.
But you aren’t of their village, are you? No. When you show up to their little collection of cottages, you’re a stranger, and as far as they’re concerned, that makes you less than a farm animal to them: a wretched waste of space here to take up their bedding, eat their food, and cause trouble for their little community. At best, you will be an inconvenience. At worst, a mark. They will seek every opportunity to remind you that you aren’t welcome in their little world, and they will take every chance to swindle you out of everything you own, just to make up for the inconvenience they seem to think you pose them. If they do offer you food and drink, it will be at five times a reasonable price. If they offer you tools or clothing which would normally cost silver elsewhere, they will invariably demand gold. To negotiate for a place to sleep in such places is something very much akin to robbery – for if you do not pay for the nominal protection of someone’s yard or barn, you will almost certainly find yourself waking up with your pockets and pouches picked clean in the morning.
Yet for all of their suspicion and greed and cruelty, these wretched creatures are only the most petty of the criminals which infest the Iron Road. No, that becomes clear enough when one sees the fruits of their criminality: trinkets for a miserable little cottage, enough money for a spare cloak, or pair of boots. How can such folk compare at all to those grand criminals who do not rob individuals, but entire peoples? Those whose profits purchase them not a few baubles or a mangy sheep, but an entire city, all under their direct control? Whatever the people of the Iron Road do as individuals, the Iron League does on a grand scale. Where villagers and backcountry rogues might sip illicitly from the stream of honest commerce, the Iron League dams up the flow entirely. It is they which make the Marches a land of criminals, for it is through their criminality that they rule over them.
It is often said that the Iron League controls Montfort. One might imagine that they control it the same way a lord might, or the council under them. Yet such bodies will only impose laws and leave the rest to the inhabitants within the walls. The Iron League does not allow for such freedoms. Their control of Montfort would make a Captain-General of Mazzare think of rebellion: every guild within the walls is under their direction. Every tavern and ale shop is run by their underlings. Every workshop and market stall only exists with their leave, takes loans from their bank, and pays them for the pleasure of their protection. Those who do not agree to such terms are quickly convinced otherwise through violence, with no recourse to the watch or the Watchers or body of knights – the Iron League controls them too.
Worse yet, the League’s masters and agents use the criminality of those who live along the Iron Road to reinforce their own. For protection from bandits, one must ride along with a League-sponsored caravan – no others are allowed to ply the road. To accompany such a body is like being locked into a cell with a dozen professional extortionists. Every drop of drink and scrap of food must be paid for. Bedrolls and spots by a campfire incur fees, and if the locals sell you no food and offer you no place to sleep, then you must necessarily pay those fees. Refuse, and you will be thrown out, put at the mercy of the perilous wilds and the bandits which inhabit them – who may in fact give you the only reasonably humane welcome you will ever encounter in the Iron Marches.
So, my friend, don’t listen to the stories – or better yet, do. Listen to those stories, and keep in mind that they are falsehoods intended to sway the gullible and romantic. Keep listening to those stories, enjoy them, but do it in the familiar tavern of your hometown, and never set foot in the real Iron Marches. Your feet, your coinpurse, and your sense of faith in others will thank you for it.
September 2023: Woe to the Tyrant!
WOE TO THE TYRANT – A DENOUNCEMENT
Of the Crimes of the Citizen Frederico d’Ortensia:
Who has through high corruption and low cunning, has been acknowledged as DOGE of the SERENE REPUBLIC, though he has long since forfeited any claim to that title due his unpardonable offenses.
Who has committed crimes against the PEOPLE of the city, the integrity of the SERENE REPUBLIC, and the PEACE of all the world.
Who has inflicted, through his AVARICE, suffering upon the defenceless, war upon the peaceable, suspicion among those of good faith, terror among the innocent, and repaid honesty with faithlessness, charity with cruelty, and love of the public good with narrow-minded ambition.
Who would see himself addressed as “Conqueror”, but whom we now denounce as TYRANT, DESPOT, MURDERER, THIEF, and TRAITOR.
HIS CRIMES AGAINST THE REPUBLIC
When a Doge is elected to the chair of the Republic, they are expected to serve for life. Yet to allow such a figure to hold power and remain immune to any form of censure or recall would make them no better than a King. The people of Fiore hold the right to impeach our Doges for the same reason we elect them in the first place: to keep them responsible to those who they hold power over, and to ensure that they will ever make judgement in the interests of the Republic’s citizens.
See now how the Tyrant has corrupted that sacred covenant of responsibility. Thrice now, responsible citizens of the Republic have sought to bring the Despot to justice for his crimes, to make him face the consequences of his vile actions, and to ensure that he will be stripped of the power to commit yet more egregious offences. Yet thrice now, he has responded not by respecting the laws and agreements which are intended to bind us all as equal citizens, but through treachery. Instead of allowing the people to decide his fate, he has riled up masses of hired thugs to force the result of every vote of impeachment leveled against him. He has used force of arms to achieve through threats and cudgels what he was barred from doing by law.
By resorting to such actions, he has broken faith with the very basic principles of the Republic and proclaimed to all with ears to hear and eyes to see that he rules not as a legitimate captain of this city’s people, but as nothing more than a base despot. In doing so, he steals the rights of the citizens of Fiore, fouls the dignity of the office he claims, and betrays not only our Republic of flesh and blood and stone, but the very guiding principles of its foundation.
HIS CRIMES AGAINST PEACE
Now we are left with the question of how the Tyrant has been able to pay for such machinations, when it is known by all that he had expended almost all of his fortune in campaigning for the office of Doge in the first place. Here too, the answer is known by all: through soiling the reputation of the Serene Republic in lands across the sea, in turning his back against th traditions of our noble city and its illustrious forebears; in making our august and noble banners – which have ever stood for peace and friendship and alliance between lands – into a symbol of hatred, conquest, and cruel aggression.
Always have the people of the Serene Republic sought peace and commerce with the peoples of the West. Always, we have come as traders and scholars and envoys to them, bearing gifts and treaties. Yet to preserve his own power and refill his own coffers, the Despot comes to these foreign lands instead bearing the sword, with no intentions but pillage and despoilation. For years, he has ravaged the coastlands of the east with hired blades and his armed lackeys, cruelly oppressing those who live there, stealing all that they own through force, and killing those who resist with the utmost savagery. He claims the fruits of such vile expeditions as the wages of victory, and lies of mighty enemy hosts vanquished and fortresses brought down.
Yet we have heard or seen no evidence of these great hosts. It is known to all that the coastlands of the west are disunited and poor, that for all their wealth in land, they cannot match the prosperity of our fair Republic. No, in this, the Tyrant only compounds his crimes of assault and larceny with falsehood, like a brigand or a pirate embellishing the difficulty of his crimes to add lustre to his own wretched reputation.
And who will pay for these offenses? The innocent people of the coastlands today – but it will be our children tomorrow, for how will they seek out trade and diplomacy with those who have known our Republic’s banners only as the harbingers of a war fleet? How deaf will all ears be to their diplomacy when all remember Fiore only as a nest of despoilers and pirates? And when those scattered coastland cities do unite, and decide to put an end to the threat which the Tyrant in our midst embodies, what will their armies of retribution find, but a city exhausted and impoverished by the cruel ambitions of he who would claim to be its sovereign?
HIS CRIMES AGAINST THE PEOPLE
But how can this be? How can a war-captain returning from one victorious campaign after another with ship holds filled with loot leave his city poorer than it was before? Where go the gold and silver, the gems and magical artifacts which arrive in the ships of the Tyrant to befoul the waters of the Republic’s harbour?
And here lies perhaps the Tyrant’s greatest crime, for many offenses may be forgiven if they are committed for the good of the people, when they are embarked upon for the enrichment and strengthening of the Republic. Not so, the Tyrant’s actions. The wealth which swells his coffers go not to building almshouses for the poor, or the digging of new canals, or the creation of new parks. They do not go to the creation of new commerce or new allies.
No, instead, the Tyrant’s riches go only to perpetuating the Tyrant’s own vainglory. They go to statues to glorify his form, paintings and tapestries to glorify his visage, and most of all, they go to the instruments of further plunder, to ships, to arbalests, to swords, lances, and the other implements of war, far beyond what is needed for the defence of the Republic. To this, he adds stocks of arms from the Republic’s own arsenals, so that in strengthening his own avaricious expeditions, he weakens the cause of the common good.
And how does he find hands to carry these arms and sail these ships? Not through the levying of the Republic’s own citizens, whom he knows despises him – but through foreign mercenaries and adventurers, from Isonza, Arran, even Mazzare. It is to these strangers which goes the shares of spoil and booty which the Tyrant brings back. By doing so, he impoverishes the Republic, preys upon those who would be the Republic’s allies, and gives strength to those who may one day be the Republic’s enemies. In this, he proves worse than a pirate-king, for even such a disreputable figure would not stoop so low as to plunder his friends to enrich his enemies.
To enrich himself, he weakens the people of the Republic, and in doing so, betrays us twice-fold.
FOR THESE CRIMES, WE, THE PEOPLE OF THE SERENE REPUBLIC OF FIORE, CALL UPON THE IMPEACHMENT OF CITIZEN FREDERICO D’ORTENSIA, NOT BY THE BALLOT, BUT BY THE SWORD!
WOE TO THE TYRANT!
DEATH TO HIS TYRANNY!
OBLIVION TO HIS MEMORY!
October 2023: Creeds and Cults Pt 2
It ought to come as no surprise that the people of the Island-Cities revere the sea. Indeed, the people of Fiore, Mazzare, Arran, and Isonza owe much of their wealth, safety, and prosperity from that great stretch of blue which surrounds the walls of their cities. Through its schools of fish and great water-beasts, the sea nourishes the residents of those cities, and allows them to grow to an extent which the scant farmland available would have never allowed. Without the prevailing winds that blow across the waters, the great merchant houses of Fiore would have never even come close to achieving the wealth they now possess, wealth which is shared one way or another with its rivals and neighbours. Perhaps most of all, the sea serves as a bulwark greater than any curtain wall, a moat wider and more treacherous than anything dug by human hands – one which kept the squabbling and divided Island-cities safe from even the mighty powers of the Flowering Court.
Yet those who make their lives by or on the sea know that the harvest of such boons often exacts a terrible toll. Water-beasts may feed folk, but they just as easily feed on those folk caught within their grasp. The steady winds which carry the lifeblood of commerce can just as easily whip up storms capable of destroying entire convoys of merchant ships – and the great waters which bar the passage of invading armies only speed those of invading fleets.
Given the ability to bestow such great gifts and such terrible curses, it would be all too easy to understand why the people of the Island-Cities see the sea as having a divine and supernatural aspect, and to lavish it with offerings and worship in the hopes that the sea favours them, their families, and their cities in turn.
Yet it would be a misconception to say that the people of the Island-Cities worship the Sea as a God, for such a description brings to mind the idea of a being separate from the world – a master with the mortal realm as its servant. No, instead it is perhaps more accurate to say that the people of the Island-Cities see the sea as the true embodiment of the universe itself, with all other aspects of existence – land, air, trees, animals, even people – as mere ornaments on the skin of the body of the world.
Thus can an Islander’s entire conception of the world be encompassed by the sea, its functions, and its ancillaries. When the sea absorbs rainwater and the outflow of rivers, it drinks. When its waves wash away rock and sand, or when animals and folk drown within its waters, it eats. When pools dry up and evaporate, it sweats. Storms represent the sea’s rage. Calm waters, its placidity. Winds are its outward breath, floes of ice, its extremities, and all other things merely extraneous to its vital functions.
One might note that there is little room at all for land in this reckoning – something which is perhaps understandable for a people who live surrounded by and make their lives from water. To the orthodox believers of the All-Encompassing Sea, land and all those who live upon it are mere parasites who subsist off the sea’s bounty. When humans catch fish from the sea, it is seen as no different from a tick drawing blood from a horse – and likewise, just as a tick which takes too much blood is often swatted away, the rages of the sea are seen as a result of an organism which has grown frustrated by the exactions of the small parasites upon its body – of beings who take from the waters, but give nothing in return.
Thus we come to the main function of the religious strictures and authorities of the Island-Cities – to return to the sea what has been taken, and thus maintain the placidity of the water so that humans may continue to fish, trade, and make war upon its surface. The most important element of this concept of “returning” is that of funerary rites, for a human being is seen as having absorbed the worth of all which they have taken from the sea – every fish eaten, every breath of wind taken, and every drop of fresh water wrested from a rainstorm or stream before it can rejoin the salty lifeblood of the sea. As a result, when that person dies, it becomes a duty to return all of that withheld worth to the sea as if it were a loan repaid – with interest, as is the custom of the Island Cities with such things. Thus, the body is wrapped in canvas and weighted down with iron so that the sea may gain more than what was temporary taken, and thus see the continued existence of humanity upon its surface as a profitable enterprise.
In addition to these fundamental duties, the religious authorities – who are called Wavekeepers in Arran, Seawatchers in Fiore, and Deepwardens in Mazzare – carry on other tasks associated with the sea based on their city of origin. In Fiore, they maintain the city’s many canals and waterways to ensure that the city is never too far removed from the essence of existence in the roiling sea. In Arran and Isonza, they also serve to collect the bones of fish and other discarded material to be returned to the waves. In Mazzare, they alone reserve the right to draw fish from the sea, seeing such work as both a sacred rite, and a convenient way of maintaining control over the city’s supply of food.
Despite these differences however, the religious authorities of all cities, towns, and villages maintain an additional duty, that of currying the favour of the sea by offering onto it gifts and other means of tribute – usually in the forms of heavy metals such as gold and iron. This is seen as a task of utmost importance, for it is believed that such offerings can determine whether a coming season’s sea conditions favour a given community or not. As a result, the quality and the frequency of these offerings are considered the difference between bountiful catches and nothing at all – between a storm to scatter an enemy fleet, or a dead calm to strand a city’s own. As all are believed to benefit from a well-received offering or suffer in the consequence of a paltry one, it is thus considered the responsibility of all in a given community to donate what is required of them. This is again done in different ways depending on the city. Fiore taxes every merchant house based on the number of ships they own. Isonza and Arran maintain harbour and sound tolls, and the Mazzarines are rumoured to simply tax everyone.
Naturally, the resources needed to gather and then offer up such vast amounts of material requires both strong arms to carry it, and sharp blades to compel obedience when necessary. Thus, the governments of each Island-City often work closely with the religious authorities – who in cities like Mazzare are themselves part of the city government. Likewise to ensure that offerings are properly organised and catalogued, the religious officials themselves exist under a strict hierarchy. This, ironically, means that those at the top of such a structure are able to take advantage of the great wealth which flows through their hands, often taking more than is strictly needed to maintain their facilities and priestly orders. However, the history of the Island-Cities is full of the cautionary tales of those priests who thought they could get away with cheating the waves, only to have their city suffer under the fury of an enraged sea.
Thus is described the orthodox and most well-established means by which the people of the Island-Cities revere the sea, but it is not the only one. It is, of course, almost impossible for those who live surrounded by the sea not to consider it a force of great power and significance, how that force is respected and worshipped does differ, especially among isolated communities who live outside regular contact with – and therefore outside the reach of – the authorities which headquarter themselves within major cities.
Most of these differences in worship are relatively minor, and pertain solely to personal conduct. One sect, for example, sees any living thing taken out of the sea as a form of theft which is punishable by the fury of the waves. As a result, they only eat the flesh of fresh-water fish and land animals. Another considers the rivers, lakes, and streams to be just as much a part of the sea’s body as the waves themselves, and thus will only drink from barrels of collected rain water and abjure the flesh of water-beasts entirely. These sects tend to be more strict in their interpretations of proper conduct rather than more lax, for all understand the fundamental danger of inciting the ire of the sea, and no community – especially one small enough and isolated enough to rely on the sea entirely for its existence – is willing to tempt that wrath by testing the limits of the divine water’s patience.
These deviations from orthodoxy are generally tolerated by the authorities as little more than regional idiosyncrasies. So long as the individuals in question continue to give up their contribution for the greater offerings of the season, they are left to worship as they please. Less accepted are those who break with orthodoxy by individually making their offerings to the sea, instead of through the organised apparatus of the religious bureaucracy. Those who adhere to such a practise often claim that an individual’s relationship with the sea is a personal affair. The prevailing opinion does not accept such reasoning. As such separate offerings cannot be recorded and thus cannot be measured, there is always the danger that a village, town, or city as a whole might end up mis-accounting the amount which they have offered up for a season, drawing anger of the sea – and since a storm or a calm or a drought affects entire regions rather than individuals, those who deviate from this norm are seen as those who would harm the whole of the community for the sake of their own heterodox beliefs.
As a result, such dissenters are invariably exiled to far inlets and distant rocks, where they are kept under interdict: to live in solitude or in small communities of like-minded individuals so that the consequences of their heretical beliefs do not bring down the wrath of the sea upon those who still adhere to orthodoxy. Isolated from commerce, from fellowship, and often from even the most tenuous communication, such dissenters rarely last long before they die out or are swallowed up by the waves – something which only serves to reinforce the importance of maintaining organised offerings to those who remain orthodox.
And thus, the current state of affairs continues as it is, with the cities as great bastions of orthodoxy, upheld by both religious and secular power – something which seems unlikely to change so long as the Island-Cities continue to base their fortunes, their sustenance, and their power in war upon the favour of the All-Encompassing Sea.
November 2023: Festivals of the Fledgling Realms
Montfort Day
Most of the festivals celebrated by the various settlements of the Iron Marches are similar to those which are celebrated in the Concordat. With most of the population hailing from that region, it seems almost a matter of course that they would bring many of their festivals days with them. However, the unique circumstances and frontier conditions of the Iron Marches have given rise to a series of new celebrations, chief among them, Montfort Day.
In short, Montfort Day marks the arrival of the first caravan from the Iron League’s headquarters. It is not a fixed day, but simply a festival held the day the first caravan of the spring arrives, marking the end of the rainy and snowy winter which renders great stretches of the Iron Road impassable. For the small, isolated, and often precarious settlements along the Iron Road, the arrival of the first Montfort Caravan represents the end of winter’s isolation, the return of links to more deeply rooted bastions of civilisation, and the fact that the settlement has survived the hardest part of the year, and might now look forward to the relatively easier conditions of late spring and summer.
Of course, the Iron League itself does much to encourage the celebration of this day – which after all, can also be seen as a testament to just how integral the League is to the survival of the settlements of the Iron Marches. In these days, those first caravans from Montfort often come laden not only with the customary loads of supplies, but kegs of beer and ale, cured meats, and a great number of peddlars and other travelling merchants intent on selling their wares and services to settlements which have every reason to let loose for a day to mark their triumph over another hard year. The attractiveness of joining such a convoy is enhanced by the League’s own policy of doubling the guards provided to the first caravan of the year, ensuring that not even the most hardened bandits could risk disrupting such a ritual.
Thus, the atmosphere of the first Montfort Caravan is like a great travelling fairground, albeit one surrounded by armed guards. When the caravan arrives at a settlement, there is a day of drinking and feasting. Trestle tables are laid out, and the square is given to dancing and music. No work is done. The Divine Court is thanked for allowing the settlement to survive the winter, and toasts are drunk to individuals who were not so lucky as the whole. Even those from settlements which exist outside of the Iron League’s control have been known to show themselves on Montfort Day, if only to take advantage of the sale of luxuries and delicacies which they might never have access to.
When the day passes, there is customarily a second day of rest, to allow the locals to recover from their hangovers, and to give the caravanners time to make last minute deals and pack up. This done, the locals go back to work, and the First caravan continues on its way, repeating the process, until it reaches the end of the Iron Road, celebrating Montfort Day for the last time of the year perhaps a month and a half after the first.
The Golden Circuit
The Mansa of Korilandis holds the same duties as most rulers: the giver of law, the face of the realm in diplomacy, and the leader of the Empire’s armies in war. However, the Mansa alone holds another duty, that of ensuring the wealth and prosperity of his vast empire. Every beggar who lives in poverty, every merchant who goes bankrupt, every artisan unable to sell their goods is considered a failure of the Mansa’s reign, and one which reflects poorly on the sovereign’s ability to reign. Likewise, those who grow wealthy under the Mansa’s rule are proof of his suitability.
There are, of course, mundane means of ensuring this prosperity: trade agreements, low taxes, the protection of caravan routes. However, to the Korilandines, the most important of these means is one which is rather more ritual than policy. Once during his reign – usually shortly after his coronation – the Mansa is expected to tour all the great cities of his realm. At each, he is supposed to spend a day dispensing large amounts of his personal wealth in gold to the poor and the unfortunate. Likewise, the governors of the cities themselves are expected to do the same on a lesser scale, touring the city and giving out some portion of the provincial administration’s wealth every year, on the anniversary of the Mansa’s coronation.
Ultimately, this is more than simply a show of generosity and largesse. It is also a magical ritual of immense power. Just as a Korilandine mage might use a small tag of iron to heat a larger iron bar through the power of sympathy, or irrigate a field by splashing a small bowl of water onto dry land, the Mansa and his governors distribute gold to those least fortunate to deliver wealth and prosperity to the entire realm. Few Korilandines ever contest the logic – as it is the same logic which underpins all of their obviously quite functional schools of magic. Mansas who never complete their Golden Circuits are known to have had unfortunate and unpleasant reigns, while a governor who fails to perform their own duties is one whose removal is quickly demanded.
As for the day itself, it is one which naturally centres around the figure of the Mansa himself. When the Sovereign arrives in person on his so-called “Great Circuit”, the city in question bedecks itself in shows of loyalty, and the population of the whole city assembles to greet the visiting monarch. The process of distribution takes the entire day, and the evening is often given over to feasting and revelry. In particular, the beggars who are poor enough to have benefitted from the Mansa’s generosity are often given free food and drink, to ensure that the ritual not only ensures the Empire’s safety from poverty, but from drought and famine as well. The “Lesser Circuits” of the governors take on a similar shape. Although lesser in scale and extravagance, their more predictable dating and more common occurrence make them perhaps the most anticipated day of the year.
The Day of the Guns
It is difficult to overestimate the importance of gunpowder artillery when it comes to the stories which the Khazari tell themselves about their greatness. It was the cannon which broke the Khwarzen forts, and created the modern shape of the Nizam-i Khazar. It is cannon still which serves as the primary advantage of the Sultana’s armies, granting them victory after victory in lands now far from the Khazari homeland. The cannon is not only a symbol of military might, but of the unity, organisation, and intellect of the society which was needed to forge, maintain, and effectively use these weapons in battle. It is as much a symbol of the Khazari people themselves as the bardiche, the tax ledger, or the Sultana’s own regalia – and it is celebrated as such.
The Day of the Guns falls in early summer, on the anniversary of the day on which Murad III’s new artillery to open fired on the Khwarzen Forts. Although Murad himself was not present to give the order on that day, his legacy as the first Sultans is inextricably bound up with the holiday, as are his deeds, which are recounted in public squares by poets and musicians. In the capital, a great procession is held, with either the Sultana or her Vizier at its head.
But the long-dead Sultan does not hold pride of place on the Day of the Guns. That honour goes to the guns themselves. It is the day in which the local militias parade in their best clothing, their weapons polished and cleaned – and more importantly, their cannon prepared not only for assembly, but for action. At noon, all across the Nizam-i Khazar, every cannon assembled for the purpose is fired, in a grand cannonade meant to represent the might of the Sultana’s armies, and the unity of her people.
Once this solemn and martial ritual is completed, the day is given over to rather less rigid events. Indentured labourers in particular are given the day off, and free food and drink, in recognition of their forebears who hauled Murad III’s great guns into place. Ball games and footraces are held, usually with prizes offered. Cakes and delicacies – in particular, one manner of pastry made to look like the turrets and bastions of a fortress, and another rolled up and frosted to resemble a marble cannon ball – are served usually at the expense of local officials. Those Khazari whose ancestors fought at the Khwarzen Fords are encouraged to re-enact the deeds of their forebears.
It is a day and an evening of high spirits, but it carries with it always the reminder that such efforts are easily turned from revelry to war, and that the very object of the day’s celebration is also the implement with which the Khazari vanquish their enemies.
The Opening of the Sea
Given the immense importance of maritime trade and warfare to the Island-Cities, it ought to come as no surprise that the day in which the first ships of the year leave port is considered the most important of the year. Not only does such an occasion mark the beginning of the trading season, but it also much mark the day in which the denizens of the Island-Cities must show their devotion and make their offerings to the All-Encompassing Sea, to compensate it for the wealth which is to be wrested from its depths or hauled across its surface – or to plead that their own ships of war are spared oblivion in lieu of their enemies’.
This is a day which requires much preparation. Its date is set by the city two weeks or more beforehand, based on the weather, the the political conditions within the city itself. In that time, the city’s inhabitants are informed, room is cleared on the docks, and the collected offerings meant to be delivered unto the sea are gathered, tallied, and prepared for the ceremony by the city’s religious authorities. In addition, this period of preparation is marked by a great deal of nervous staring at the sky: it is believed that the state of the weather prior to the day of the ceremony is an indication of the city’s current relationship with the sea. If skies are clear and the winds are constant, then the city is believed to be on good terms. If the opposite is the case, then sometimes orders for additional offerings are made, in hopes of improving what is clearly a very bad relationship between the city and the sea.
The day of the festival itself is most unlike that of other such days. It is intended to be a profoundly solemn affair. There is no feasting, no drinking, no dancing or singing. Swimming on the day that the Sea is to be Opened is punishable by death as a great sacrilege. The gathered offerings are carried slowly across the city to the place in the harbour intended for it. In times of peace, these offerings will be made of gold – usually coin donated by the denizens of the city melted down into ingots. In times of war, the offerings are iron instead – or in cases of great extremity or extravagance, steel. Prior to his disastrous siege of Concordat, the Doge of Fiore ordered an offering that was both steel and silver, both to show off the wealth of his city, and to set hopes that his coming expedition would bring even more treasure.
The subsequent failure of that expedition is proof to most modern Fiorentines that such a gesture was not only a sign of immense hubris, but a sacrilege which was clearly not appreciated by the Sea. Needless to say, the city has stuck to strictly gold, iron, or steel since.
This pattern remains the same all throughout the Island Cities, from the great cities to even the smallest settlement still adhering to the orthodox means of Sea-reverence. To such people, the Opening of the Sea is literally a matter of life and death, with the firm belief that an insufficient or improper offering will lead to a season of disaster not only for those doing the offering, but for the whole of the city. As a result, those religious officials charged with gathering and making the offering on the day of the ceremony are under immense pressure. Should the season turn bad, it will be they who are held responsible. It is not unusual for such officials to be stripped of office or even jailed. On one particular dire occasion, they have even been thrown into the sea themselves, in the hope that their bodies would serve as sufficient compensation for the offering they supposedly bungled.
December 2023: Farming in the Fledgling Realms
Despite the many varied cultures of the Fledgling Realms, despite the power of magic, the ingenuity of skilled crafters, and the increasing proliferation of wonders both arcane and mechanical, one constant remains: that of the primacy of agriculture. In all societies with only few exceptions, the vast majority of the population are committed to the process of working the land, harvesting its bounties, and raising flocks upon them. In the Concordat, anywhere from two out of three to three out of four individuals are directly engaged in farming or animal husbandry – a proportion which would be even higher if not for the intervention of arcane forces and the expertise of the many and varied hedge magicians and herbalists who ensure that the productivity of the land is as great as human labour and ingenuity allow.
Proportions in the Nizam-i Khazar and the Korilandine Empire are of similar proportions, though due to the differing circumstances of climate, population, and systems of governance, the means by which they coax the greatest possible harvest out of the land differs greatly.
1: Agriculture in the Concordat
In the Concordat, where populations are scattered, land remains plentiful, central authority is almost non-existent, and infrastructure is scarce, farming is often the business of individual families. Most commonly, an extended family of peasants will maintain a homestead centred around a cottage and a small number of animals. Collectively, they will work a relatively small plot of perhaps fifteen or twenty acres. These homesteads are usually clustered around a market square, forming a village, alongside the workshops of local crafters, and a Sanctuary of the Divine Court. The village serves to provide services and solutions outside the scope of the individual homestead. A village may group together for common defence, or to remove an obstacle which might require many hands. A homestead may purchase tools from crafters, and sell their goods in the market square. The Watcher of the Divine Court provides healing services and addresses spiritual needs, while the hedge mages and herbalists which often live in the countryside make their living by curing blights, healing the soil, and managing the growth of crops by arcane means.
If seen from above, it quickly becomes apparent that the plots of land around a village tend to push our in concentric circles, allowing for terrain features like rivers or cliffsides. This is due to the unique way in which Concordat farming households manage matters of inheritance. While it is customary for the eldest child to inherit the land upon the deaths or seclusion of their parents, those younger siblings who feel too confined by their presence in their own household and refuse to move to another are encouraged to set up new homesteads with their own families beyond the land already under cultivation. With the assistance of their relatives – and often the whole village – a new plot is cleared out from the wilds, and put under the plough. Thus, bit by bit, the wild lands of the Concordat are tamed a little more with every passing generation.
Of course, these wilds are still far from safe: brigands, wild animals, and the sorcerous legacies of the Flowering Court all provide a certain degree of danger which often requires professionals to resolve. The job of addressing these threats falls to those who rule over the villages as protectors and guardians, the Concordat’s class of Landed Knights. Being experienced fighters with excellent equipment, lifelong training, and armed retinues, these individuals are charged with protecting settlements every day of every year, a duty which does not allow them the time or resources to farm for their own sustenance. As a result, Landed Knights are usually given a considerable stretch of farmland which each peasant under their protection is expected to work one day out of every week. In return, they not only receive the protection of the Knight and their retinue, but also the right to shelter in the Knight’s keep, should such a thing be needed.
2: Agriculture in the Korilandine Empire
In Korilandis, where arable land is altogether more scarce, the patterns of agriculture are likewise entirely different. While the Korilandine Empire is mostly known for its deserts, the rivers which cross the empire also support narrow river valleys which regular floods have made immensely rich cropland. While these areas are extremely fertile, they also only make up a tiny fraction of the Empire’s total breadth. As a result, measures have been developed to ensure that the largest possible harvest may be squeezed out of the smallest possible land area. Thus the crops commonly grown are not the wheat and barley of the Concordat, but rice and sorghum, which require more water, but produce far more in the way of harvests for a given area.
In addition, the Mansa’s own servants have taken up the responsibility of ensuring that every measure of land which might bear crops can do so. To this end, the Mansa maintains an imperial corps of irrigators, made of mages and engineers trained for the task of laying out, building, and maintaining irrigation canals which bring the waters of the Empire’s rivers to areas which might otherwise never have been covered. Armed with the authority to draw upon military resources for materials and labour, the Irrigators have greatly extended the boundaries of the river valleys in which almost all Korilandine crops grow. As a result, they are perhaps the most well-respected arm of the Mansa’s government, and its senior officers are given places in the Mansa’s household.
Of course, such experts are paid in more than respect. The Irrigators also reserve the right to section off land which their canals water for their own maintenance and upkeep. These lands are usually used for the growing of valuable crops like cotton, which is in turn sold as an Imperial monopoly to fund not only the Irrigators, but much of the rest of the Mansa’s government. However, despite the immense wealth they bring in, these “Crown Lands” only make up perhaps a tenth of the land under cultivation at any one time. The rest remains in private hands, primarily those of small landholders who often join in cartels with their fellow farmers to control the prices of food in a given area. As a result, these landholders and their families enjoy considerable prosperity – although that prosperity does not always trickle down to the hired labour which is necessary to effectively maintain and harvest crops like rice – and who make up the vast majority of the Korilandine agricultural workforce.
3: Agriculture in the Nizam-i Khazar
In the Nizam-i Khazar, where land is more plentiful, but altogether more populated, a different approach entirely is used. While much of the land in the outer governates remains under private cultivation and the growth and husbandry of crops and animals considered less essential to the sustenance of the population remains the province of small landholders and ranchers, the crops which are seen as the core staples of the immense cities of the realm’s core governates – wheat, millet, and rye among others – are controlled directly by the Sultana’s government. This is the prerogative of the powerful Office of Common Works and Welfare, which also maintains roads, city walls, and fights poverty – often with the same tools at its disposal.
This it does through the use of a vast number of indentured servants, some of these brought in as petty criminals, or as a result of tax arrears. Others volunteer due to poverty or unemployment. Through hard labour, they earn food, accommodation, and a small stipend which is intended to pay for whatever luxuries they might desire. Working in gangs of anywhere from two dozen to over a hundred under the watchful eye of skilled engineers and artificers, these labourers maintain the irrigation canals, and work the vast machinery which is used to plough, sow, and harvest fields with great efficiency.
The practicality of this system is mostly the result of the sheer size of the state-owned fields in question. It is not uncommon for a single such estate to encompass tens of thousands of acres, with the tools and labour needed to work such fields centralised in a handful of depots. This makes for highly efficient agriculture through the use of expensive and complex machinery and irrigation works – which might be impractical for a field of twenty acres worked by a single family, but would easily pay for itself and more when used with a field of ten thousand acres worked by five hundred.
This efficiency is the Sultana’s gain, for as the state fields are directly managed by her government (in particular, her Grand Vizier, who maintains direct authority over the Office of Common Works), the proceeds from the harvests of these fields are also hers to do with as she sees fit – minus the proportion needed to feed the labour which work the fields in the first place. These surpluses are usually then sold within the cities at fixed prices, the proceeds of which are enough to not only pay for the maintenance of the system, but provide a tidy profit for the throne as well. As a result, the Sultana profits, those who don’t have work are given it, and the cities of the Nizam-i Khazar are given a constant supply of staple foods at reliably low prices.
Paul Wang 