Raising the Bann

We use the term raising taxes to mean that taxes are going up. I will suggest an interesting point of origin, however, along the lines of the development of the term levee:

levy (v.)
early 13c., "act of raising or collecting," from Anglo-French leve, from Old French levée "act of raising," noun use of fem. past participle oflever "to raise" (see lever). Originally of taxes, later of men for armies (c.1500). Related: Levied; levying.

In the context of the tax (which I discussed earlier obliquely in the list of offices in the imperial civil service), it is normally assumed that all governments throughout all times have collected taxes regularly. This, however, was mostly not the case in the Middle Ages. Taxes in coin were actually extraordinary measures that were levied (there's that word again~) to pay for wars and other unexpected or irregular prices that the crown incurred. It can never be said enough: most taxation throughout the medieval world was paid in labor. This corvée (the proper term for a labor tax) may in fact be descended from the Roman opera publica (public labors/public works) which substituted a per-capita (by head) tax. It wasn't until the shock of the first Great Mortality (what we know as the Black Death) that the labor corvée began to be replaced with coin payments and it did not begin to seriously wane until the 16th century.

There are some irregular coin taxes that were paid; the death-tax (heriot), the tax on roads and bridges, the market tax for coming to vend your wares... but those were limited. I've tried to help model the division between coin and kind in terms of gross incomes for the nobility, but the salient point today is that the levee of coin taxes is irregular; the noble class simply did not owe a flat coin tax to their kings or overlords.

When Arunians speak of "raising the tax" what they actually mean is the one-time collection of an arbitrary tax by a royal or imperial power. When the tax is raised, it is by a single decree authorizing a collection of between 5-25% of a noble's gross income over the past year (for which reason they must keep detailed records in their holdings, usually attended to by a bailiff or seneschal).

Taxes are part of the bannum, a Carolingian concept of legal authority related to the Roman idea of manicipium and something we would translate today as "jurisdiction." Raising the bann includes the calling of knight-service on the field as well as the arbitrary levee of taxes. The emperor of Miles may "call the bann" and thus demand the assembly of knights and lords, he may raise taxes to pay for his wars, etc. Most kings or ruling powers in 10th Age Arunia share a similar power and use imperial terms (the bann) to raise taxes, though the emperor's bann is the template for the others and goes farther than most.

Interestingly, the bann is also a term used to refer to some lord's rights—in particular the communal ovens in most towns. Since the ovens are a lord's monopoly (mostly in the empire or imperially influenced lands) using them requires the common folk to pay another labor-service, this one in bread.

Pantheon Monday: Topaz Firegem

TOPAZ FIREGEM

(the Cunning, the Mystic)

Greater God, NG

Portfolio: Fire, magic, community

Aliases: None

Domain Name: The Warm Hearth, Valingas

Superior: None

Allies: Quilian Knowais

Foes: Pogrillius Tosscobble

Symbol: A crystalline flame

Worshipper Alignment: Any

Topaz (TOE-paz) Firegem is the chief god of the Smallfolk pantheon. He is the longtime husband of Leesha Roseheart (though she has snubbed, cuckolded, and scorned him time and time again) and is less nicely known as the Hornéd God. He is a serious creature and a member of the youngest race of deities, the Vinthar.

As the chief male in the Vinthian pantheon, Topaz bears great responsibility to ensure that the evil things from the monstrous realms that despise halflings and gnomes are kept at bay. He often fights alongside Halmun Deepdelve, Beryl Ironfoot, and Solmon Woodhome when the monstrous gods press close.

The Vinthar are an interfering race, and Topaz is one of the most interfering Vinthar of all. Like Leesha he often appears to his followers and even deigns to disguise himself and walk amongst them, masquerading as a gnomish magic-worker.

He despises the heros and gods that win his wife’s affections, so he is often at odds with Pogrillius Tosscobble (her current fling) and Lapris Cleverfingers (one of her old paramours).

Topaz appears as a red-bearded gnome with a face heavily lined with cares. He generally wears flashy robes and curly slippers and carries a wand with a ruby on its tip carved into a fantastic flickering fire.

The Church

Clergy: Speciality priests, evokers

Clergy’s Alignment: Any good

Turn Undead: Yes

Command Undead: No

Lapris’ church is worshipped solely by gnomes. Halflings have no interest or capability with magic and so they would rather worship his rivals, Tosscobble or Cleverfingers. Amongst gnomes, however, his is one of the most common churches.

Temples to the Firegem are generally made in warm dry caves or the hollow boles of ancient trees. They are bedecked in reds and oranges, supplied with braziers which burn brilliantly, and wrapped in mystical atmospheres. Gnomish wizards of all colors, illusionist and evoker both, visit these temples with some frequency.

The chief priest of the Firegem is known as the Firekeeper. The Firekeeper is the high priest of the temple at Craftsman’s Reach called the Labyrinth of Flames. All other high priests must bow before him, and he has the authority to summon what are known as the Mystic Synods to discuss the contents of the ancient but revered Books of the Spell.

Dogma: To learn, to know, to contemplate magic is the stuff of life.

Day-to-Day Activities: The priests of Topaz spend their days praying, tending to the community and its members. When not engaged in this activity, magical research and the preservation of tomes is their order of the day.

Major Centers of Worship: Craftsman’s Reach, particularly the Labyrinth of Fire.

Affiliated Orders: None.

Priestly Vestments: Red robes and the ruby fire-gem are the common symbols of Topaz. Full fledged priests often wear a circlet of bronze as well.

Adventuring Garb: The circlet of bronze and the flame-like gemstones are the only thing that are common amongst all adventuring priests.

Priest of the Sacred Flame

(Specialty Priest)

REQUIREMENTS: Intelligence 12, Wisdom 8

PRIME REQ: Wisdom

ALIGNMENT: NG

WEAPONS: Staff, club, knife, dagger, sling

MAJOR SPHERES: All, divination, elemental (fire), guardian, healing, necromantic

MINOR SPHERES: Combat, elemental (air), protection, sun, time

MAGICAL ITEMS: Any priestly, any wizardly that is not a book or scroll

REQ. PROFS: Spellcraft

BONUS PROFS: Reading/Writing (any one), Firebuilding

Priests of the Sacred Flame are naturally protected from cold and can kindle a fire almost anywhere save a glacier as long as they have fuel.

At 3rd level, the priest of the sacred flame may affect normal fires or use a pyrotechnics spell once per day for every three levels of experience.

At 5th level, the priest of the sacred flame receives a +3 bonus to dispel any evocations or fire-based magic. They also receive a +2 bonus to save against fire-based attacks.

At 7th level, the priest may cast a chromatic orb once per day as though he were a wizard of the same level. He doesn’t require the gem normally necessary for this spell.

At 10th level, the priest can summon a fire elemental from any flame source that is potent enough once per day as though he were casting conjure fire elemental.

At 15th level, the priest can produce flame at will.

Custom Made

We're spoiled, us modern folks. We go into a store and they have shoes just in our size in a variety of colors. We go to buy a car and there, right there, are fifty or sixty cars we could take home. Shops and stores all specialize in one thing: stocking goods that other people make. You look at 'em and make your choices and then purchase what you want. Spoiled, that's what it is!

Medieval people, and by extension people in any sane kind of fantasy setting, don't have that luxury. If you want shoes, you have to get them made. If you want a sword, you have to commission it. If you want almost anything at all you have no choice but to wait around while it's completed. Cobblers don't keep a bunch of standard sized shoes, they size up your foot and make a wood mockup and then create a shoe just for you. Essentially, everything is custom made.

That means it takes time. This dovetails into the fact that healing, researching spells, and learning new skills all take time as well. Some new proficiencies should take at least a month of, if not several months of, uninterrupted study to learn. Guess what else you can do in that time? Commission a new wardrobe, get a new set of armor made, and have a smith make you a new sword.

Get used to it: things weren't always as convenient as they are right now.

The Imperial Civil Service

Tamerin III, even before declaring himself emperor and the empire reborn, had been working to reinstate the ancient civil service as had his father Velas before him. This effort was partially designed to rob the great Dukes and Counts of the empire of their power to refuse the throne or otherwise logjam imperial policy. While innumerable clerks and clerics work to keep the empire functioning, they form only a massive and critical arm of the emperor's power but not all of it. The same can be said of the Sacred Heralds, who act as messengers and protectors of imperial authority.

The central offices of the civil service are accesible only to nobility—that is, freeborn imperial citizens that have never owed servile duties to anyone (including the urban communes, lords, or other sorts of masters). Thus, these offices are normally stuffed with second or third sons seeking to gain advancement from the imperial throne. It also serves as a good way for the nobility to dispense with their lesser sons who would otherwise present a drain on the family coffers, land, and holdings.

While some nobles do enter the priesthood in order to become clerks or advocatii in the emperor's service, the great offices are barred to all but nobles and common folk may indeed send their children to train as clerks or advocates as well, making that section of the service intermingled between nobility and common folk.

Some of the major offices include:

Imperial Nuncio. An emissary plenipotentiary, the Nuncii are the direct envoys of the emperor. They are called "Excellency" and wear complex layers of purple and red robes. Many of them are also minor magicians. They serve as diplomats and envoys as well as traveling emissaries, generally attended by several Sacred Heralds.

Imperial Magistrate. These advocatii are specially trained to apply imperial law and generally act in concert with a Hierian priest in order to sit in judgement before those who have committed high crimes against their emperor. This position requires perambulation throughout the empire, as not all criminals can be sent to Miles for judgement by the emperor himself.

Vaultmaster. A sort of high tax collector, Vaultmasters are located in the major imperial trade ports to collect the taxes from their lords. The Vaultmaster holds the sacred duty of watching over the treasury and ensuring the delivery of the imperial tax-in-coin to the capital.

Imperial Oculus. The eye of the emperor, generally commanded by the Imperial Spymaster (the Dorl), these men are visible extensions of the emperor's power who attend the courts of the Dukes and act as attendants to the Nuncio. They are each expected to make full reports to Miles at the end of each season as well as to entangle themselves in as many plots as they can to learn their details.

Imperial Roadwarden. These men and women travel the roads of the empire and look for signs of disrepair. They administer the waystation-system in and around the heartland, making certain that those who run them are doing their duty and making horses available to imperial messengers and other servants. While the upkeep of the roads fall to the various nobility on whose land they lie, the Roadwarden has the power to immediately demand a corvée of local peasantry to repair the roads upon observing their decay or poor repair. They are hated by the nobility for this power. They generally wear black and the sign of Vaela, and are friends of the Knights Mendicant.

Imperial Tax Collector. The tax collection service is despised by all and sundry. Since most taxes go to their direct overlords, imperial tax collectors merely serve to swoop in and take cash fees from the local nobility once a year. They are empowered to investigate the wealth of the nobles, grilling stewards and seneschals and investigating the total income of an estate. They then tax the noble between 10-20% of their gross income—calculating the market cost of all labor and goods and adding that to the receipt. They are always accompanied by knights from the imperial city or members of Tamerin's tagmata. Still, their disappearance or murder of imperial tax collectors is not uncommon.

Guarantor. These men and women are professional witnesses who attend courts at urban communes and make themselves available to sign as witnesses on important legal documents. Their fees form part of their stipend, while 30% of their gross earnings must be forwarded to the emperor's coffers.

The Battle of Crestley, Part 2

This is the second part of the short story The Battle of Crestley, which begins here.

The ruse was well underway by the time Thelius arrived at Calthisport. The towers lining the southern coast of the island had been dismantled and burned and the fleet was already sweeping out to sea. The oars of the last transport triremes were flashing in the Channel Profunda, sending flecks of spray high into the air. They would withdraw to the open ocean and wait for the signal to return: a column of smoke, lit from Crestmont Castle's bailey. Thelius had seen the bonfire built before he left for the port. He raised his wine cup to his lips and sipped at it. It tasted like salt and ash.

He stood upon the brick ramparts of the imperial naval commandery that overlooked the town. Calthisport was a protected harbor, hidden on the northern shore of the island, the main embarkation point for ships headed to the mainland. Ternport, its sister on the sandy shores of the Tern Hills across the bay, had been burned a few nights ago. The smoke was still smudged across the sky and Thelius fancied he could see the black ruin where Ternport had once stood. Thousands of farmers and fishermen had been taken across the channel before the reaver attack to bolster the imperial marines that had disembarked from their ships. There were some five or six thousand men, two thirds of that made up of poor bastards pressed into the levees, swarming on the isle.

Calthisport herself was a built on a shallow hillside and a stony gully. An ancient castle choked the bay with its slimy stones, the seat of the port's baron. Across from it, atop the cliffs on the eastern side of the town, was the commandery. The imperial navy, unlike her armies, was not filled by knights and feudal obligation; most of the marines were common folk who had taken the Oath back when their emperor was a king and vowed to serve twenty years upon the boards. It was a road little-trod, but those who advanced amongst their peers on the sea could become Triarchs, knights, and lords in time. The commandery was one of the stations where imperial Triarchs could put up and receive orders from the Masters of the Fleet—who were, Thelius noted, all noblemen as far back as he could remember.

The port had been evacuated. Lord Crestley wanted no chances taken with the citizenry, so they had been huddled and herded to the little interior towns, hidden behind breaks of shield pine. The houses were now staffed with marines in boiled leather and red sashes, with leveefolk wearing no armor at all and carrying not baldes but tridents, flails, sickles, pitch-forks, and whatever else they could find on their farms and in the bellies of their fishing ships. Interspersed throughout, Thelius knew, were Crestley's knights all clad in padded gambesons, shirts of mail, and heavy pot-helms. The ships had deposited all these folk on the island before they left.

The last galley rounded the island and left them alone. A sorrowful wind tugged at Thelius' cloak and whistled amongst the crenels of the commandery wall. There was naught now but the salt, the sea, and the distant line of the mainland from which plumes of fire were still rising. The reavers had sailed unopposed for days. How many monasteries have burned? Thelius wondered. How many men, women, halflings, have been taken to sea as slaves? Hundreds or thousands, no doubt. The slave trade was alive and well in the north, beyond the empire's borders.

He turned away from the wall at last. The wine tasted no better as he descended into the yard. He could hear a team of engineers arguing over how best to position the ballistae and scorpions so they couldn't be seen from the sea. "Worry that they will take the bait, first," Thelius muttered under his breath. The treasury ship had come and gone, offloading bars and bars of gold bullion from the Noranian supply vaults right there at the Calthisport docks. He hadn't been in the town to see it himself, but the great swaying purple tent set up along the water would ensure that any scrying eyes would be able to see that an imperial envoy was present and loaded to the gills with gold.

In the yard he paced nervously and listened to the sound of his iron soles clicking against the flagstones. The plan was set, so there was nothing to be done, and it ground on his spirit. The commandery was humming with activity as marines rushed to and fro with bolts and stones to fling down below. The same scene was undoubtedly playing out on the castle in the bay, its little stony island secretly bristling with weapons. Part of the plan included hiding their siege machinery until the reavers were already entangled in the narrow streets and alleyways. Marines in the upper windows would pour crossbow fire down on them and funnel their attack towards the switchback path that led up to the edge of town. There, some knight Epistene had been stationed. If all they say about those pilgrims is true, he will be able to hold the line... or at least tend those who are near slain by elvish blades. Paladins were an unknown element to Thelius—he had seen only a few of them in his life, and those at great distance in the imperial court.

When he had nearly paced a rut in the courtyard he decided to go down and check on the imperial nuncio. He hadn't seen the man yet, but he heard the fellow was sweating buckets and shitting water in fear. Downwards he went, following the steep stair-lined road from the commandery to the channel's edge. Overhead marines leaned out of windows to watch him go, houses and merchant's halls and workshops all filled with crossbowmen. Thelius smiled and saluted when he noticed them, though he wondered if they would feel any better at his forced good humor. I am grinning like a skull, he thought.

He forced himself to don a more sober appearance when he arrived at the envoy's tent. It was a huge purple pavilion with gilded wooden posts hammered into the soft mud of the embankment's edge. Thelius noted that they were each carved in the likeness of the Pillar of Miles. Figures—imperial power flows from imperial signs. The envoy was a nervous looking man with a foxy beard and twitchy hands. He was clad all in imperial red and purple, robes of such ornate ornamentation that he might be mistaken for a wizard. It occurred to Thelius that he might be a mage in truth, for sometimes the emperor dispatched minor magicians as his nuncios. Best to be cautious with this one, he reminded himself. You can never tell how a man will fare until he's in a battle, and even then he may surprise you.

"My lord," Thelius said as he approached, bowing briefly at the waist and touching his heart in a salute. "I am the captain of the escurae stationed on Crestley. I came to see if you needed anything."

The purple-clad envoy shook his head and his robes, mantle, and sash all quaked as though the ground were bucking beneath him. "No, no, and I am no lord. The proper title is—"

"Excellency," he interrupted. "Yes, I'm sorry. I knew that." And he did; the titles and duties of imperial officers of the civil service had been drilled into him by years of training. Only the nobility could take up service for the emperor, though few barons were fool enough to go themselves and most sent second or third sons. Dread of the attack must be getting to me. "Well, you needn't stay and submit yourself to danger."

"The gold... the gold is chained to my life. The vaultmaster at Noranos made sure to tell me that." He looked positively terrified, his foxy face all ashudder with twitches and tics.

Thelius couldn't help but chuckle. "If we lose the gold, we lose the island and then your life won't be worth much more than it will fetch on a slaver's block. Come, no one will steal the gold while the harbor throngs with imperial marines." He clapped the envoy on the back and startled the man almost to death. "May I ask for your name, excellency?"

"Tarquin," the envoy said nervously. So with Tarquin the envoy in tow, Thelius went back up to the commandery to find something to eat. His stomach was roiling uncontrollably and he felt he would barely be able to choke down a bite of bread, but once the board was set for them he found that he couldn't stop shoveling olive oil and fish down his gullet.

For two days he wandered the battlements, made certain Tarquin felt safe, and checked the men. On the third, the reavers came.

Interpreting the Rolls

Rolls are abstractions of actual in-game events. One of the jobs of the DM is to read those dice and determine what's going on in the reality they represent. While I'm part of that faction who believes that the dice rolls should represent some measure of reality in the setting, directly related to the actual game-reality. That is, I dislike high levels of abstraction in my games—but by that same token (the token of abstraction) I admit that some level is necessary for ease of use and speed of play.

The gap, the great chasm between "roll to-hit" and what is actually happening in the game-reality, MUST be bridged. The shorter the gap, of course, the easier to bridge it; it is very simple to understand where someone strikes if there is a mechanic for determining which portion of the body is struck. That requires very little interpretation on the part of the GM. However, that also compounds the number of rolls and slows gameplay by a great deal (which introduces another type of "distance" from the action).

One of the things it takes to be a good GM is the ability to quickly digest incoming numbers and translate them into game reality. I don't use a system to determine what happens when there are fumbles (a "1" rolled on a to-hit d20). I simply rapidly determine the outcome; sometimes a weapon is dropped, sometimes it is shattered, sometimes the fumbler opens themselves up for a quick free riposte, and sometimes they fall to the ground. If they're up on a ledge, perhaps they need to make a Dex check or Breath Weapon save or fall off. This is all completely arbitrary because the faster I can move through the combat the more adrenaline will be flowing through the players.

The same cannot be said of critical hits in my games; I use the complicated C&T system, because we've all agreed that we want critical hits to be more gruesome but by that token I cannot bring myself to arbitrarily decide that someone was struck in the knee and now has a permanently debilitating wound there. Green Ronin's Black Company d20 game actually has a great system for this as well, and both are systems that I've used.

Other important interpretation points include the hotly disputed Hit Point; when you do 8 damage to someone, the description of how bloody and unpleasant the wound is depends on how great a fraction of their total HP was taken, or how close to death they are. This is something that a DM must be able to do on the fly and with great rapidity.

The theoretical issue here is one of distance. The game-reality takes place simultaneously in the minds of every player but issues from the DM alone. Between the game-reality and the individual there is a great crack or chasm which can only be bridged by the DM, from whom information comes. In that way it is Clausewitian; there are some things players will always need clarified because of the so-called "fog of war" between the players and the action. To make that gap as small as possible, to bring the game-reality into the room, is the job of DM. The better your DM is, the more the world of the table dissolves and you find yourself in the world of the game.

Pantheon Monday: Arina, the Singer

Arina

(the Singer, the Musician, the Beautiful, the Lady of Music, the Muse)

Intermediate Goddess, NG

Portfolio: beauty, music, freedom

Aliases: Raya

Domain Name: The Subtle Garden, Valingas

Superior: Quilian Knowais

Allies: None

Foes: None

Symbol: A rebec with a bow drawing across it

Worshiper Alignment: Any good

Arina (ah-REEN-a) is the smallfolk goddess of music, beauty, and freedom and license. She is the servant of Quilian Knowais and one of the accomplices of Leesha Roseheart. Arina has been the patron of festivals and music since the earliest of smallfolk days. She is a light-hearted goddess who frequently intervenes in small but unexpected ways in the world of mortals.

As the Lady of Music she is beholden to the god of knowledge and sciences, Quilian Knowais. He is often depicted as her father, grandfather, or guardian in mythic sources. She loves to tweak his nose when she can, but when times call for it she can be just as grave and humble as any other god.

She is also known to the smallfolk as the Muse, the inspirer of music, poetry, and beauty. Smallfolk artists often make sacrifices to her in order to be blessed with her gift of insight. It is not very uncommon for her to grace her supplicants with visions or understanding beyond that which they would normally have.

She is often depicted as playing a lute, a rebec, or a viol. Her music has been instrumental to the survival of the smallfolk; if myth can be believed, it has calmed beasts, changed the flow of rivers, and quelled the anger of giants. She was the patroness of the great heroin Eleyna Trollthief.

The Church

Clergy: Songsters, Sacred Poets (specialty priests)

Clergy’s Alignment: NG

Turn Undead: No

Command Undead: No

Like most smallfolk temples, the Temple of Arina is only very loosely organized. There are no central places or great high priests, and indeed a good subset of Sacred Poets do not settle down at all but rather move from halfling settlement to settlement, telling stories of both Arina and the other gods.

What temples do exist tend to be matriarchal and dominated by halflings rather than gnomes. The great majority of Arina’s priesthood are female, and as such poetry and song are generally seen as female pursuits in halfling society.

All halfling festivals have one or two Sacred Poets present to help organize the festivities and to assist in playing the music. This role is considered to be one of the most important of the priests’ duties by other halflings, lending them a sort of festive air about them all year round.

Temples are loosely organized on two tiers: initiates, who are priests-in-training, and Poets, who make up a council and vote on all the affairs of that temple. This organization is only possible because Arina’s temples never truly grow to any staggering size, having at most fifty or one hundred priests in the largest and most affluent smallfolk towns.

Dogma: Arina teaches that every moment of life is inspiration, every breath a celebration. Introspection, poesy, and even madness are all things held sacred by the Muse.

Day-to-Day Activities: When they aren’t planning festivals, Arina’s priesthood generally spend their time teaching young halflings music, telling stories about the Greensward and the famous smallfolk heroes, and working the fields like any other halfling.

Holy Days/Important Ceremonies: The temple of Arina holds the spring to be the most sacred time of year and halflings, associating her with Raya, often celebrate the Libernian Festival as well.

Priestly Vestments: Sacred Poets wear green garments laced through with white flowers and floral motifs. They frequently wear garlands of preserved daisies around their necks, and their jewelry and accoutrement are also generally floral in pattern.

Sacred Poet

(Specialty Priest)

REQUIREMENTS: Wisdom 12, Charisma 14

PRIME REQ: Charisma

ALIGNMENT: NG

WEAPONS: Any blunt weapon, knife

MAJOR SPHERES: All, Animal, Charm, Creation, Healing, Protection, Thought 

MINOR SPHERES: Combat, Divination, Protection, Summoning, Weather

MAGICAL ITEMS: Any items that priests can use.

REQ. PROFS: Religion (Arina)

BONUS PROFS: Instrument (any), Instrument (singing)

Sacred poets may multiclass as thieves (but no other class) if they so choose. Sacred Poets may play a counter-song as per the bardic ability.

All spells prepared by the Poet that have a Verbal component must be sung. All spells that have a Somatic component must be accompanied with the use of the Poet’s instrument.

At 3rd level, the Sacred Poet can use his music to fascinate a number of creatures equal to twice his own level (in HD or levels) as per the 2nd level wizard spell Hypnotic Pattern. This musical effect may be used once per day.

At 5th level, the Sacred Poet becomes 80% immune to all mentally debilitating spells or spells that induce or simulate madness. This includes feeblemind, Tasha’s Laughter, Otto’s Dance, etc. This is in addition to any other magical immunity or resistance the priest may have.

At 7th level, the Sacred Poet gains the power to attempt to dispel magic three times per day with their counter song. If being used to counter (or dispel) an effect which would create silence, the Poet receives a +2 bonus on his dispel roll.

At 10th level, the Sacred Poet is constantly under the effect of a free action spell.

At 15th level, Sacred Poets receive a +1 bonus to their charisma scores, raising it to a maximum of 19.

Chechens, Boston, and No Blog Today

Having lived in Boston for 7 years, this shit is definitely affecting me. Not on a deep soul-searching level—I'm not crying at my desk. But I know that town inside and out, I went to college there AND Grad School, and I'm following the whole unfolding story pretty closely.

I was going to write a new post this morning, but instead I find myself glued to my machine devouring any information I can find. The two marathon bombers are supposedly Chechen (or Dagustani), though it's hard to know why they did what they did at this stage: a protest against the US sharing information with Putin and the various wars (which they believe were undertaken with American complicity) in the region? Who can say.

Either way, far too distracted to make a blog post about dice mechanics and interpreting them. Look for that on tuesday, perhaps.

The Growth of Dwarven Folkhalls

The greatest dwarven cities are not the ringtowns with their rod-diameter walls or the staunch green dwarf clan-holds that stand like frowning stony crags upon hilltops and loom over rivers. They are the mighty Folkhalls, the bastions of iron dwarven culture since the first Sons of Stone awoke beneath the earth. These halls serve as the great political players in dwarven life, some holding hundreds of clans. Allegiance amongst dwarves ascends from below; family comes first, then clan, and then folkhall, and only lastly the great dwarven kingdom as a whole.

The folkhalls follow a fairly predictable growth pattern that we can look at as an exemplar for how dwarven settlement, law, and architecture functions. First, let us examine a folkhall in its complete state: Partially above-ground and partially below, the folkhall controls a wide hinterland outside its walls. When approaching one from a distance, for several rods in each direction a traveler is likely to find tame woodlands, farms, and other "outhall" plots of land, maintained by the "outhall" clans. These garner the least respect amongst their kin for they do not live within the safety of the wall and their crafts, while necessary, are neither honed nor beautiful.

Approaching closer to the folkhall, one will see a rough mountainside that has been brought to heel by dwarven craft. Stone manors, workshops, smelters, inns, and temples all stand along cliffs, steps, or steep inclines carved into the rock. This vast collection of buildings is always surrounded by a semi-circular wall that emerges from and joins back to the mountain's shoulders, protecting the hall from invasion. The outer portion of the city is often inhabited by the crafting clans who make weapons, armor, and sought-after trade goods. The wealthy craftsmen all dwell beneath the rock.

Towering over this city is the hall-gate, cut into the mountainside. Huge beyond imagining (and, by dwarven craft, easy to open or shut in peace time) it is guarded by the Gaethaff and her militias. Beyond it lie the public halls of the mountain, which form a central hub for all the undermountain delvings. These halls include taverns, clan-shops (run by clan-brokers, the face of the wealthy clan to the outer world), clan workshops (which only clansdwarves may enter), and the Great Temple which sits at the center of the public halls like a wheel and its spokes.

Private clan-halls branch off from these central delvings in all directions. Goldsmiths, silversmiths, jewelers, architects, and even (in some cases) whole priestly clans. Noble clans as well can be found here, with their various workshops not in the public spaces but hidden away in the clanhalls, which only clansdwarves may enter. The Hall-Prince's palace, a separate and public set of delvings, generally branches from the Great Temple's delving directly.

But how are these things arranged? How are new delvings made? Firstly, each folkhall has a temple dedicated to Grafar, the Architect, where all plans and designs for diggings are kept. Land outside the mountain is limited, for the wall dictates just where buildings may be built. This land is divided into parcels or plots which cannot be broken up except with consent of the Hall-Prince and the clan who owns it. All ownership is determined by clan, and clan treasuries are used to buy up or dispose of plots.

Within the mountain, things are a bit trickier. A clan who wishes to expand their halls and delvings must submit a request to the Hall-Prince. The Prince will then ensure that several things are true:

• The Architect's priests have determined that the delving will not endanger the structural integrity of the hall.
• The clan's proposed delving will not damage the monopoly of any other clan (jewelcrafters opening a gold mine, for example).
• The delving will not open new gateways into the hall or otherwise strike into dangerous caverns where foes may dwell.
• The clan has the resources required to undertake the delving on their own—clan masons and architects—or has the money to hire these from other clans.

Still, it is traditional that only one proposal for delvings may ever be submitted by a clan in a year, and that the Prince will only entertain the possibility of making one delving each month before deciding. This is precisely why the months of each season in dwarvish are named merely "First," "Second," and "Third Delving."

Property Law and Arunia

Sometimes things get away from me. Searching for a little information or trying to flesh out a minor aspect of Arunia can billow out into a multi-week project. This is one of those times and the thing we're discussing today is, as the title suggests, extremely dry analysis of property law and how it functions in Arunia. Yes, this is the kind of thing that most fantasy authors and people playing D&D would just ignore, handwave, or hastily construct a system to handle. That would serve, too, I'm sure, since no one wants to crawl through a maze of laws and lawyers to read a book about a man who moved to a city or to purchase a farm for their adventuring party. As you've probably noticed by now: I'm not most people.

So I spent a few nights thinking about property law (and all other sorts of legal conundrums) as it might apply across the various states of Arunia. These sorts of things really aren't important in the grand scheme of playing dungeons and dragons (or writing tales) there. Yet, as a concerned historian it is my insane urge and desire to codify them. I present you with a few and a promise (or a threat?) of more to come on Arunian law.

In the highly legalistic society of the Third Empire (based primarily on the reinstitution of old imperial law and the presence of a very developed culture of jurisprudence inherited from both the Temple of Miles and the influence of the dwarves judges of old), property types can be divided into a number of classes, each of which implies a different system of rule and regulation.

The simplest class is the freeholder. Freeholdings have the fewest obligations to their lords, are completely free of rent and fees.* When a freeholder wishes to dispose of his property it is his right to sell it—however, since the land itself belongs to his overlord, he cannot simply choose someone to sell to and be done with it in a private transaction. Indeed, possessing land in almost any state in Arunia is not a true possession unless it is held as an allodial, heritable holding (of which players need only worry when they attain a fortress or other such direct grant, and even then it may not be allodial). Freeholders merely possess the rights associated with using the land. Thus, when a freeholder seeks to transfer these rights, the overlord must be consulted. In this case, it generally constitutes a fee payed to the overlord in addition to whatever is being paid to the former freeholder. The overlord must also approve of the choice of new tenant, and may refuse the sale based on the grounds that the tenant does not meet his standards.

The class below the freeholder is the fee tenant. Fee tenancies owe service (or, rarely, cash) to their overlords in exchange for their holdings. They cannot dispose of their land freely, and must first obtain the permission of their overlord to attempt to transfer rights. As for freeholders, the overlord has the ultimate say over who takes up the new tenancy and may in fact forbid the tenant from selling at all. Unlike the a freeholder, a tenant leaving his property must pay his lord for the lost labors. The tenant taking it up must also pay the overlord for his pains. Additionally, since fiat rulings are frowned upon in the empire, a Board of Inquest must be established from some worthy notables of the locality to determine what the proper fee for the land is in terms of labor or coin. These Quaestors may take as long as three or four months to decide on the proper fee, during which time they must be paid (out of the overlord's purse) and it is wise for the overlord to consult with an advocatus (he probably has one in his household in the form of a clericus, seneschal, or steward) and it may be wise for the new tenant to consult one as well.

Allodial property is granted in perpetuum and can only be dispensed with by the emperor himself or by someone who holds an allodial grant. Many people in the empire and very few people in other states in Arunia are possessed of such rentless property free of all obligations save the most basic loyalty to the imperial system and adherence to imperial law.

*In this case, rents and fees are generally construed to mean labor-service and only rarely monetary payment. It's important to note, however, that in the great urban communes (the incorporated cities of the empire) that rents and fees can be labor (service on public streets, walls, fortifications, in the Night Watch where one exists, etc.) it is also possible for these fees to be cash stipends assessed by household.

Someone Call the Cops!

Sometimes (and this is particularly true of low level adventuring parties) the dangers one faces are just too scary and too powerful to deal with on your own. Perhaps you simply cannot come up with a plan to assault a campfull of orcish raiders in the hills, or the scheming machinations of your political foes have procured a number of assassins whom you are rightfully afraid will murder you in the night. What do you do in these cases? Well, one option is to turn to the local authorities. Of course, since this is a fantastic medieval setting, they're not going to respond like the police would. They'll respond as feudal overlords and take immediate action to protect rights, land, and property that they feel are imperiled. If they're generally good, maybe they'll feel bad for anyone who might be hurt by the danger your party is incapable of facing, as well.

Either way: let's say you drum up a corps of knights to go kill those orcs. That is a solution to the problem, no doubt. But as a game where consequences matter, it's a solution that most players will find immensely unsatisfying for several reasons. The first is that they are adventurers. If they wanted to just beseech the local lord every time some ravening orcs were around, they wouldn't have gone out to adventure. They'd have remained farmers, masons, wheelwrights, whatever their parents were or their masters or what-have-you. Clearly, since they're the type to scrimp and save and then go out and buy a sword (a big deal in a medieval setting!) they have the impetus to stick those problems in the gut with two feet of steel.

The second reason is the natural response of authorities to adventurers everywhere: pure mistrust shading all the way to outright hatred. After all, adventurers present a locus of power that essentially challenges the authority of the local lords. Except in the wildest of frontiers, theirs is a power that rests on the ability to do exactly what adventurers make it their stock and trade to do: protect, defend, and slaughter. If someone sees an adventuring party as a legitimate source of justice or protection, it certainly undermines the position of their baron or count. Of course, the situation may exist where the baron or count is the one who hired the adventurers in the first place to act as his agents, which means he either lacks the means to address the problem in another way or (more likely) he will be incensed that his original investment of time, energy, and perhaps money has not panned out.

The third reason has to do with agency. PCs who are trying to solve a problem (such as that orc camp) have complete freedom to cook up any plan they want. Once some belted knights and a few hastily drawn up levees arrive, that game has essentially ended. They've surrendered their free agency in the face of a threat they cannot handle and have instead handed over the reigns to an authority figure. Now, they may be fine with this. But it means they have intentionally sidelined themselves and are now going to be taking orders, if they participate at all.

The last reason is the one that the characters will actually feel the most—the wallet. Their purse will be quite a bit lighter if they were hired to perform a job which they discover they are unable to perform. That intangible reward of local acclaim will also be far lower, one may wager.

Now, that's not to say that players should feel they can never ask anyone for help. After all, surviving and living to go on another adventure is a type of victory too. However, in the games I run actions have consequences. The natural consequences of passing off responsibility for a threat to a higher authority is that the rewards reaped are generally lower and the control of the operation usually passes out of PC hands.

Pantheon Monday: The Divine Families

With the completion of the Atlas, work has now begun on the text of the companion book "Cults and Temples of the Middle World." This is an excerpt describing the "races" or "families" of the Gods.

The Divine Families

The gods of Arunia make up several different ancestries, each of which may loosely be defined as a “pantheon” in the traditional sense. However, since some of the elder gods have taken on new life in the pantheon of men, and as some of the gods are worshipped in different ways by different people, it is far more useful to classify them according to their origins.

It’s important to note that the Archaioi, Wyrmai, and Night Gods all predate the existence of the Aelio and Vinthar. Collectively, this makes them the so-called Elder Gods.

The Archaioi

The gigantine gods of the earth, sea, and sky, the Archaioi are a family of kings and queens, of elemental good and elemental evil. The family has its roots with Solon the Self-Creating, who the giants hold sprang into existence fully-formed without any urging; in essence, he had made himself from nothing. He was an earthy god, and in the giant pantheon represents the good things of the soil, the clay, and the stone. The Archaioi were all joined by sister-wives, also of their own element and temperament, to form joined pairs.

Other than Solon, the most famous amongst these deities is Ulagos the Potter, Solon’s dark male shadow. Ulagos is the lord of mud and clay, and since the giant days he has been spinning his giant wheel and throwing off misshapen beasts into the world. The noble centaurs and minotaurs owe their birth to Solon; the foul Eye Tyrants and Catoblepas were formed by none other than Ulagos.

Most of the giant gods have substantially faded in this day and age, likely because the giants themselves have fallen to a low ebb. Their civilizations are mostly in ruins and they live as a degraded and scattered people throughout the north, worshipping only when they can. The only giant gods who retain a measure of their old strength are those that successfully made the transition into the mannish pantheon (or have, like Ulagos, attained the worship of other creatures).

The Wyrmai

According to draconic myth, the Three Worlds were a void before the arrival of the Great Mother Dragon, Nagyzeru. She came into this void pregnant with her three children, the Dragons of Balance. Before she died, her own body becoming the Three Worlds (hence the draconic word for all of creation, Nagyzerr), she gave birth to three eggs. Two of those would hatch; the blazing bright egg contained Azris, the Fire of Creation. The cold black egg held Urumis, the Devourer. The last egg, huge and swollen, never hatched. This, the dragons believe, is the world and it contains the slumbering world-wyrm Garas the Balancer, whose tidal breath is the fabric of magic itself.

Modern scholars often identify the so-called Dark Moon as the egg of Urumis the Devourer and many theologians believe that Urumis is just another name for the inimical and awful force known as Mother Night. Few now recognize the names of the ancient dragon gods, and amongst those fewer still would know any but the Three Dragons of Balance.

The Night Gods

Mother Night is a name that is known throughout Arunia and spoken only in whispers. She is the terror and darkness at the world’s end, beyond the Girdling Seas in the far west, where the light fails. Trolls have worshipped her since the Night Age, and theologians write of a time when the entire surface of Arunia was smothered in her grip. Some say it was only the coming of the world-tree Asca-Irminsul and its silvery leaves that drove her off, others that it was the forging of the stars and the sun.

Whatever the case may be, Mother Night is attended by a thousand thousand spirits, some as weak as men and others as powerful as demigods. These creatures yearn to snuff out the sunlight and plunge the world into a second age of night, one that would never end. Only the most foolish, desperate, or insane seek the aid of the Night Gods and the thousandfold shadows that serve them.

The Aelio

It was the waking of the Aelio in the Upper World that ushered in the end of the First Age and began the Second. The Dawn Age was marked by the coming of Haeron, Avauna, and the hosts of younger gods who sprang from Asca-Irminsul and the Waters of Life. These deities are those worshipped by men, elves, and dwarves; they are younger than the great elder gods of old, but elder still than the Felnumen and the Vinthar.

When one mentions “the Gods” in Arunia, it is usually the Aelio to which one is referring. This is the largest divine family, comprising a majority of the deities still worshipped today. Ruling over it are the four brothers, known as the Quarto: Eiri, Aros, Vodei and Haeron. Haeron, the youngest of the four brothers, is nevertheless the pantheon’s chief and master.

The Vinthar

The smallfolk worship a separate pantheon of far-walking gods led by Leesha Roseheart. Made in the image of their parent-deities, the smallfolk envision the Vinthar as a deific race of halflings and gnomes. Many of their gods were elevated from folk-hero status by Leesha herself! Where the Vinthar originated is a mystery, for no legend survives to tell of their coming, but the smallfolk revere them all the same.

The Felnumen

The gods of the mud-races, the Felnumen are the divine descendants of Ulagos the Potter and his many trysts, both with his sister-wife Glyrea and with the other Archaioi. They include Ashad the Lord of Slaughter and Toynash the Cruel King; these gods served the Aelio in the early days of their domain, but later struck out on their own to craft races that would worship them alone. All goblin-kin owe their creation to the Felnumen, particularly those who schemed in slaying the Felnumen chief, Yuva, and making of his corpse the Youngest Races.

The Sunday Sneak: The Atlas Complete, Men, Giants, and Dragons

Ah, my children! As the Ecumenical Atlas of Arunia is finally complete (textually) this is the last Sunday Sneak from that book. I'm thinking about whether or not I want to make it available by request in its current format (very ugly text blocks) or just wait until it has acquired some art and stylings before unleashing it upon the world.

The People of Arunia

Arunia is peopled by many different sapient creatures from all manner of races. No two of them were made the same exact way and though many owe their creation to one of the myriad gods of Arunia, not all do. The world was peopled long before the Aelio awoke and older gods than they did much of that work. The races of Arunia can be roughly divided into the Eldest, Elder, Younger, and Youngest depending on when and how they were created. Eldest races come from the dawn of time; they came into being before the first age and sprang forth from the world itself. Eldest races include trolls, giants, dragons, faeries, and men. Each of these eldest developed a philosophy and Art of magic their its own, leading to a proliferation of magical theory, tongues of power (see below), and ideologies of spellcraft.

Elder races were the first to be created by the Aelio or the gigantine gods. These are the elves and dwarves and the twisted creations of Ulagos the Potter, such as beholders. Elder races that know magic were either taught it by one of the eldest or developed it much later.

Younger races were made long after the elder; these include gnomes and halflings as well as orcs and goblins. They came into the world piecemeal, created by deities other than the Aelio—the Vinthar and the Felnumen.

The youngest races are those that fleshed out the niches of the world: the hyena-men known as gnolls, the other races of goblinkin, the grim and unpleasant things that dwell beneath the earth. These are also collectively known as the “mud races,” for they were created by the Felnumen, the mud-gods, a group of spirits thrown out of Edellia who followed Toynash Lord of the Muddy Crown.

Though the eldest races were considerably more powerful than those created later, they have still suffered greatly at the hands of the young and youngest. Goblins, orcs, gnolls, and others have splintered powerful mannish kingdoms, dragged elven lands into the darkness, and annihilated many a dwarven stronghold.

Men

Men are by far the most numerous of the sapient races currently living in Arunia. One of the eldest, they developed their own magical language long before many other races were even created. They are certainly the most individually varied, for they may themselves be short as dwarves or tall as elves. There are pale men, olive men, and black men; fair-haired men, red-haired men, dark-haired men, men of green eyes and men of amber. All these are yet men, and their cultures are as myriad and varied as their appearances.

Men are shockingly fertile compared to the other elder and eldest races, though they are far outbred by folk such as goblins and orcs. Their limitless ambition allows them to advance to great heights though their lives are far shorter than those of the giants, elves, dragons, or dwarves.

Men can cross cultures relatively easily. They adjust well to their environments and their many and varied cultures and kingdoms interact on a regular basis. Men are most likely to be (at least) bilingual, though unlike elves not all men learn to read. They are also damned persistent and fierce, making them formidable foes.

They were responsible for the longest-lasting and farthest-flung empire of all Arunian history, that being the one that was ruled from Miles. The shadows of Miles still fall long across the land though it has been thousands of years since its ruination.

Giants

The giants and giant-kin worshipped Solon the Self-Creating and many other strange and mysterious gods. They held lands in the north long before the southmen came up to found Miles and it is said they interbred with northerly men (or that northmen are a lesser form of giant that bridges the gap between giants and men). They had great empires that were already in decline when the southmen came to Atva-Arunia and the great waves of Aellonians, Thegnari, and Llyrians settled the central continent.

Giants are inherently long-lived and divided into many subraces that cannot interbreed. Ogres are their creation and their kin, given life by the frost giants (Pagoi) long ago. Some Arunian scholars also believe trolls to be related to giants, though the link has never been conclusively proven save for the horrific ettin-troll crossbreeds that exist in some corners of the world.

Most giants are grave and stately, though there are many exceptions to this rule. The great gigantine empires have long since given way to semi-tribal or semi-feudal pockets of gigantine control scattered throughout the north. All giants who attain great age (quite a feat in this modern world, with giant-slayers and inter-gigantine wars being common) slowly turn to stone. It is said that the first treants were born of trees that grew form the stones of dead giants.

Cloud Giants: The proprietors of the great kingdom of Cloudhame, these giants live in a land sequestered from the rest of Arunia. Only very rarely will one venture southwards to “gather stories” as they call it. Cloud giants are very wise, and it’s said that their first king Clydas invented music, writing, and cut the very first harp from the rocky bosom of a mountainside.

Cyclops: Native to Aellon, cyclopes are single-eyed brutes that spread to Arunia when they landed in Llynder and Llernea and have since been a source of trouble in the east. They are crude and cruel, preferring a simple pastoral lifestyle supplemented by vicious raids.

Firbolg: A type of giant found only in the cold north, Firbolg share much akin with humans though they are hesitant to allow men to visit their homes. The Firbolg are the giants from whom some scholars believe that all northern men are descended.

Fire Giants: Primarily located in the region around Essad, the fire giants are deep purple-skinned behemoths that were the inheritors of the ancient kingdom of Pernag which stood where Essad now stands. They enjoy hiring themselves out as mercenaries as well as causing trouble in a general way. They were responsible for both some of the greatest victories and losses of the Second Empire.

Fog, Storm, and Reef Giants: Once dwellers of the wide shallow sea that is now the Plain of Sorrow, these three types of giants have been relegated to the coasts of Arunia whether that be in the form of islands, sea-side caves, or underwater manors. Their numbers dwindle each decade and it’s said that someday there will be no more of them. Like men, some are fair-minded and wise while others are cruel and unpleasant.

Forest Giants: Dwelling deep within the Rootwood Forest, this aging race of brown-fleshed tree-lovers once commanded a vast and potent kingdom within the forest’s borders. Since the Rot Wars fought between the elves (and their mad king, Pellarimen) and the fading gigantine civilization their great cities have emptied and their numbers dwindled. Now there are very few left at all, and soon the ancient wood will be emptied of them, leaving them only a memory.

Frost Giants: Northern giants and the creators of ogres (if you can believe their stories of Dinismayl the Winter Queen), frost giants are stupid and cruel. They build great altars of bone to Dinismayl in haunted defiles and caves in the howling wild. They themselves emerge from the great blizzards of the north like an inexorable tide, striking settlements of firbolg, elves, or men with equal ferocity.

Hill and Mountain Giants: Stupider even than frost giants, these creatures are known as Illithioi and Paragoi in gigantine which means “the foolish” and “the mountain dwellers.” While they may be descended from stone giants, hill and mountain giants are demonstrably less bright. Their intelligence nears that of dogs or bears and they barely have any language at all. Most other giants are embarrassed of their existence.

Ogres: Big and thick, brutish and dull-witted, ogres are a gigantine creation. Whether Dinismayl granted her frost giants the gift of bestowing life upon their lumpen creation or some long-lost cloud giant magic went awry, ogres are used as muscle by evil giants and killed by good giants. Where giants are not numerous, ogres themselves often serve as the top of the pecking order, using their dim intellect to guide the actions of goblins, orcs, and kobolds while using their great strength to keep them cowed.

Stone Giants: The stone giants, a flinty-skinned tribe, built the largest and most prolific gigantine kingdoms in their day. When the southmen arrived in the lowlands of Thyrnesse, it was on top of stone giant ruins that they built. Umbrinol was the last of their kingdoms, and it now lies empty and wild. Stone giants live in family units, eking out whatever life of subsistence they can, acutely aware that they were once rulers of great lands.

Dragons

Dragon. Wyrm. Fire-dread. All these and more are words to describe the most horrific terror that has ever plagued the north. Dragons may be varied and different, but they all share similar core characteristics. They are greedy beyond any measure even when they are not particularly malicious, desiring treasure above all things. Dragons have but one word in their native tongue to express both the emotion of love and the concept of ownership, giving a clue to their grasping nature.

Long, long ago the dragons built states, kingdoms, and empires that vied for control of the north with giants and trolls. Some legends say the trolls cursed them and others that their empires finally flagged and failed, but the dragons themselves tell of their great and profound malaise with civilization. According to the eldest among them, the dragons had tried civilization and found it wanting. Each of the great beasts is an ego of its own, a microcosm that needs no input from the outside world for sustenance. They have no great need for companionship or “love” as we understand it, though they sometimes live in clutches or small communities.

One of the most lasting legends about dragons regards the terror they inspire. The dragonfear, an existential horror, can lead men to quail, collapse, weep, or even openly worship these winged beasts. It’s said by those who have survived it that the feeling is akin to a deep certainty that the creature before you is your master by right of age, wisdom, and strength. Those who have lived to tell the tales often wipe the wine from their lips before confiding in the strange compulsion to obey, or at least to hide oneself in piled earth so that the glories of their rightful draconic master will not destroy them.

They are unbelievably destructive and even the least can wipe an entire city off the face of the world. They wield magic unlike anything known to men and have great and powerful elder spells that were crafted in the beginning of time. They cannot die, unless they are slain, though as they grow older and more wicked they sleep for longer and longer until at last they slumber for centuries or more. The oldest known dragons have slept for many lives of men, waking only occasionally to loot or plunder.

Capital!—Guilds, Costers, and Joint-Stock Companies

This is a sort of offshoot of the idea of extending the medieval paradigm and has to do with medieval and fantasy economics. Mainly, the issues here at play are those of modern capitalist style investment and the medieval economy; as modern people ourselves, we tend to struggle to imagine a world without capital investment or with substantially different economic means that are tangential in all ways to true "capitalism" (here I mean the movement of capital and investors rather than "a system of money" which I 've discovered some people think capitalism means). We're creatures of our own time and its difficult sometimes to understand the economic structures of different times. Just as we must struggle valiantly to comprehend cultural gaps, the gaps of economy are equally as hard to bridge.

It's easy to envision a capital based economy and I would argue that most people have a distinct vision of fantasy worlds (and even, perhaps, the middle ages) as functioning not dissimilarly to our own in terms of capital control. You simply replace the capitalist of the modern age (the banker, the investor) with a wealthy merchant or nobleman and viola! You have a fantasy paradigm! Or do you...? What you actually have is a shallow reskinning of the modern age.

Let us reiterate what capitalism is: the concentration of capital in the hands of a (relatively) small class of men (or women) and its use as funds to begin and own business ventures. However you slice it, that is not the way money or businesses worked in the middle ages. Capital investment was basically non-existant because large pools of capital weren't present. The middle ages functioned off of manorialism for the most part. This is the organization of rural economies in the villa system by which a lord profits off the labor of his land.

People didn't scrape around to find investors for their business in the middle ages, nor did they find a bank and take a loan. These practices did not exist and many things that we associate with them did not exist either. Essentially, the merchant class was one devoted to moving goods from market to market, not aggregating all manner of goods in any given place. The entire notion of a "business" would be falsely applied to any medieval operation. There were no general stores, feed stores, or hardware stores—there were people who produced each of these things (hammers, nails, food) and these individual craftsmen sold them from their homes.

So what are the methods of economic development that we can follow for a fantasy setting to give it more of that "authentic zest" I'm always talking about? Well, we can always rely on the Guilds, Costers, and Joint-Stock Companies. These present varying degrees of anachronism or fantasticism of the medieval economy, essentially in the order that they have been listed with Joint-Stock Companies reaching the farthest flung realm of anachronism.

What is a Guild?
An official, sanctioned guild (not a thieves guild, which is essentially the fantasy version of the Mob) is a trade union. It determines entry fees for apprentices, selects masters, and bands together to pay for things such as festivals, member's funerals, weddings of members, etc. It is a sort of group-fund for retirement and large expenses as well as an advertising organization for its members in good standing. Guilds represent a good source of collective wealth, and like unions are also ways for craftsmen to develop and exercise political clout.

True tradesguilds came into being in the High Middle Ages. Before that, they were mostly organizations of tradesmen of a single type but without the rigid controls one might see in the 14th century guilds of Italy, for example. As I am an early medieval historian, this is the way I run my guilds—a sort of amalgamation of the Roman craft-guilds and early medieval ones which provide money for holy days.

How can a Guild exploit capital?
In the traditional Roman and early mediveal sense: it cannot. Guilds do not have the power to "sponsor" new business. They can help a fellow tradesman recover after a fire (though he would probably be able to rebuild his house himself; building your house was generally your own affair) or an apprentice after the death of a master but they really have no role in financing long distance operations. For that we'll need...

Costers — What are they?
The definition of Coster that I'm using is one that I've extrapolated from the Forgotten Realms, which has many of these organizations. The word in and of itself in English means a fruit vendor in a market, but Greenwood uses it to mean the following:

A loose organization of merchants who pitch together for common good, often alleviating the burden of dangerous mercantile ventures by common interest.

Costers are wholly fictional, but operate in some ways between a Joint-Stock Company and a Guild. They serve as a means for merchants who are already wealthy to band together, invest capital in a venture, and then reap the rewards without levying undue burdens on any single merchant if a ship or the whole fleet should sink. Same goes for caravans.

What makes this different from a Joint-Stock Company is that there are many ways the Coster might operate: it may be a corporate entity in which individual merchants pay dues and therefore receive cheaper use of dock facilities where the Coster operates. It may work as a trade union does to enact political reform in favor of the merchants. It may provide a central treasury from which guards are paid, etc.

The Joint-Stock Company
The most advanced of these options (in time) and the one I never use is the Joint-Stock Company. These are corporations formed of a number of shareholds, each of whom "own" a share of the company and invest a substantial portion of their personal fortune into its success. These were, notoriously, used during the Renaissance to facilitate the exploration of the so-called New World. While I personally find them too legalistic and too late, I'm sure you can get a lot of mileage out of Joint-Stock Companies—hell, you could have a Joint-Stock Adventuring Company who work for chartered shareholders!

Arunian News: The Arvoreen War

Fair listeners, I come straight from the elvish stronghold in Silversong, and I bear many a tale for you now! Come, finish that cup of wine and list close, for what I say has great import!

The three goblin tribes of the vast forest have grown restless again and as the winter has progressed much has been made of the great gatherings of Theraz-goblins of the wood. Who or what leads these creatures is unknown: rumors speak alternately of a powerful wizard, an ogre more cunning than any other on this continent, a vampiric spirit possessing the body of a fallen elf, and there are even those who hint it is a lieutenant of Vagrysj the Lion sent to Arunia to bring war and sorrows to its inhabitants in preparation for the day that Mamil al-Tyfir falls and the Lion acquires a fleet capable of bearing him into the north.

What is known is that some twenty thousand Theraz have gathered in camps ringing the ancient city of Arvorienna and their very presence has upset the delicate balance of the tribes. The Azeraks and Temreks have run wild, spilling from the heart of the forest and the deep bowels of the earth where normally they dwell! The whisper of elvish knights says that many were sent to fight Azeraks threatening the entish Moting of Ten, now the Moting of Eight as two have fallen. Those self-same knights are now directed south, to help break the threat near Arvorienna. Meantime, Temrek camps have appeared on the Ring Road near the capital; King Anundarien has issued a promise to honor each goblin head brought to his court with a sum of twenty golden suns, and five thousand coins of the realm for the man, elf, or dwarf who manages to remove the camps by force or otherwise. Tis said in Sirinon that the lord Tyr Findon has ridden out to seek reprisal on the goblins for desperate raids they have made against his city, and indeed watch-fires have been seen ringing their great camp.

Ranging companies are withdrawn from the southern border to the heart of Silversong and the King has issued a call to arms for all those of Alcosa blood or banner—a call which may be his last. Vicious and angry insinuations point to the policies of the Tower for the current troubles, and the Alcosa seek to supplant him with a candidate of their own. It is often said that they wish for a dynasty of kings to be re-established in Silversong, though Anundarien would see an election as in days before the great civil war.

If rumor serves, the first clashes between elf and Theraz goblin have been fought, the skirmishing being indecisive. The great fear remains that the Theraz will ring Arvorienna complete and once she is girded a great siege will begin. Thus many Green Wizards accompany the flower of Tyrman knighthood into the central forests, some four or five thousand elves strong. Citizen-militias shall be called before time runs too short, with elvish swordsmen accompanying their mounted kin. Spears are being sharpened, and whetstones turned.

The darkest hour has yet to come for there is no sign of the three tribes of goblin-kin working beneath one banner. If that black day ever dawns, the Tower will assuredly call the entire kingdom to war, shaking the ancient elvish war machine from its moss-covered slumbers to deal the forest goblins such a blow that they will not rise again within an elvish lifetime.

Shield Binds and Rehabilitating the Khopesh

I use Combat and Tactics with my 2e. I use attacks of opportunity (only when people try to move around other people without giving them the proper attention) and I use all the weird attack maneuvers such as guard and block and parry (which should just be called defend). Why? I like all these options, and I like not having to make up rules for them on the spot. It makes fighting more interesting. I know a lot of people will call me a dirty filthy 3eist, but really I don't think its the expanded options for combat that make 3e a hideous creation. There's SO much else to blame (let's not get into it, but just start with Challenge Rating) we don't really need to plop it on the combat. And yes, I can agree with everyone else that Skills and Powers is just wrong. I hate it. It's the worst book in the bunch.

But onwards and upwards: axes and khopeshes. These are hooked weapons that have been used, historically, to a particular purpose. Both have a hooked bill that has been used in war to bind the foe's shield and pull it down for a stab to the vitals, but there is no way to represent this in AD&D... until now.

Shield Bind
A character wielding a hooked weapon may attempt to get the beard of his axe or hook of his khopesh over his foe's shield (as long as the shield is medium or larger) and pull it down to reveal the foeman's breast. A contested strength check follows; if the attacker fails, the defender manages to rip his his shield away. In the case of the axe, it cannot then be used for attacks. The khopesh, however, may instantly be brought to bear to make a piercing attack.

Now, on that topic, the khopesh has been historically shorted by D&D. It's stats are:

Weight: 7lbs Size: M Type: Slashing Speed: 9 Reach: 1 Dmg sm/lg: 2d4/1d8 Knockdown: d8

Now, this is an absurdly slow weapon compared to an arming (incorrectly called a long sword) which is speed 5. Also note that the khopesh is weighted at SEVEN POUNDS while the long sword is weighted at 4. I don't know what they thought the blade looked like, but as you can see in the video above they are actually more akin to short-swords than anything else. I think we can bring them back around by simply reducing their weight to 3lbs., granting them their shield-bind ability, and perhaps changing their speed to 5.

Fast-paced ACTION FANTASY (or What the Hell Happened to Spells?)

So, I've been trekking through the completion of Skyrim over the past few weeks, doing a little here and a little there. I like the game, though I have some fundamental problems with it. One of the problems that I have with the mechanics of the game is a problem that crops up fairly consistently throughout modern games (and some media) depicting fantasy and that is this: there's a total lack of triggers for any kind of magic.

What the hell does that mean? Well, I believe that in the interest of not having to come up with a fake language or translate everything into joke Latin (and where video games are concerned to not force the player to wait through a short phrase or possibly get killed while reciting a spell) or maybe even out of a fear of Jack Chick-like satanist proportions, spells don't exist anymore in video games or even many fantasy films. They have simply faded away.

What do we have in their place? Something that appears to be psychically summoned magic, a force that obeys the beck and call of whoever is concentrating really hard right now. You see, for me, part of the thing that makes magic magic is the inherent linking of ritual, particularly the word. The Shouts of Skyrim seem more like magic than what wizards do in the setting. After all, magic is the working of the will upon the world through speech and gesture—isn't the working of the will on the world through concentration just psychic manifestation?

I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but don't the so-called "spells" of Skyrim (and many other games that share this fault) look like they just think about what they want to do and then point? That seems rather anticlimactic and un-magical to me. Where's the ritual? The mystery? The secret occulted lore? I suppose you could make the argument that preparing your mind to walk the paths that allow these things to manifest is hard and requires study... but I can't see anything that looks like an intrusion of the spell-structure into the physical world. What the hell exactly is written in those spellbooks you can buy in Skyrim? Thought-patterns?

I'm not sure why magic became a casualty in modern fantasy. Is it because them kids want faster gameplay? Maybe something that looks and feels and sounds like guns but with fancy projectiles? Its it because of the Satanism scare and the shying away from anything that could be classified as "actual magic" (what a stupid phrase, it makes me sick to type it), or because the developers of games and writers of films are just too lazy to consider what magic should look and feel like?

I can't answer that question to my satisfaction, but I feel as though my observations can be borne out in any one of a hundred examples. Maybe I'll think up some more later and share them with you, if anyone wants to discuss the issue further.

Gross Goblin Gods Monday: Kushad Siegebreaker

KUSHAD

(Siegebreaker, the Raper)

Lesser God, CE

Portfolio: Sieges, rape

Aliases: None

Domain Name: The Blazing City, the Fifth Hell

Superior: Halash, Toynash

Allies: Duzarh and Halash

Foes: Bishush, Lorosh, Ashad

Symbol: An iron-prowed ram

Worshipper Alignment: Any evil

Kushad (KOO-shad) is one of the sons of Ulagos the Potter and brother to Toynash, the ruler-god of the goblin pantheon. Younger and more lusty by far, Kushad is famed for the rape of Ezaya (which produced Lorosh, the God of Farming, his son) as well as battling Ashad the Lord of Slaughters.

He is the patron of siege engineers, invading armies, and works closely with his older half-brother Duzarh, Lord of Loot. Halash, the powerful step-child of Toynash, rules the goblin war pantheon and has nominal authority over the insanities of Kushad.

The goblins know him as a lusty and violent bugbear—he is always depicted fully erect, and his penis is generally tipped with iron on all of his eikons. He wears a filthy knotted beard and has round staring eyes, often depicted as blazing red.

Kushad is known as the Raper and the Siegebreaker, and his portfolios coincide violently.  The way in which he “breaks” sieges, of course, is by smashing the city gates with his ram-prick and allowing the besieging army entrance. He represents the goblin will to dominance, particularly the patriarchal structure of their society (also represented in Atabaq the Father) and his control over rape is not seen as a damning factor but rather as a great honor.

He is a favorite of armies on the march or conducting long sieges, and many rams are christened in his name.

The Arunian Economy and Noble Holdings

Outside of Birthright, I've never read anything that's meant for domain level play. I see Bruce Heard's breakdowns of the Mystaran provinces every week, and it's been enough finally to get me into gear to do some economics and demographics. I spent a while looking at the Domesday Book as well as some other sources to come up with these calculations, but most of it is done on "should bes" rather than solid research. At first I was embarrassed to have so little solid information to base this on, but then I remembered I'm not writing a paper for a conference, I'm just trying to work some things out for my game—besides which, it has to jive with PHB and DMG prices, which means it's probably not going to be accurate anyway.

Here is my rough math, and I'm GLAD to hear anyone's corrections:

Based on the incomes of several estates (net incomes, now, so we can't parse what they were comprised of) I have assessed that a wealthy estate could pull in around £170 per annum. This was primarily in goods as a result of labor on the lord's demesne. A pound sterling being simply a pound of silver and 100 silver coins being a pound in AD&D leads me to assess this at 17,000sp/annum for a small but wealthy village of 20-25 households. To make it easy, we can just round that number out to 20,000sp for a wealthy estate, 15,000sp for a moderately run estate, and 7,000sp for a poor one.

Assuming that the lord has just the right amount of land to be worked by his men (we'll say 5 hides for 20 households, blithely assuming that a single household can work a whole hide with the standard 2-3 days of labor owed per week), we can assess the value of goods per house produced by the settlement: 750sp/household/annum. Some further math will yield a price of 2sp for a bushel of wheat at this rate (based on a production value of 1200bu/grain/harvest for a hide).

I've gone on further to assume that 3/4ths of the value of the estate's income is in goods, 1/4th in fees and rents from the year. With the flat rule that another 1/4th of the estate's incomes can be sold or traded, this evenly divides the net annual income of the estate into halves: one half in food (ale, butter, apples, peas, grains, etc.) and one have in cash receipts. A town of 20 households (approximately 80 people) produces 7,500 silver (750) in food and 7,500 silver in cash for its lord.

Now, most lords would hold a manor of 3-6 towns plus potentially a central village. We'll say the village has a population of some 1,200 people, which is between 300-400 households. Given the standard "fertile but not great" value of 75gp/annum, we arrive at 22,500gp for 300 households. This, plus the 1,500gp from each of the small towns (let's say 3) leaves our lord with a net income of 27,000gp. A fair amount! 6,750gp of this is taken in fees and other cash incomes. A further 6,750 (for a total of 13,500) can be sold or traded for cash receipts.

That means the lord can easily buy 540 swords a year if he's looking to outfit an army. Knights and other household can be "paid for" from the food-income side of his earnings, since they don't require a stipend. Skilled labor, such as a master mason or mercenary soldiers, must still be paid from the cash side of the income (though they may also take up food and residence!).

Most of the lord's upkeep is free. since it comes from free labor services. That is, unless he wants to build something from stone which requires that he find the resource (perhaps he has a quarry, but more likely he'll have to pay for it) as well as the stonemasons to oversee the labor of the peasants who are being taken off their work. This can reduce the incomes of the lord as now the common folk are repairing bridges or building a castle instead of working his land. I think it's fair to subtract a certain value from his incomes for this.

Looking at a lot of the numbers, I think this rounds out pretty nicely. I'm going to experiment with it in play, as well as work in some randomness and the like. This also fails to account for the imperial tax levied unevenly upon nobles (which can be up to a third of the value of their lands).

Anyway, a good comparison is thus: a suit of plate armor costs 10,000ƒ (fulcre, pillars) in the empire due to the rarity of pure enough steel and the secret of its craftsmanship, which means only dwarves can do the smelting for it. This would be a quarter or so of our fictitious 3-village 1-town lord's income for the year: fair, I think!