Gill choker: While attuned to and wearing this choker, a creature can speak underwater. However, choker does not support water breathing, which has to be accounted for separately.
Nuptial ring: This ring allows an attuned creature to feel the heartbeat of a loved one.
Ornament box: A tin container that functions as a Bag of Holding, but can only hold decorations.
Scented dagger: This dagger functions normally, but has a strong, irremovable smell of oranges.
Yew greenling: A full-sized yew tree, magically shrunk to the size of a human forearm and put in a pot.
Pumpkin powder: When sprinkled on the ground, this powder becomes 2d6 fully-grown pumpkins.
Dapplewater: A beast that drinks this water develops a spotted pattern on its fur, feathers, or scales.
Raisin deceiver: A person attuned to this grapevine can make all raisins look like chocolate.
Saltwater coin: A silver coin from a shipwreck long ago. The whispers of the crew emanate from it.
Hullwood: A driftwood charm grants an attuned creature advantage on saves against drowning
All values for resale to be determined at DM’s discretion.
Magical Tattoos can only be obtained at one shop in the heart of Waterdeep. A creature can benefit from the effects of only one tattoo. Each tattoo offered requires a certain type of gem dust in a specific amount. The type of dust and the amount are listed below.
(this is one of the things Nari read in the bookshop in Sixth Terrace)
A Brief History of Lossan and Foreword to the Seventh Edition, by Sindhail Opalback, Honored Historian:
Though I may be censured for the words to follow, I would be neglecting my duty as a historian and citizen if I were not truthful about my beloved city’s history and its more contemporary developments. My role as a historian is not only to report events as they have happened, but to examine such events through a lens that tells the broader story. That such a story looks grimly upon certain members and movements in this country is not a fault of mine, as their actions and the effects of their actions are their own for which they must accept responsibility.
As many know, Lossan is one of the prominent ancient coastal cities, known for its rich history as influenced by the iron trade to which it owes its national prominence.
Borders and fortifications
The north of the city is bordered by the Kismet Ocean. Shipbuilding and fishing have become prominent industries on this northern coast of the city and the beaches are necessary to visit if one is touring the area. Sailors and fisherman who have lived and worked on the coast for many years always muse to bar patrons, their protégées, and tourists that there is little more humbling than looking out into the vastness of this ocean.
To guide ships returning to port, there are 3 lighthouses named for elven deities. The central lighthouse has been affectionately named “Lady Moonbow” after elven goddess Sehanine Moonbow. The western lighthouse is called Lady Hanali for the elven goddess of romantic love and beauty. The eastern lighthouse is called Lord Naralis, named for Naralis Analor, the minor elven god associated with healing. These lighthouses and their corresponding deities were praised and honored as guides to bring home returning travelers. They were also places one could get healing if needed when returning form a voyage, but also places of safety and protection in times of invasion and war. Not only are these places of great utility as lighthouses (and outfitted with battlements and other wartime protections), but they are often frequented and revered by visitors as if they are also temples to the elven deities.
Despite the protection provided by the Kismet Ocean to the north and Two Moon Bay on the city’s eastern and southern borders, the city’s planners over the past many centuries have nonetheless erected a wall around the city, as is seen protecting many of the landlocked cities. Fortifying the city has been a priority since the city’s founding from both coastal/foreign and domestic invasion, the latter of which was more pressing around the period of the Reign of Human Kings but less pressing after the peace and unification under the Free State of Falschegal. The former, in contrast, was more of a prominent concern prior to the arrival of humans on the landmass that would become known as Falschegal. The city’s elven and dwarven founders protected the city from invading nations to the west, most of all humans. Humans would eventually arrive on Lossan’s shores claiming a desire to peaceably integrate themselves into the city’s society. The native non-human populations would, over time, watch the human population burgeon and displace the founding and native families in civic and other prominent positions of power.
As this history has long passed, every generation of the city’s leaders since then has been jokingly chided for maintaining the coastal fortifications. The truth, everyone knows, is that the lighthouses and the Northern Wall are integral parts of the city’s heritage.
Though coastal and foreign invasion was a frequent concern throughout the city’s history, the more contemporary worry since the rise of Dunghill Kunt has been domestic invasion from the east. The city’s Western Wall has, as a result, garnered more attention in recent years. That is the only part of the city bordered entirely by land, and though the adjacent cities have historically been Lossan’s allies, the city’s leaders have still not wanted to risk adjacent cities being used as pathways for other domestic invaders. The Western Wall’s fortifications have been strengthened over the past few years as a result, and the city’s liaisons to the neighboring towns have insisted that it is nothing personal against their allies. Human followers of Dunghill Kunt have used the situation to their advantage, attempting to sow discord among Lossan and its allies, with the hope that Lossan will find itself isolated and more vulnerable to attack when the time comes.
The iron mines for which the Iron Coast is known are not located in Lossan and her sister city, Angesco. For Lossan, rather, the mines are clustered around the city along its western edge. Historically, Lossan and Angesco rose to prominence as mining populations in adjacent cities sought nearby locations for commerce, recreation, and eventually long-term habitation. As Lossan and Angesco have also played prominent roles in converting saltwater to freshwater in their respective parts of the region, they have burgeoned over the years as sprawling metropolises. While smaller in size and population than Broadison and Wells Pier, Lossan is nonetheless larger and more populous than its southern brethren, Atlas and Sixth Terrace.
To the south, the Iron Bridge connects Lossan to a neighboring city, Haeldürn. Founded by dwarves who were heavily involved in the iron industry, inhabitants of Haeldürn have remained allies with Lossan (though, anecdotally, the uncouth, rough-handed miners have had a thing or two to say about the “softness” of Lossan’s city folk). To the east, the Waller Bridge connects Lossan to another ally city, Khleebur, which was founded by elves and grew around one of the Iron Coast’s more prominent universities. There is arguably more cultural and intellectual similarity between Khleebur and Lossan than Lossan and Haeldürn, which has led to good relations between Lossan and Khleebur through both cities’ histories. Indeed, students from Khleebur often find themselves in Lossan for recreation when they are taking breaks from their studies.
Topography and climate
Lossan is perhaps most known for its hilly topography. Indeed, the hills rise the farther one travels into the city, and from a distance outside of the city, it is clear that the hills have raised the center of the city high above the walls at the city’s borders. Such is one of many visual quirks that speak to Lossan’s uniqueness and beauty. Some say it is a cornerstone of a childhood in Lossan to have stood at the top of one of these hills and let a smooth marble or a wheeled toy race down a steep hill, rejoicing as gravity accelerated the chosen objects down to the bottom. It is also for this reason that the city government and records are housed at the center of the city, where the hills are highest (the rationale being that, in the case of invasion, the higher ground would be the most secure and harder to storm).
Naturally, the variant topography has affected the distribution of the population within the city by social class over the past few centuries. The center of the city has been hailed as more prestigious, particularly because of its higher ground and greater protection. Those that have made the City Centre their home or place of business tend to be wealthier and are able to afford the requisite transportation to get them to the tops of the hill. The wealthier occupants of the city are also rumored to have exclusive, heavily-guarded destination circles for teleportation to avoid strenuous uphill travel, though existence of these circles has never been confirmed. In contrast, the poorer populations have found themselves relegated closer to the city walls and farther from the City Centre.
Aside from its hilly topography, Lossan is also known for its warmer weather, despite being farther north than many inland cities that experience colder average temperatures all year round. That being said, a morning chill has been to known to overtake the city, as does a distinct fog that surrounds the Iron Bridge before dissipates by the early afternoon.
Culture and relations
Culturally, Lossan is distinct in its own right while also being emblematic of a broader common culture on the Iron Coast. Lossan bears similar cosmopolitan characteristics as Angesco, Broadison, Southport, Wells Pier, Sixth Terrace, and Atlas in that the city’s population is more diverse in the races and species that occupy and pass through the city daily. Such diversity has normalized an acceptance and peace among varied races and species that are less common in smaller towns farther inland, where many towns have self-segregated by race and species, with human towns being the most insular.
Anecdotally, it is often observed that those from the Iron Coast are far less tense than those on the Lake Coast, particularly those living in or near Broadison. Again, most of these observations are entirely anecdotal in nature, with very few studies or empirical evidence confirming this distinction or its causes. Nonetheless, one only needs to think of friends or family raised on the Iron Coast and compare their general disposition to those raised on the Lake Coast — the reader is free to come to their own conclusion about these alleged regional differences.
There is often a playful rivalry with the Iron Triangle regarding the competing iron mining, processing, and manufacturing industries. Such a rivalry is most prominent in the dwarven populations from both competing regions, as dwarves have historically been most proactive in the rise of the iron industry. Around the time of Falschegal’s unification and the expansion of travel, there was some brief competition between the two regions, as they both fought to retain overlapping buyers and distributors in equidistant regions. Overtime, however, the competition surrounding mining has tapered off, as the quality of the iron itself from either region was found to be comparable. The primary difference was found to be in the manufacturing process and the purposes for which the iron was used. As the dwarven miners were less responsible for what happened to iron ore after it was mined, they let the rivalry carry over to the manufacturers and distributors. Thankfully, the rivalry now is mostly in jest, as many of those who work in the iron industry gather from all over the country, from Iron Coast and Iron Triangle alike, to amicably discuss the status of mining in their respective regions, compare techniques and seasonal yields, and revise standards for worker safety.
//
My contributions to the Seventh Edition have come at a time of great strife throughout our country, and it is my greatest hope that readers now and in the future will look upon these writings as informative and an accurate representation of both current events and Lossan’s history. Lossan was a city founded upon and continues to be a city that emphasizes inclusivity, cooperation, and acceptance. My greatest hope is that my beloved city carries on in this great heritage for years to come, no matter what darkness befalls her and the country at large.
The Cliffside Estate saw a flurry of activity in the days that followed Dunghill Kunt’s death, followed by complete silence. At a moment’s notice, Petyr Cliffside, the presumed Acting Chancellor, had to shift his entire base of operations to Broadison.
Within the past several months, Cliffside had already convinced Kunt to employ staff that he, Cliffside, preferred and trusted. But there were still some remaining Kunt-loyalists that Cliffside could do without. But it would be improper to remove them so suddenly after Kunt’s death. No, he mustn’t look too eager to take the helm, especially not to Kunt’s most ardent supporters.
The relocation to Broadison, as a result, removed Cliffside from the presence of his most trusted aides. Unfortunately, there was a lot of work to be done, both business and personal, and in his new position as Acting Chancellor, he could not do all of this at once. And much of this he could not delegate, nor could he risk sending directives by letter, lest the contents be misunderstood or intercepted.
No, for the moment, his options were limited: he could either choose to use Kunt’s men to do his bidding from Broadison, or he could wait until he returned home to his Estate to give orders to those he knew he could depend on. At times like these, Cliffside grudgingly wishes he had the kind of magic that Kunt and Zechman had to communicate secure information from a distance.
For the time being, Cliffside resigns himself to using Kunt’s men. He is already regretting it.
“It’s not there, sir,” the Orange Battalion officer reports. “My teams have made two sweeps of the estate and found nothing like what you are describing.” He does not mention that a substantial part of the first sweep was spent disentangling many of his soldiers from the magical traps undoubtedly left behind by Zechman.
Cliffside drums his fingers impatiently on the desk. “Did you try the library?” The new money twerp was a well-read mage and undoubtedly had a large collection of books.
The officer gives him a pointed, exasperated stare. “Do you think something as valuable as you say would be kept in such an obvious, open place?”
“I don’t know!” Cliffside finally snaps. Being in charge is truly trying on his patience, especially when it appears that none of these underlings are up to any task he puts them to. “But if you did a thorough search, you would have checked there because you would have checked everywhere.”
“We checked there, sir,” the officer insists. “Everywhere. It’s not there.”
Cliffside’s eyes narrow. Zechman was not enough of a fool to lose it, especially when protecting it was one of his first tasks to prove himself as one of them. It’s not clear that the rebel attack on the estate was anything more than a random strike at one of the perceived nobility. After all, nobody — surely not the rebels — other than one of their own knew of its existence, let alone its location.
Still, something is amiss. And for the moment, Cliffside cannot decide if the officer and his soldiers are inept, lazy, lying, or some combination of all three. But this has already been a waste of time and manpower, and they cannot risk losing much more of either. There were more matters to address, most of all the growing rebellion in the cities.
“Check one last time,” Cliffside finally says. “Let it be your most thorough search.”
“Understood, sir.”
“And if you don’t find it, you make sure every last bit of that place is burned to the ground. No books, no tables, nothing left alive or intact.”
Being an adventuring party with members of varied backgrounds and experiences, everyone has a little bit of information to offer when it comes to your latest destination. How each of you choose to share and use this information collectively is up to you.
What everyone knows:
It’s humid here, and somewhat tropical. There is some tourism because of the beaches and exotic species of plants and creatures in the region. There is less tourism here than on the Lake Coast, however, because of the dangerous creatures and the high tides.
The merpeople have ruled here for centuries. Other than Ash Valley and The Turtleneck, The Golden Trident is the only region that has enjoyed relative autonomy from nationwide affairs. This is largely due to the merpeople’s monopoly over the underwater caves and reefs where one of the base substances of healing potions, kolto, are found. The Golden Trident is not the only source of this substance, but constitutes about 75% of the countrywide supply. Unwilling to lose a hand in trading for such a vital resource, Falschegal’s leaders have deferred to the merpeople monarchs and looked the other way when it comes to The Golden Trident’s massive human rights violations. This was less the case when the Knight of Amabo was Chancellor, heavily encouraged under Kunt, and continuing with polite detachment under Cliffside.
It’s an open secret that The Golden Trident has a massive slave population used to harvest and refine kolto. It’s not clear where the merpeople get these slaves.
Most of the merpeople defer to whoever the ruler is. There have been some stories of challenges to the throne and to the issue of slavery, but none have been successful.
Most of the inhabitants on land defer to the merpeople, or at least are afraid of challenging them. They are known to have very powerful allies on land, both inside and outside of the Golden Trident, but it’s not clear who.
What Nalla knows
Many of the slavers you were previously tasked to apprehend, maim, and murder were capturing and transporting persons of various species and bringing them toward the Golden Trident. They primarily preyed upon non-human individuals in remote areas, especially poorer areas. It is not clear who the slavers were working for, or if they even knew who they were working for, though you’ve gotten some stray details out of a few of them before they died.
The slavers don’t really go into The Golden Trident, at least not beyond the forest that separates The Golden Trident from the Lake Coast. You’ve been told that slavers are typically given instructions to meet somebody at the Golden Trident edge of the forest who receives the caravans of slaves. The slavers are then paid for their services. Whoever is charged with meeting and paying the slavers usually pay what was originally agreed-upon and double-crossing isn’t much of an issue.
What Thea knows
Many of the refugees you have smuggled back into other parts of the country have either escaped The Golden Trident or were rescued before being taken to The Golden Trident. You’ve gathered some stories and descriptions of the region, though nothing specific in that regard; you’ve mostly heard about what happens to disobedient slaves (they’re left to drown in cages on the beach at high tide) and how few people survive their attempts to escape via both land and sea.
The beaches are tranquil af at low tide, or so you’ve heard.
What Nari knows
Over the years, you have overheard your father discussing and negotiating over “shipments” to The Golden Trident. After hearing the others discuss what they know of the region, you wonder if this is related to all of screaming and crying you’ve heard coming from covered wagons you’ve seen leaving the Cliffside Estate.
Over the years, you have overheard your father talking about “shipments” received from The Golden Trident. He always seemed to direct these shipments to a nearby location somewhere other than the Cliffside Estate.
What Sera knows
There have been whispers of underground and black market groups trying to go to the source and harvest the kolto themselves. All attempts have been unsuccessful, as the underwater caves and reefs are heavily guarded.
Though you’ve never been to The Golden Trident, you’ve stolen and smuggled your fair share of kolto, both refined and unrefined. The refined, pure form is a white, shiny substance of soap-like texture. Unrefined, the substance is caked in rock and mixed with other substances and minerals. You’ve also seen your fair share of fake refined and unrefined kolto that sellers thought you would be stupid enough to buy or pass along.
Dunghill Kunt has been vanquished, but the rest of Falschegal’s plutocracy refuses to loosen its grip on power.
News of the deaths of Kunt and Mknaw’l has not reached the masses, for purposes of maintaining calm. When fed the story that Kunt and other officials have been moved into hiding for their safety, the reaction, paradoxically, is more chaos; Kunt supporters blame the Rebels and have taken to provoking them more openly in the street. They are more openly hostile toward nonhumans, having felt vindicated by the open disdain displayed by Kunt. Though the Acting Chancellor, Petyr Cliffside, does not take part in the same rhetoric, he does not condemn it from his followers.
Petyr Cliffside has taken the helm left vacant by the “hiding” Kunt. His rule is far more traditional, and far more compliant with the norms and process of the past few centuries. But in sticking to those norms and processes, Cliffside and the other nobles find justification and moral cover when stripping rights from nonhumans, citing “safety concerns in light of the current social disorder.” Cliffside continues Kunt’s arrest and imprisonment of anyone suspected of having ties to the Rebels. Such an attempt to stifle revolutionary support and rhetoric is much harder in large cities, where more open minded Rebels or nonhuman-friendly populations live.
The Orange Guard, no longer having Kunt’s leadership, fragments; while some continue to carry out Kunt’s more extreme xenophobic mandates, others defect to loyalty to Cliffside, seeing the latter as the new power to yield to for their own preservation. Martial law remains in all of the cities but is far stricter and organized under Cliffside. It is rarely clear on sight if an officer is loyal to Kunt or Cliffside.
The nobles, while more comfortable with Cliffside’s rule, are still wary of almost everyone else, most of all the Rebels and nonhumans, but even the radical human Kunt supporters and the Orange Guard. However, they are satisfied to stoke the rivalry between poor humans and nonhumans in order to keep the masses divided, rather than united against the rich. To that end, the nobles have also tightened their control on the raw materials, means of production, and general resources in their possession to create want among the poor. Starvation and lack of medical equipment has come bearing down on the towns harder than previously.
Due to the destruction of debt records and the release of potential laborers from the destroyed debtors prisons, some nobles, having lost the legal authority to exploit debtors for servitude, have taken to capturing the poor (mostly nonhuman) folk as laborers. Slavers become more relevant than they have been in many years, and some of them even come from the poor or regular folks.
Otherwise, the mounting tension following the distribution of The Manifesto grows as expected in the towns and cities. Though families do their best to maintain their usual routines, food, medicine, and essential resources, already once-scarce, seem to get scarcer by the day. The line between Rebel and Human Supremacist is better left unclarified in most interactions, as the Orange Guard and Battalion are always near and watching...
The top two floors of Kunt Tower in Astorbury are active crime scenes.
There are no signs of forced entry, which baffles the Orange Battalion captain who has been on duty for the past 36 hours in question. “We were obviously on higher alert,” the Captain insists defensively. “And obviously, that was fruitful, because nobody broke in.”
Cliffside gestures pointedly at the corpse of Dunghill Kunt, in true Mind Flayer form in death without a spell to alter his appearance. The tentacles are a sickly orange. “Then what,” Cliffside says through gritted teeth, “happened here??”
The Captain’s arms remain folded across his armored chest when he shrugs. “An inside job, perhaps?” he shrugs. “The Chancellor has many enemies, including those on his own side.” His hard stare lingers on Cliffside’s gaze with a raised eyebrow.
Cliffside stares back, noting but not verbally addressing the thinly-veiled accusation. “Then can you explain why at least two of your men let somebody into the building?”
“Riiiiiiight, one helpless woman snuck in and killed several people, including the most powerful psionic in the country. Twice,” the Captain scoffs. “Fine, fine. Shrub, Paul, get over here.” He summons two guards posted at the stone door leading to the garbage lift.
They approach, looking more annoyed than professional. Their shift was supposed to end at 10, but whatever the hell happened here has ruined their plans.
“Yes, Captain?” Paul, the taller of the two, asks, his question filled a little bit of bite.
“Describe the lost woman.”
“She was, uh...” Paul struggles to remember. “She was looking for a club? Something about a foam party?” The very distinct window of her shirt, showing a hint of glistening skin...
“What did she look like?” Cliffside asks impatiently.
Paul finds it best to keep his limited observations quiet.
Shrub, with less tact, pipes up. “She was...hot?”
Well, there goes that. “Bro, she WAS,” Paul admits.
“She invited us to a party.”
“She’s waiting for us NOW.”
“Hah, I think she’s waiting for ME —-“
“Gentlemen, please.” Cliffside presses his fingers to his temple, feeling the imminent headache coming on. All of this is an absolute mess.
The Captain, only mildly embarrassed about his men’s antics, waves away Cliffside’s anger. “Sure, say this is the woman that got into the building. You expect me to believe she alone did all of —-this?” He gestures broadly to the entire room, littered with the dead bodies of Bannaruk, Kunt, and Mknaw’l. The tortle shell is badly charred and an acrid burn smell still lingers.
It’s useless to get anything more out of the Captain at this point. Cliffside excuses himself and goes to the top floor. The stone statue doors have been propped open with heavy anvils to ensure continued access as Orange Battalion soldiers file in and out to investigate. Without Kunt’s psionic directives to the statues, it’s unclear how else to keep the doors open, and it’s surprising that this actually works.
On his way through the first room, Cliffside addresses the dwarf statue, animated and quietly thrilled by all of the activity around him.
“You there,” Cliffside barks. “Statue.”
“Uhm, it’s Dwayne,” the statue corrects.
“And Hercules!” the other statue calls from the open, adjacent room. Cliffside turns to see the other animated dwarf statue waving.
“Hey pal, this is my conversation with an outsider, get your own,” Dwayne barks.
“Years of suspense and mystery and I finally get to hear your voice,” Hercules shoots back. “Safe to say I am underwhelmed.”
The headache has definitely manifested and Cliffside wonders how everyone has managed to be so annoying on the same day at the worst possibly time. He crosses to the second room so he can stand between both statues.
Kunt would never give objects names, Cliffside notes. Curious. “Enough, both of you. Tell me about the people that came through here.”
“Why do you wanna know?” Hercules asks with a laugh. The five were an odd bunch, but they were a lot chummier than anyone else who had crossed through and attempted the puzzles. Would it kill some of these adventurers to have a sense of humor? Yeesh.
“Yeah, you gonna kill ‘em or something?” Dwayne jokes.
Cliffside’s expression is dark. “Yes.”
The smile on Dwayne’s face vanishes. It’s unclear if Cliffside notices.
“Remember who you serve,” Cliffside reminds them.
“The big boss man?” Hercules offers in answer, completely ignoring the rhetorical nature of the statement.
“Yeah, didn’t one of you guys —“ Dwayne nods at Cliffside, “— say he was dead?”
Cliffside rolls his eyes. It’s not like these statues could leave this tower and tell everyone the truth of what happened. “Yes, he’s dead. Whatever.”
The statues exchange a look but it’s unclear whether Cliffside catches that too. Hercules shoots a subtle nod across the room and Dwayne seems to consider the question for a moment.
“Uh, four of them I think?” Dwayne finally answers. “Couldn’t see very well.”
“Seriously,” Hercules interjects, “would it kill you to put better lighting in here? I know we are modeled after dwarves, but does that mean that we actually have darkvision?”
Cliffside rolls his eyes. “What did these four look like?” It was like pulling teeth getting information out of anyone today. It was unclear if everyone was hiding something or just simply obtuse. Could have been both, but neither one was appreciated.
“A woman with brown hair. A dwarf. A tall, bald goliath. Another lady with visible bosom. That’s all I got,” Dwayne says with a shrug. He remembers more but omits further details. He omits completely the curly redhead and the fact that the goliath was carrying something extra on the way out. Although this guy here speaks authoritatively, he is NOT the Bossman, and the Bossman left no instructions to answer anyone else truthfully.
Hercules agrees from across the room. The five were probably only joking when they said they would return (maybe not the bosom lady, though, she had a wild sort of sincerity about her that he found himself believing), but they would definitely not return if they were dead as this man wanted them to be.
Cliffside rolls his eyes as he waves off the statues and continues into the final, cavernous room. None of the statues’ descriptions matched anyone from any wanted posters. Maybe the brown-haired woman but that was too vague of a description to go off of.
It was maddening, getting so little information out of everyone in this tower. Cliffside knows there is likely more detail. He kicks himself for not having his own informants in the tower, but remembers that that was made more difficult by the fact that this was Kunt’s private property and was regulated as such. But to have held someone captive on government property would have been even more dangerous. It’s all beside the point now, Cliffside has to remind himself, as the damage has already been done and they can only move forward at this point.
Rihan trots up to Cliffside as he enters the room.
“News of the others?” Cliffside asks.
Rihan knows he is referring to the other nobles in power. “Hiding. Scared. Everything you would expect, especially after the anarchist attack on Zechman’s Estate.” Rihan shrugs. “They know this could have been them if they were here.” Rihan leans in for a whisper. “They are now even more convinced that The Plan should be carried out, some say immediately. Be careful what you wish for.”
Cliffside shakes his head, keeping his voice low. “Not the time yet.” Indeed, not the time, especially when the unrest in the cities was building but could still be undermined. Better to divide and disperse that growing momentum before the final blow, to ensure that everyone stayed down when struck.
“No,” Cliffside says, “best not to let anyone know what happened here. Not until we get control of the situation. As relieved as I am that this bastard is dead, we can’t deny that he has a very loyal following. It is small, but they have taken his influence and words to heart. They will tear our cause apart if we do not secure their loyalty.”
Cliffside looks at the tall metal spikes at the center of the room. The half-elf, the presumed and self-declared guiding hand behind the resistance movement, is gone.
“We don’t want anyone to think the anarchists have bested us,” Cliffside continues. “But we tell them that —“ he considers for a moment, “—tell them their terrorist figurehead is dead. That should fracture some of the support and send the message that we are not to be challenged.”
”But we don’t know that she’s actually dead,” Rihan points out. “Do we want to risk her being seen and reviving any momentum.”
”We will handle that if it arises,” Cliffside says, surveying the debris at the foot of the spikes for anything left behind. Nothing. “And we tell the public that the Chancellor has been removed to an undisclosed location for his safety, in light of the incidents here.”
“And of Mknaw’l, Banarruuk, and the two hags?” Rihan asks.
Cliffside looks down at the bodies of the two hags and considers this for a moment.
“Mknaw’l and Banarruuk have been removed for similar reasons. It will not do to have lost so many influential members of our movement in one fell swoop,” Cliffside says. “But we say the hags were killed in cold blood, targeted for nothing more than their support of a popular figure. That could drum up some sympathy and anger in our favor.”
He looks down at his splinted fingers, healed but still sensitive from his run-in with the half-elf.
“Tell the other nobles that we have some work to do,” Cliffside says. “We have to make sure this doesn’t happen to us as well.”
The sun rises in Cedar Valley and the Orange Battalion officers note a buzz among the citizenry.
The people in the town square talk in hushed, excited whispers among each other. Maybe excited isn’t the right word. But there is a zeal, an energy, a determination to the way they discuss whatever they are discussing. It would appear as well that everyone in town seems to be discussing the same thing, as people who appear to be strangers stop each other in passing to talk with the same intensity.
By afternoon, the officers have gathered that the commotion can be traced back to a single piece of paper that all of the citizens seem to have gotten a hold of. The officers finally find one discarded on the ground and bring it back to the makeshift barracks, an abandoned warehouse.
By the time the Captain gets to the end of the pamphlet, his eyes widen.
“Send a raven to the Chancellor. He needs to see this.”
---
“To the “Chancellor,” the Wealthy, but Most of All, to the Citizens of Falschegal:
It has come to my attention that a more thorough articulation of my views is necessary to clarify my objectives regarding the reformation of our present society. Such elaboration is detailed below and it is my sincerest hope that this will convince any reluctant parties to take up arms and unite with me in this cause.
It has become plain to the public, now more than ever, that the current system of economy and governance are neither suitable nor humane for the survival and prosperity for the citizens of this great country.
Make no mistake, the purity of the so-called greatness of this country has been muddied with the blood, sweat, and tears of the oppressed, on whose backs the few have flourished. This is a call to action for all of the downtrodden who call this land home but are treated as strangers. This is the time to reclaim the power for the people, so that we may live in a mutual equality and happiness that we have never known under the present system.
The first order of business, being most essential to resolving the ills of destitution and poverty, is the destruction of the current systems of currency, debt, and credit. As you know, my allies and I have already started our work in this regard, having ensured such destruction of institutions of debt and credit. Remaining institutions of banking, currency, and capital, will also meet their end soon enough.
The Bank, the very embodiment of the current system’s evil, must perish. Before the arrival of the humans and their currency and capital, Falschegal’s natives were content in their prior agreements on trade and subsistence. Families were clothed, fed, and housed. Extravagant palaces and luxuries existed but were rare. The powerful preyed on the weak, an immutable feature of the worst of the human condition, but such behavior was met with both condemnation and the eventual liberation of the oppressed.
It was the promise of wealth and riches that led us to trust the humans, to take more than we needed from the environment and from each other in the name of profit. In that promise, Falschegal gained larger cities and grander palaces. But in that excess, we discovered that the price of having more than your means is to rob your neighbor of their livelihood. The elite thought such a price was worth it. The rest of us, those who truly had to pay that price, continue to disagree.
This is not to say that any expense made toward recreation or luxury per se is worthy of condemnation. The man who owns a cart is not restricted to four wheels and a carriage. He is free to make aesthetic and functional enhancements, provided that he is willing to bear the labor and expense of the additional features, and provided that he has not obtained the means for the extra labor and expense by way of leaving a neighbor in need. For it is the excess that robs another of their means to survive that is causing our present misery, and worthy of our strongest condemnation and disdain.
Furthermore, the current system of governance currently suffers in its own inherent structure, but mostly in the vast influence of the wealthy that have infiltrated the ranks of civic engagement. The inherent structure and the elite influence have nearly become one in the same, as centuries of government and law have developed to favor the propertied interests and wealthy that write those laws. Any discretion left to a judicial or executive officer, meant to balance the equities, in actuality, is left to yet another elite to make decisions based on their best judgment, a judgment that is often one of limited experience and exposure to the lives and struggles of the common people.
Prior to the emigration of humans in our society, the native populations of Falschegal were content to be led locally by familiar leaders who knew very well what the local concerns were. The purpose of relations between regions should be cooperation, compromise, and arbitration. Centralized rule for the entire nation is only necessary in times of international war, not as a permanent state of being. It is only through centralized rule that the elites have been able to consolidate their own power and control regions far away from them.
The question, then, is obvious: what of the new society that will replace the old, broken one? And how can we avoid the mistakes that brought so much misery to so many people for so long? In theory, the answer is simple. In practice, the solution is complicated, in need of cooperation of everyone involved, and will by no means take a short amount of time to accomplish.
The fundamental problem inherent in the present society is the hoarding and accumulation of resources for purposes of enrichment and capital rather than for actual utility and benefit to those who need them to survive.
Whether it be natural resources, currency, means of production, expertise, or services rendered, the people have suffered when the few monopolize control over what everyone needs and only provide what is needed to those who can pay the price. A person’s ability to eat, to be clothed, to be fed, to be housed, to receive necessary healing, all things essential to survival and the comforts of living, should not be contingent upon one’s ability to pay for such things. Even more importantly, a person’s ability to live should not be contingent upon a wage that only values a person for their utility and labor when we are all worth so much more than that.
Governments and society have developed in service and protection of these propertied interests, rather than for the benefit of the citizens overall. Under our current system, privatization of land and resources are the mechanisms by which the wealthy accumulate vital resources to the exclusion of others. The structure of our laws in our new society cannot be allowed to be used for such ends.
The solution then is simple: no single person or group of persons can be permitted to monopolize possession over goods, resources, or services beyond reasonable utility. For a single family to save 5 loaves of extra bread for the winter is reasonable. For a single man to control an entire warehouse of bread, most of which he intends to sell and only a small fraction eat himself, is unacceptable, especially if there are others in want of bread. His profit is not more important than his neighbor’s survival.
How then shall resources be distributed and monitored? If we are to return the power to the towns and local leaders, local leaders chosen by their own people are in charge of, among other duties, ensuring that resources are distributed according to everyone’s needs. They will ensure that no people go hungry, that there is not a person in need of food that does not receive it.
Realistically, not all localities will have all of the resources necessary for self-sustaining survival. Some areas will have excesses of one resource and a lack of another. Local leaders will also be tasked with facilitating this trade according to their people’s needs. Regional and national overseers will keep track and take stock of which regions need which goods, and can thus help facilitate trade among regions for the maximum benefit of all the people. Chains of trade, bartering, and distribution of the raw materials necessary to create a final product will be streamlined, resembling the old systems prior to the arrival of humans and utilizing the current trade relationships already established. Local and regional leaders will also be monitored to ensure that they do not enrich themselves at the expense of the people.
Most importantly, resources and services will be allotted accordingly to those in our society who need our aid and compassion most. Our ability to care for the sick, the elderly, the disabled, and the needy is the true measure of our greatness as a society, not the size of cities or the opulence of our palaces.
And now, to address the current so-called leaders who have taken Falschegal hostage, most especially the scores of wealthy families who have, either actively or passively, subjected this country’s citizens to poverty and starvation for centuries:
Make no mistake that I have been one of the primary architects and engineers of the events that have unfolded over the past few months. This should not surprise you, but you now have an individual to whom you may direct your ire. I have been on the run for many years and I am certainly not allowing myself to be caught anytime soon.
Over the course of my lifetime, I have sat at tables with you, observed you, and was even complicit in carrying out the cruel decisions you rendered under the pathetic guise of what you called impartial justice. My current actions are my atonement for ever having aided you in such endeavors against my brothers and sisters, a taint of which neither you nor I will ever be cleansed.
Despite your accusations of anarchy and terrorism, my allies and I ensured that no civilian casualties resulted from these events. The only ones that perished were those who worked for the despicable status quo and chose to remain complicit in the oppression of others. The same could not be said of the evils you have perpetrated.
But also be advised that I am not acting alone, and my allies are numerous. I am not alone in my desire for a new, better society, my conceptions of what a new, better society would look like, and the means I am willing to take to make that happen. But if you are to come for anyone to blame or punish, look for me and not my allies; they are the hand that plants the seed and wields the sword, but I am the mind that has guided them to do so.
You are beneath my contempt for all the evil you have actively pursued and all of the evil you have passively let happen on your watch in your quest for greed. I am beyond trying to convince you to see the error of your ways, as even the best of you seem to be convinced that your wealth is the result of your individual hard work, and not the result of centuries of inherited wealth, prejudice, enslavement, and structural inequality. Only the complete destruction of everything you have built can save the rest of us now, and no amount of incremental change can justify delaying this revolution if it means that some of the oppressed are left behind and forgotten. You mistake peace and order for justice, but peace and order cannot be left to stand if they are bought at the expense of justice for anyone involved.
I do not actively seek your deaths in vengeance, but understand that your deaths are necessary to repair what you and your predecessors have damaged. You have enjoyed the spoils of a heritage of theft and cruelty; loss of such status is not a slight to you, but justice for everyone you have harmed. Your deaths could even be called a mercy or a kindness, in place of subjecting you to the same lifetimes of pain that you and your predecessors have caused for others.
And again, to my fellow citizens: our time is now. There is work to be done, and if you would join me in this endeavor, we can all together make this society a better than the one we were raised in.
Sincerely yours,
Alexis Hammond”
In the dead of night, a raven appears at the second floor window of a printshop.
Garvin, the dwarf who runs the shop’s printing press, gives the raven a small piece of fruit and retrieves the scroll attached to its leg. It’s a hardier raven than usual, Garvin notes, and it appears to have some feathers missing. No doubt it (successfully) dodged some of the Orange Battalion’s monitoring and attempts at interception.
He lays out a hand towel at the open window. The raven studies Garvin and the room for a moment, then hops over to the towel and roosts.
“If this is what I think it is,” Garvin tells the raven, “good on you for getting it over here. You’ll need your rest; I’ll probably have to send you out again in a little while.”
A small note prefaces the rest of the scroll’s contents:
“Time to move. Duplicate and send to Alhoth in Southport, Cyrano in Atlas. They’ll pass along east.
As always, thanks for everything. Get your kids and husband to safety. Be well.”
-X
Garvin’s eyes scan over the words on the pages in front of him. Most of his contacts in the resistance have been waiting for this with bated breath. The word will finally reach the public at large.
He puts on his boots and heads downstairs to the printing press, scroll in hand.
