Joseph Morton
Blood and Capitalism
Welcome gentle reader to the world of Faerun where dangers lurk in clandestine shadows cast by deities and ancient dragons that remain hidden
and plot against their enemies in the secret private places where even eagles fear to fly. Although there are many adventures going on in a simultaneous fashion in this land of mystery and intrigue, our tale will center on the bustling capital of one of the most recognizable municipalities in all of Faerun. Our tale takes us not to monarchs and hoarders of arcane knowledge but to a humble merchant family toiling their wares on the streets of Suzail. At the moment we're hitching a ride on the back of a young red dragon flying down from its mountain perch to snatch its unsuspecting prey on the outskirts of the Stormhorn Mountains (Don't worry, she doesn't know we're here). As she snatches her grazing mid-day snack we can hear the faint grinding sound of wooden wheels rolling over a primitive gravel road. Our dragon friend undoubtedly hears it too and flies off, apparently with the preconceived notion that the force trooping down that hill is undoubtedly too much for her to handle on her own so let's leave our glorious red maiden and poke our collective attentions over that hill shall we? There, coming into view there on your right is a considerable sized merchant caravan. Six wagons of wooden construct linked by chains and pulled by tethered horses constantly whipped and spurred by a stumpy lone rider.
It looks undefended doesn't it? It looks like any two-bit hoodlum could slip in and take whatever it is his corrupt heart desires. Look closer dear reader not all is, as it seems. Those cylindrical holes along the walls of the caravan that are barely perceptible to the eye are none other then arrow slits carved into the walls. That caravan right there; the one without windows or slits, you can't sense it regularly but with a slight dweomer cast by yours truly. Voila as we say in my home kingdom, magical patterns are revealed before the eye! Fantastic is it not? It seems the dread maiden we had flown in on might've had some inside information. Devious creatures are they not? Dragons instincts are regularly quite keen but hers seem sharper then the regular hustle and bustle of her brethren for she knew perhaps from the scent of the magic in the air that this group would indeed prove too much for her.
Let's slip around the defenses and through the door to see what they're carrying shall we? We're now standing in the archway of a diminutive space where we can clearly see six wooden crates bearing the purple dragon standard of the Kingdom of Cormyr. We won't need to open them for yours truly to tell you what exactly is in there for doing so would set off all kinds of magical nastiness that would definitely ruin our day. Inside of those crates are tusks of ivory originating initially from a beast that roamed from the Underdark that was slain by the berzerker warriors of Rashemen and traded for cloaks during the particularly dreadful winter they experienced last year. Despite the misleading sigil on the front of his merchandise the owner of this fine business-to-be is none other then Naedrun
Medea, a middle aged man who had grown fat on the fruits of his own wealth. A man whose shriveled facial features might have at one time been handsome and although we can be assured that he carries little to any fae heritage within his genes, his ears have a slight point to them that is barely covered by his thinning salt and pepper hair. Naedrun has two sons and a daughter all born to an estranged wife that they left behind in Sembia. They children are currently situated in different rooms due to their constant squabbling. Oh, it seems the caravan has stopped, the horses are resting and our rider is talking with someone on the road. As we step out (unnoticed as always) from the caravan we can see that our chainmale clad rider is talking to none other then one of the members of the elite order of knights of Cormyr. They're called purple dragons by the way, like the sigil. Beyond the next hill he's telling our rider is the gate of Suzail and surely enough up and over the horizon Suzail does rise above the earth.
So the family has arrived and our story is about to begin. Before I direct our collective perspective to our protagonist I feel it prudent that I introduce him, so let's leave our Sembian merchant friends for a few moments and go high above the capital of Cormyr.
Viewed from overhead at an approximate height of five hundred feet, Suzail stretches out like a badly scrawled pirate map. Obviously the Cormyrians have no taste for the aesthetic. From our height the castle immediately jumps out at us from the center of the city, which is customary for a capital and around it exists the gardens manned and roamed by courtesans and purple dragons alike each protecting their own interests.
Outside the gardens begin the residential area in steely gray, class distinction is readily viewable here. Those with royal favor (or the money to make up the difference) live in finely constructed buildings of three stories or more usually segregated from the commoners by iron bars. Those less fortunate souls to be born of low or poor birth end up in slums consisting of wood and cloth. Beyond that and stretching to the vast city walls our Sembian merchant friends are currently entering through are a myriad collection of shrines, taverns, inns, barracks, stockyards, shipyards and festhalls. The Southernmost quadrant of the city has been selected by the city officials of a thousand generations to be the housing of the royal market of Cormyr, where merchants fight an ongoing economic war for the space to sell their goods. Here we meet the brothers Edwin, Xaun and Bryce and their wealthy father Thaddius Caul as they pack their days wares away into sacks to take home for the evening. Everyday has been an excellent day for the ivory trade since Thaddius cornered the market and secured the uppermost quadrant of the market for his own family to work. He had slowly been working towards running his competitors in the lowermost quadrant out of business with his reasonable prices and masterful craftsmanship. The three boys had much to laugh and play about as good times were certainly upon them. The Caul family had recently been recognized in a speech by the Steel Princess herself for their dutiful service to the crown and sales had been on the steady incline for nearly two months. From our vantage-point we can see the three boys running off in an unconscious pecking order of oldest to youngest towards the royal garden where they'll go about and sit and read or play war and do the things young boys do. Each one of these boys completely unaware of the drastic change that is about to forever change every facet of their lives.
Blood and Capitalism
Welcome gentle reader to the world of Faerun where dangers lurk in clandestine shadows cast by deities and ancient dragons that remain hidden
and plot against their enemies in the secret private places where even eagles fear to fly. Although there are many adventures going on in a simultaneous fashion in this land of mystery and intrigue, our tale will center on the bustling capital of one of the most recognizable municipalities in all of Faerun. Our tale takes us not to monarchs and hoarders of arcane knowledge but to a humble merchant family toiling their wares on the streets of Suzail. At the moment we're hitching a ride on the back of a young red dragon flying down from its mountain perch to snatch its unsuspecting prey on the outskirts of the Stormhorn Mountains (Don't worry, she doesn't know we're here). As she snatches her grazing mid-day snack we can hear the faint grinding sound of wooden wheels rolling over a primitive gravel road. Our dragon friend undoubtedly hears it too and flies off, apparently with the preconceived notion that the force trooping down that hill is undoubtedly too much for her to handle on her own so let's leave our glorious red maiden and poke our collective attentions over that hill shall we? There, coming into view there on your right is a considerable sized merchant caravan. Six wagons of wooden construct linked by chains and pulled by tethered horses constantly whipped and spurred by a stumpy lone rider.
It looks undefended doesn't it? It looks like any two-bit hoodlum could slip in and take whatever it is his corrupt heart desires. Look closer dear reader not all is, as it seems. Those cylindrical holes along the walls of the caravan that are barely perceptible to the eye are none other then arrow slits carved into the walls. That caravan right there; the one without windows or slits, you can't sense it regularly but with a slight dweomer cast by yours truly. Voila as we say in my home kingdom, magical patterns are revealed before the eye! Fantastic is it not? It seems the dread maiden we had flown in on might've had some inside information. Devious creatures are they not? Dragons instincts are regularly quite keen but hers seem sharper then the regular hustle and bustle of her brethren for she knew perhaps from the scent of the magic in the air that this group would indeed prove too much for her.
Let's slip around the defenses and through the door to see what they're carrying shall we? We're now standing in the archway of a diminutive space where we can clearly see six wooden crates bearing the purple dragon standard of the Kingdom of Cormyr. We won't need to open them for yours truly to tell you what exactly is in there for doing so would set off all kinds of magical nastiness that would definitely ruin our day. Inside of those crates are tusks of ivory originating initially from a beast that roamed from the Underdark that was slain by the berzerker warriors of Rashemen and traded for cloaks during the particularly dreadful winter they experienced last year. Despite the misleading sigil on the front of his merchandise the owner of this fine business-to-be is none other then Naedrun
Medea, a middle aged man who had grown fat on the fruits of his own wealth. A man whose shriveled facial features might have at one time been handsome and although we can be assured that he carries little to any fae heritage within his genes, his ears have a slight point to them that is barely covered by his thinning salt and pepper hair. Naedrun has two sons and a daughter all born to an estranged wife that they left behind in Sembia. They children are currently situated in different rooms due to their constant squabbling. Oh, it seems the caravan has stopped, the horses are resting and our rider is talking with someone on the road. As we step out (unnoticed as always) from the caravan we can see that our chainmale clad rider is talking to none other then one of the members of the elite order of knights of Cormyr. They're called purple dragons by the way, like the sigil. Beyond the next hill he's telling our rider is the gate of Suzail and surely enough up and over the horizon Suzail does rise above the earth.
So the family has arrived and our story is about to begin. Before I direct our collective perspective to our protagonist I feel it prudent that I introduce him, so let's leave our Sembian merchant friends for a few moments and go high above the capital of Cormyr.
Viewed from overhead at an approximate height of five hundred feet, Suzail stretches out like a badly scrawled pirate map. Obviously the Cormyrians have no taste for the aesthetic. From our height the castle immediately jumps out at us from the center of the city, which is customary for a capital and around it exists the gardens manned and roamed by courtesans and purple dragons alike each protecting their own interests.
Outside the gardens begin the residential area in steely gray, class distinction is readily viewable here. Those with royal favor (or the money to make up the difference) live in finely constructed buildings of three stories or more usually segregated from the commoners by iron bars. Those less fortunate souls to be born of low or poor birth end up in slums consisting of wood and cloth. Beyond that and stretching to the vast city walls our Sembian merchant friends are currently entering through are a myriad collection of shrines, taverns, inns, barracks, stockyards, shipyards and festhalls. The Southernmost quadrant of the city has been selected by the city officials of a thousand generations to be the housing of the royal market of Cormyr, where merchants fight an ongoing economic war for the space to sell their goods. Here we meet the brothers Edwin, Xaun and Bryce and their wealthy father Thaddius Caul as they pack their days wares away into sacks to take home for the evening. Everyday has been an excellent day for the ivory trade since Thaddius cornered the market and secured the uppermost quadrant of the market for his own family to work. He had slowly been working towards running his competitors in the lowermost quadrant out of business with his reasonable prices and masterful craftsmanship. The three boys had much to laugh and play about as good times were certainly upon them. The Caul family had recently been recognized in a speech by the Steel Princess herself for their dutiful service to the crown and sales had been on the steady incline for nearly two months. From our vantage-point we can see the three boys running off in an unconscious pecking order of oldest to youngest towards the royal garden where they'll go about and sit and read or play war and do the things young boys do. Each one of these boys completely unaware of the drastic change that is about to forever change every facet of their lives.