you know what? why not. i'm game. since there's no rules i'll assume there are no rules, which is my favourite ruleset. I'm taking over this bit.
- evil_isles.JPG (60.84 KiB) Viewed 3731 times
and calling it "the evil isles". what? we're playing D&D here, so evil is an actual, tangible, metaphysical reality. so why not someone takes ownership of the concept? let's explore how such a cliche as "the evil empire" could actually make some sense.
History
once upon a time, in a far far away realm (the northernmost island of the yellow bit I've highlighted) a magical portal was magically opened to this strange plane where only mammals have evolved sentience. There came to pass through events forgotten that a number of people from the other side, crossed the portal and settled the lands around it. These people, who called themselves the
bla'ar [bə.læˈʔæ:ʁ], were larger and stronger than the local humanoids (in D&D terms let's call them Dragonkin) and, because of their "monstruous" appearance, for thus did the local ape-people see them, quickly earn themselves the monicker of evil.
Of course the bla'ar had their own languages and cultures, their own concepts of morality for which they had their own words, and so took it as a fact in a Mertonian move that, in this strange land, evil meant what they were and what they were were evil: so they embraced it as their "niche", so to speak, without quite understanding, at least at first, that this concept of 'evil' in fact meant what it means. One of the first things they noticed about their new role was that if they attempted to deal with the apes as equals they would systematically get cheated: upon further investigation, which involved taking prisoners and having lengthy conversations with them for the most part, they realized that the locals saw nothing unbecoming in tricking, cheating, lying, and even raiding the lands of those who were evil, because they expected the evil ones to do the same to them. after extensive discussions amongst themselves, they decided that the best strategy to deal with this situation was to make the best of it. thus through the sourcing of dead bodies from various human settlements nearby, scary gallows and crosses with skeletons were installed throughout the roads anyone would take to arrive at their core territories. human envoys were dispatched to learn which symbols were most associated with fear and danger. the symbols, called 'satanic' and associated with 'evil gods' were painted and sculpted at the most visible places.
Bla'ar philosophers throughout the years debated enlessly about the concrete meaning of being 'evil', but the concept was most strongly adopted by businessmen, traders and politicians. Turned out, being 'evil' really had many concrete advantages! Though they would face crusades and jihads from time to time, where surrounding groups would try to cleanse their evil presence, it turned out that all they had to do to keep those crusades to a minimum was to secure the support of key politicians, chieftains and court officials in the various political institutions that surrounded them. This was relatively easy to do with coins and precious metals, which the humanoids valued highly, and the coins were not that hard to come by: they were almost expected to carry out raids on trade routes, and their geographical position and superior abilities at sea (including having a tail and needing to take a breath once every 10 minutes) meant that this was relatively easy to do. Once confronted with a bunch of large, armed and crocodilesque raiders, most sailors would give up their loot.
For various reasons relating to their biology, the bla'ar don't need as much food as humanoids, and they best thrive eating meat: as such, agriculture never became important, and they make up their diet by fishing and the breeding of various insect species, much more efficient than the husbandry of large and inefficient mammals that the humans carried out. This leaves most of their workforce relatively free and, as such, most bla'ar pursue more specialized occupations. most common amongst these are raider, pirate, assasin, spy, terrorist, monster and various other crafts. these are ever in demand in the complicated geopolitical world of the humans, and allow the bla'ar to make a relatively comfortable living with relatively litle work. let us examine, for example, the trade of the monster through one of their practitioners: a middle-aged male called Rommel.
Rommel is the head of a small household in one of the islands, and throughout the years has made a small reputation for himself in his trade. Today he has a meeting with a prospective customer: an innkeeper.
"you see, business is really dying down this year: the road from Butterdale to the great city of Monckeg sees so few travelers that if things keep going this way, i'll end up loosing my livelyhood", says the inkeep
"and how might I be of assistence?" Rommer asks, trying his best to put on a tough and mysterious air. he even hisses from time to time, as he was taught to by his father: it's all part of the performance, you see.
"well, my cousin who runs the Pink Owlbear Inn over in Hamschestershire used to be in such a problem, but then some adventurers started coming by his inn, and he said they're so full of money they'll pay one full silver coin for a beer and a bed! I think I need some adventurers to come by my inn, and..."
"say no more", Rommer says, again trying to sound threatening. "That'll be twelve guineas up front, and seven a year from now. I will not forget your face or your scent, innkeeper".
Rommer knows he can't tell one human's smell from the next, but the innkeeper doesn't have to know this. The innkeeper pays, and the job begins. First, Rommer gets together with a couple of confederates he has in his customer's region. He keeps a number of contacts in the various regions he operates. He always pays upfront, and this time he decides to go for the theatrical approach: he hires a few of the local bards to spread the tale that a monster is terrorizing the village of Butterdale. Subsequently he swims to butterdate, making sure the local farmers notice him from time to time, and arrives at the small village by night. he finds the local graveyard and waits for a week or two (feeding off the local fish, which is convenient) until there is a funeral. because that night looks like it'll be a still, windless one he decides on an old and reliable strategy he learned as a young adult: the night after the memorial he unearths the corpse and proceeds to hang it off a local tree, make a tremendous noise and burn special powders he brought from home which generate a strange, greenish smoke. the smoke will give the whole scene an eerie quality, and the noises are, for the most part, just shouting.
When the villagers predictably arrive at the tree from which the young dead woman has been hung Rommer begins making noises to scare them. They're a complicated performance passed onto him by his father, and originally developped by his great-grandather, including "ooohs" and "aaaaahs" and "i will never forgive you, mother", as well as other sounds which, as far as he understands, scare humans. when his audience -made out mostly of farmers, mind you-is sufficiently terrified he shouts a great roar and pulls a rope attached to the corpse's hand, which scares the villagers enough to make them flee. After checking thoroughly that the villagers have fled, he proceeds to devour the small corpse, pick up all of his gear so that no evidence of his little theatrics will be found, and leaves the small hamlet through the river, never to return.
what the local authorities will presently experience is as follows: first, reports from farmers that strange figures lurk in the marshes. then, strange tales about monsters near Butterdale and, finally, when they send someone to investigate, the tale about emtpy graves and girl risen from the dead from the townsfolk. Of course, they'll promptly put out a bounty for the capture of this monster, many adventurers will answer the heroic call of adventure and glory, and the innkeeper will have his business booming for a couple of months.
On his way back, Rommer decides to go and collect the second payment from an old but not dissimilar customer, this time a purveyor of climbing supplies from a mountain town.
"so, how's business been these last months?"
"oh, it's been booming! not only am I sold out of climbing supplies, i've also right out of flint and steel! here's your four guineas", the shopkeeper says
"I seem to remember it was five, merchant" he says. It's quite difficult to hist just the right tone in this part of a job: you must sound at the same time trustworthy and reliable yet threatening and monstruous. he must have done the voice quite well, because the customer doesn't haggle and simply pays out.
after a total of a month, Rommer is back in his home with his wife and kids, a few golden coins richer. he considers whether to take a vacation for half a year or so, but his lovely wife mentions she's just laid a new clutch of eggs. oh, well, more mouths to feed, more work to do. He writes a letter to one of his scouts in the distant southern country, which should be nice and warm this time of year: maybe the next job, he'll try to burn sulfur dust: a cousin recently mentioned that humans get very scared at the smell of sulfur, for some reason: apparently they associate it with something called "hell". he'll never understand the little apes, but he's glad they scare as easily as they do. he offers a little prayer to his father, who inherited him a decent and relativey safe craft: he'd hate to have to go on the pirate ships, that's a dangerous and often thankless job. he falls alseep that night curled up with his wife, as she sings him a song while she knits one of his kids a nice sweater. life's good, he thinks, and finally falls asleep.