The History of Uerth is a short story I wrote as introductory material for D&D campaign that never got off the ground.
1
“I’m off to die, my love!”
“Travel safely, darling. And if you stop at the Folly for a bit of courage, tell Toby hello for me.”
“That I shall. I’ll see you in two weeks time.” The old sailor took another long look into his wife’s eyes, just as he had done a hundred times before, turned, and walked toward the black horizon. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the wind carried the kind of chill that wanted to boil a man’s blood.
2
The Fortune’s Folly Tavern was warm when he walked in a few minutes later, just as inviting as it always was. The orange firelight gave the rundown place a comfortable glow that seemed to be held in place only by the jovial voices and happy spirits within. The old sailor wasn’t fooled. He’s seen that same orange light illuminate hellish barroom bloodbaths, romantic evenings, and somber funeral services. The Folly was a well worn place, and its mood had nothing to do with how it looked.
“Pint of Courage ?fore you sail?” Wallace, the early morning barman.
“Aye. No one else from the Raven here?”
Wallace shook his head. He told the sailor that he was the first of his shipmates to arrive for the customary pre-castoff pint of ale. The sailor didn’t think much of that. It was early and most of the Raven’s crew were younger men and accustomed to sleeping in, even on the days they left port. What he did mind were the men who bucked the tradition of a morning drink. That was just bad luck.
“Make it two pints, will ya? I’ll drink for them that don’t show. Need all we can to sway the fates, I reckon.”
Wallace wasn’t fazed. He knew the old timers’ customs as well as he knew those of the younger men. He’d seen half the crew of the Raven stumble off to the docks just as he arrived for work before dawn. The old men got up early to drink their luck before sailing and the young ones just had it the night before and didn’t ruin their buzz with sleep. By the time the ship hauled anchor, all her hands would be drunk, one way or the other. And that’s how they all wanted it.
“Toby here? My wife wanted to say hello.”
“She’s probably saying it now. He slipped out the back door when he saw you on the boardwalk.”
“Aye,” the sailor breathed as he nipped at his drink. He’d not left port, and his wife was almost certainly already in bed with the Folly’s house bard. At least he would make her happy for a spell. With that thought in mind, he finished up his second mug of Sailor’s Courage Strong Ale, hoisted his rucksack, and laid a piece of silver on the bar.
“Die well, my friend,” Wallace called after him. The old sailor pretended not to hear as he strode out of the Fortune’s Folly Tavern. The ugliness of the horizon greeted him, staring back at him as willfully as he stared at it. A rumble of thunder, the surge of the tides, the moan of the winds? all of them formed a cacophony of warnings that would excuse any normal (sane?) man from leaving port that day. But the old sailor, like all the crew of the Raven, and the dozens of other merchant fleet vessels in Stormside, was no normal man. He was made of sterner stuff, and happily walked off to find his ship and sail into the same storm he’s sailed into a hundred times before. The same storm he assumed would kill him every time he left; the same storm that had never gotten the better of him. Not yet, at least.
3
Most travelers new to Freeport hear the thunder or the wind and think a storm is coming. Many of those often find themselves in the Folly, usually saddled up to the bar trying to find a way to hide in a mug. A good number of those are anxious to make conversation (you know the type, they think talking will make them feel better) and think that the weather is a great thing upon which to comment. It’s usually then that an old bard laughs the laugh he saves for newcomers, and plies his trade to turn a coin.
“Weather’s always coming, son. But it never gets here. For a small gratuity, I can tell you why the locals call this place Stormside.”
Now, most newcomers aren’t smart enough to pay the price or buy the bard a drink. The arrogant and greedy hold onto their silver and don’t learn anything. Arrogance and greed can both get you dead in the Folly, and it’s too bad that’s the kind of thing one usually figures out too late. You see, it says something about a person new to the city of Freeport when they make the Fortune’s Folly their first stop. That sort of person can’t afford to drink at one of the nicer establishments in town, and usually reeks of a certain kind of desperation That sort of person also doesn’t know how the always-brewing storm off the shores of Freeport keeps the liquid in the barmen’s air-glass low, and makes men quick to fight.
But every so often, a traveler comes along, pays the price, and listens to the tale he’s spun. It doesn’t cost much, and it’s usually the best investment they ever make.
“In the old days,” the bard often begins, “that sky used to be clear nearly every day of the year. That was back before any of us were born mind you, back in the days when Freeport wasn’t here, and the old town was still called Meriway.”
4
The aged port-town of Meriway was situated on the western-most shore of the Great Basin Sea, sheltered in a narrow slip of land between a small bay and a great stone cliff. Its proximity to the other port cities in the north and south of the Great Sea made Mariway the perfect way-town. The stories say that the modest little port was beloved by all, a gift the Gods gave to the sailors, so they may be delighted when they looked down upon the small, happy place that brought joy to so many. Countless souls passed through her streets for year after year, but only a few made their home there, and the sweet place with her sheltered harbor was respected by all.
After many years of peaceful existence, a great legion of heroes and explorers was set out to explore the far reaches of the inland. When they returned from the western front with news of foreign settlements and cities, the merchant traders were eager to build roads and begin sending caravans. In the middle of it all, tiny Meriway grew and thrived, booming and becoming more strategic with each passing day. She grew until geography would permit no more growth. She quickly became choked and then dangerous. The surging population brought crime and unrest unlike anything she had ever known.
Meriway was no longer the safe, pleasant haven for sailors that she had once been. She collapsed into a busy, dirty place, packed with low-lives and infested with vermin. The Gods became angry at her spoilage and sent an almighty storm to wash the darkness from Meriway with a torrent of rain and furious lightning. Alas, like rats from a sinking ship, the verminous new population of merchants and traders did all they could do, and climbed. Up the great stone cliff in whose lee they once lived to found a new city they called Freeport.
No longer restricted by geography, they that rose up from Meriway built anew. Wider, grander, wickedly proud and boastful buildings arose, and into them poured a new aristocracy born of those who trod upon the small port to turn a coin. Their new city became the hub of activity the old one could never have been. Traders, travelers, businesses, adventurers and heroes all set up shop in Freeport. Its lifeblood flowed through the streets in the form of caravans and wagons, shipping containers and pack mules, back packs and treasure sacks, quivers and sheaths.
Yet below the proud city, Meriway still clung to life. The Old Town, as it was now called, was relegated to a mere gateway for the High City… and more importantly, but less known? a barrier between it and the great storm that never fully retreated.
Some say the Gods never recalled the clouds and lightning; that they left them always on the horizon, to serve as a warning. Anyone who dares sail to or from the port by the great storm must go through the wind the waves and the thunder, for there is no way around. The harbor that was once safe and protective of passing vessels became a mean spirited and hard place. The Gods, it is said take their revenge for the ruination of Meriway on the same boats that abused their gift and brought her doom in the form of trade and prosperity.
5
As Freeport grew and the merchant population learned they were not alone in the area, droves of explorers and pioneers set out from the city. A great many made successful and prosperous connections with the local populations of Halflings, Dwarves, and Elves. Many more, however, met with misfortune. Untold numbers were lost to the elements, or worse.
But the pioneer spirit is strong in men, and they persevered through the hardships. New settlements were founded time after time, each plunging deeper into the forests to the West, the swamps to the South, and the foothills and mountains to the North.
