The Republic of Erimir
Current Leader/Government: Grand Sheriff Beryl Moss (Elective Republic)
Settlements Owned: 3
Provinces Owned: 1
Population: 180,000
Standing Army: [indent] - <Erimir Infantry>/<750>/<In a fort along the eastern border><Morale 100%>
- <Republic Musketeers>/<250>/<Erimir>/<Morale 100%>
- <Provincial Militia>/<1000>/<Patrolling the countryside; also stationed in Sweetwater and Elmshire>/<85 %>
Population Happiness: 90%Imports:Exports:Wealth: Average
Alliances:Trade Pacts:Cease Fires:
Court Day"...and so we rest our case against the village of Oldenbury. The village of Lowshire now grants the floor to the esteemed Oldenbury representative."
Beryl's face was expressionless, but her mind groaned.
They were arguing over lettuce
last month, she thought, pinching her forehead between her fingers.
Now they argue over someone having moved the boundary stones! Why...?"Oldenbury thanks the Lowshire representative for being here, even if his arguments cannot change the facts," said the puffy fellow in green and brown finery. "The matter is quite simple: the lands within the new border are ours by birthright, due to ancient, ancestral borde-"
"Neither village even existed twenty years ago!" blurted Beryl, throwing her hands in the air. "There are no ancient boundaries!"
"But my family was born on that land!" the puffy fellow from Oldenbury said.
"Like Hell it was!" shouted the Lowshire representative. "We've owned land extending acres past the boundary stones for seven gener-"
"It doesn't matter!" yelled the young Sheriff, having quite enough. "It doesn't matter if your great grand-nuncle or his aunt's, cousin's, half-brother's former roommate had a cabbage field three yards longer than the rocks indicate! The boundaries that exist presently have been laid out in very explicit terms within each village's provincial documents and were approved
by both villages." Beryl took a moment to glower at each representative, knowing full well they had both been at the signing of the documents with her. "That means neither village owns
any land past the boundary stones that lie between them, and unless there is a real case to be made besides unrelated personal disputes, the court finds no reason to prolong the inevitable any further!"
Beryl lifted her gavel and slammed it upon the podium.
"Case dismissed!"
With that, she slumped into her chair and took a deep breath. That was three cases down. Only four more to go, and then she could return to doing something that actually mattered and pretend Court Day didn't exist for another month. She looked over at her personal Deputy, giving the man a tired look. "Can't we just gather up all the magistrates, representatives and barristers, tie stones to their feet and shove them into the lake?"
"We could, ma'am," said the level-faced man, "but then we'd have to go through the trouble of electing new ones."
The Sheriff Moss blew brown hair out of her eyes. "Drat."
Matters of DiplomacyThe next morning started off more amiable. Beryl had a large, healthy breakfast of apples, eggs and ham, and she had an opportunity to play with her daughter. By noon, however, she was sitting in the old Sheriff's Office in the city square, poring over the regional map with her advisors.
"We need to focus on reopening the trade routes," began Armand. The old merchant always was interested in economics, but he generally knew the right places to look for good trade. He set his hand down on the map, making a line northward from Erimir. "The human kingdoms of Asax and Scharweilt are led by peaceful rulers, as I recall, and they would be likely buyers of Erimese produce and gunpowder. If we could convince Asax to trade us some of their lumber for livestock, we could probably secure passage from their land into Scharweilt. We could trade gunpowder to them, and in return have some of their famous fish for our palettes."
"I'd prefer the wine," said old Jan Janson, sipping happily from his mug of ale.
"The fish has more practical uses," Beryl countered, "and it would keep the people's meals balanced. We haven't been making so much wheat since we started mining sulfur, and the orchards have been faring poorly of late." She looked back up at Armand. "Who would you suggest lead the trade delegation?"
"Myself," the old man said.
"Of course, we need to ensure our borders are secure if we want to be able to trade anything," Marshal Tommen began. He was lighter than most halflings in size and darker in complexion, not to mention a fair bit taller. "The orcs of Elslen
are slavers, and it's only a matter of time before they turn their gaze on us, as they did before the Empire was born."
He'd be handsome if he didn't scowl so much, thought Beryl. "You make a fair point," she said. "But how do you suggest we deal with them? They won't be open to parley."
"We march on them," said the soldier.
Janson spit ale out his mouth and nose. "Are you mad?" he interrupted. "If we do so, not only will we be likely to lose the encounter, but we'll lose our reputation as peacemakers and trustworthy folk! That reputation is all that protects us in this age!"
"Would you rather we be known as the easily trodden-upon smallfolk?" snapped the marshal.
"Enough!" Beryl said sharply. She caught her rude tone, and slowed herself down. "Enough." She managed to keep from snapping that time. The Sheriff stood up and peered at the map for a long moment, then tapped her finger against another province to the east of Erimir.
"How are the two peoples of Belmorn faring these days?" Beryl asked her advisors.
The marshal clicked to attention. "They squabble," he says.
"So does everyone," Jan noted, "but their squabbling runs deeper than most. The humans and elves are starting to hate each other. Word has it there have been more murders this year than last."
"Their produce would be good to have in our markets, if they would trade," thought Armand. "And their soldiers have always been better than ours. I assume that's still the case, young man?"
"It is," agreed Marshal Tommen, "though if we can procure the right resources, we'd be able to make some quality muskets and that wouldn't matter anymore."
Beryl tapped her fingers upon the table, then motioned over at Jan. "Send a delegate to the two kings of Belmorn," she said.
"King and Queen," Jan corrected. "Old King Alfran has passed away. His granddaughter succeeds the throne."
"Oh." Beryl blinked, then gathered her wits again. "All the better. Send a delegate asking to arrange a meeting with them, perhaps between myself and their rulers, or between delegates if they prefer. Remind them of the longstanding peace we halflings have kept with our neighbors, and inquire them of their opinion of the Elslen orcs. If they have unfavorable opinions of them, perhaps we can arrange an attempt to emancipate the slaves of the orcish kingdom." Beryl looked next at Tommen. "As for us, we will begin instructing the troops along the border on how to deal with orcs in a fight. 'Duck low and aim for the groin,' was it?" she asked with a grin.
Tommen did not grin back. "Yes."
Beryl held back a sigh. She looked over the company about her. "Well, we all have our tasks ahead of us. Let's have second lunch, and then we'll get to work."