The Clockwork Jungle [Old Thread]

[Polycarp]

When I first started this project I thought that a wiki might be the best way to organize it.  Now that the CBG has its own (one with a lot of potential, I might add), I've decided to pursue the Clockwork Jungle's development there.

What does this mean for this thread?  Not a lot, immediately.  I have a lot of non-CBG-related work right now, and it will take time just to port all the information in this thread into the wiki, and then unpack it into a form that is more wiki-friendly.  The giant race posts are an asset in a thread where navigation can be difficult, but in a wiki people expect links where they can choose the minutiae they're interested in and ignore what bores them.

Even as I move stuff over there, I will still be posting stuff here, particularly developed posts that I feel are polished/detailed enough to merit it.  This will also serve as my comment collection and response bin - I know the CBG staff is trying to get more people interested in commenting on wiki talk pages, but I for one prefer thread formats for discussions.

About comments - it makes me feel guilty at times to receive detailed, interesting, and challenging comments here when I am not returning the favor.  I apologize, and I hope to improve my contribution to the community at a time when I can afford it (for instance, I am in the midst of grad school application deadlines right now).

In the meantime, you can explore the wiki as it stands now by clicking on the Lodestar below.  Some info has been moved over (races), a lot hasn't (obsidian plain, khautas, etc.), and there are a few tidbits only on the wiki (a bit on Saffronites and the World-Queen, and a feature on the Ancients).  It's confusing now, especially since most of the wiki links are dead-ends, but in time you will be able to answer pointless wiki link questions like "how many clicks does it take me to get from 'Iskite Rum' to 'Umbril Poetry of the Vagrants' War?'"  And isn't that, after all, the point of a wiki?

Thanks for your time and interest.  I really do enjoy sharing my hobby with others (as I suspect we all do) and I appreciate any opportunity I get to give you something to think/write/talk about.

[Steerpike]

[blockquote=Polycarp!]I am in the midst of grad school application deadlines right now[/blockquote]
I can relate!

[Polycarp]

Thoughts on Magic

I want to introduce game mechanics into the Clockwork Jungle eventually, which includes the mechanics of magic.  Before that happens, however, I want to know what magic will be like.  The more I work on the setting, the more I realize that magic is not something I can leave out for long - any decent magical tradition has an impact on the campaign world and the cultures therein unless it's so secretive that virtually nobody knows about it.

I don't like how "magic" is commonly used.  For us, it is defined as something other than physics - fireball is the supernatural, and a lamp oil bomb is natural.  I find it unlikely, however, that somebody who lived in a world with magic would distinguish it from normal physics.  Would someone in a magical world even have a word for magic?

Many of the intelligent species of the Forest are basically animistic in outlook, even if they also follow certain pantheons or ritual traditions, and I want a magic system that reflects that.  If there are spirits in all things, if the Forest itself is alive, then there should be magic in all things.  So let's say that all life is magic, from a lichen on a rock to a canopy wyrm soaring overhead.  Magic and life are synonymous, and there is no proper distinction between the 'normal' and the 'magical' in TCJ.

That said, I want ways for individuals to tap magic beyond that which they are born with.  Those with the knowledge and the strength of will required can draw on the innate magic of other living things to bolster their own.  "Channeling" is an overused word in fantasy and gaming, but it's a fairly accurate description of what I'm thinking about, and I can always change it later.

There could be multiple approaches to channeling - for example, some could channel the life-magic of other living things in harmony with them, while others could "steal" their life-magic from others.  But I want all to require, at their source, life '" no magic can be 'squeezed from a stone,' or from anything else that is not alive.  There is no amorphous 'force' or "weave" or magical ether, only the breath of an innumerable host of living things.

I also want to get rid of magic-using classes.  If everyone is magical (by virtue of being alive), everyone can potentially learn to channel.  The kind of magic I want is subtle, not flashy, something used to augment one's abilities no matter what your emphasis is.

So here's my first maxim of TCJ magic:

Any sentient being can channel.  There is no secret arcane lore to master, or esoteric rituals to conduct.  The magic of others is summoned through inner focus and force of will.  Some are more innately talented than others, but practice and time is more important than talent.  Most individuals, having little talent and not much time to practice, have only the barest ability to channel, but even they may do it unconsciously.  The blacksmith who creates a masterpiece has often channeled, though he may not know it '" his great concentration and focus have drawn a trickle of the life-magic to him, and it is reflected in his work.  A legendary orator draws power from his audience through his force of will, subtly augmenting his own abilities.  In some sense, learning any task that requires concentration makes it easier to channel.

So in that sense, the Clockwork Jungle is a 'high magic world' '" virtually everyone has some minor ability to channel, even if it's often so minor as to not be represented by mechanics.  It is an accepted truth that those in the right mental state can perform at a higher level not simply because of their own skill, but the vitality they share with others, whether purposefully or accidentally invoked.

In another sense, however, it's quite low magic '" channeling's effects tend to be subtle, especially for the vast majority of sentients, who do not devote great resources to mastering it.

So that's where I am at present.  More to follow as I think of it.

[Polycarp]

So I've got a basic idea of what magic should be, but I need to get more specific.

I like the idea of harmonious and destructive ways to access this 'life-magic' (I'll need a better name for that), so let's start with that duality.  I don't want to approach it as simply as 'good vs. evil,' though certainly destructive channeling could be seen as more morally questionable.  I'd like for morality to depend primarily on what you do with the magic, not on its basic essence.

Sympathetic channeling uses the life of others in a non-damaging way.

Antipathetic channeling destructively saps the life of others, weakening (or even killing) them.

This could be one of those risk vs. reward things, where the 'negative' magic gives more power but also entails greater risk.  Or, it the two ways could be better at certain things '" if you want to smite somebody, antipathetic is best, but if you want to effect a positive change in something you should use sympathetic.  Additionally, I need to decide the matter of access.  Do you choose one at the outset and stick with it, or are both available to everyone, or something in between?  Maybe they should be two separate 'skills,' so a character has to choose between a balanced, holistic approach (which gives you the most versatility) and a one-sided approach (which gives the most power).  There might be some synergy there, but the idea is that mastering one doesn't necessarily entail mastering the other.

The next thing to consider is the source.  We've established that magic comes from all life (actually, that magic is life), but it should probably matter where exactly you're getting it from.  After all, the Saffron Moss is alive too '" shouldn't a Saffronite get a different kind of power than someone who draws theirs from animals, or the Forest?  This could mesh with the sympathetic/antipathetic dimension too '" a Saffronite might get a bonus to antipathetic channeling, or maybe it would just be easier for him to learn.

Some possible sources:

Saffron Moss*The Forest*Aras Tay*Animals (including other sentients?)*Elder Wyrms, gods, etc.*Cogs?

The Moss and the Forest are shoo-ins.  The Aras Tay are interesting but I'm not sure their magic would be any different than that of the Forest, if indeed they are a different entity at all.  Animals are in too, including such beasts as wyrms, and I suppose sentients as well '" we'll lump all those into 'animals' for now.

'Gods' is problematic.  I don't want a world like FR where there is no mystery or ambiguity to the gods; I like worlds where religion is more like it is on earth, requiring faith and entailing some degree of doubt.  Some beings like the Elder Wyrms (basically really old, really huge wyrms who are often the centers of cult worship) do exist physically beyond any doubt, and these might be good candidates to get power from, but I don't think the standard spell-slinging cleric has much of a place here; magic in TCJ is available to all, not a divine gift.  I'm not sure I want to make any specific being a source unless it's a huge unitary being like the Forest/Moss.

I'm not sure about Cogs.  I never imagined them as really being 'alive,' not even Soldier Cogs.  But you've got ones like Ot, who can talk and philosophize, and I've already established that Cogs draw on magic for their power '" essentially, they are sympathetic channelers themselves.  Maybe that's how cogs are: By themselves, inert, they have no life-force and are dormant, but their enchanted machinery allows them to sympathetically 'tap into' channeling and acquire some fleeting life for themselves.  This adds an interesting angle to the 'mundane channeling' I talked about in the last post '" unconscious channeling would awaken and attract them just like conscious channeling, so you could have some poet give such an inspired performance that Cog baboons start congregating around him, or something.

It's true that if Cogs are basically life-force panhandlers, they might not be a very credible source for channeling.  But I could argue that as long as they have that little spark keeping them going, they are alive (though their 'life' isn't naturally their own), and thus a potential source.

So, throwing out gods, Elder Wyrms, and Aras Tay for now, we have something like this:
[note]'Weak' here implies a loose alignment with sympathetic or antipathetic as opposed to a stronger alignment, not that the source itself is weak.[/note]

Cogs (strong sympathetic)*Animals (weak sympathetic)*Forest (weak antipathetic)*Moss (strong antipathetic)

The Moss is obvious for SA.  Cogs, to me, are obvious for SS: their whole existence, as described above, operates off sympathetic channeling.  I could make arguments either way for WA/WS, but I see the animal channeler as more of a 'taking on an aspect of X' thing, which seems more sympathetic to me.  Besides, my forest is violent and destructive and tears down anything that gets in its way.

To be continued.

[Polycarp]

I'm still thinking about magic, but for now I'm more interested in the mechanics behind it '" that is, the system I'm going to use.  I have a basic system already, an outgrowth of the discussion this thread, but that's not ready yet.  More things have been uploaded to the wiki, some things from this thread and some new stuff.

On the fluff front, I've decided to focus for now on the Black Circle, one of the three 'areas of interest' for new players and campaigns I mentioned earlier.  Cities are rare in the Jungle, for the simple reason that it is hard to support an urban population that doesn't hunt and gather for itself.  You may recall that in many respects, technology is quite primitive (remember "renaissance hunter-gatherers?"). The Iskites, for all their focus on farming, are no more advanced in that area than the ancient Sumerians, and rainforest soils are quite unproductive.  The Umbril make decent urbanites (and indeed, they are the core of most TCJ cities) because they can eat practically anything that rots, but in general cities only exist where, by some fluke of geography, fertility, or magic, a location can support a dense population.

And so we have the 'Jewels of the Obsidian Crown,' the flowery name to describe the six 'cities' that form the backbone of the Black Circle route.  Many small outposts exist along the way, most of them tiny villages or seasonal encampments, but these six endure and boast populations only rivaled by the island-cities of the Netai.

[ic=Among the Tranquil]take me, Master
to see the Petals fall
on that Silent Day when
the World falls with them
- Anonymous, carved into a trellis in the Grove of Tranquility[/ic]

The Grove of Tranquility

It was the Iskites who first named this place in a now-forgotten time '" before the Recentering, before the Prophets, before their people worked iron or put ink to paper.  To the modern itinerants of the Black Circle, it is the Servants' Grove, the Enclave of Sublime Slavery, or simply 'Bliss.'  Yet the bliss it offers is not the kind most wish to embrace.  It is a place of wonder, beauty, and persistent unease, where the weight of time is ever-present on a traveler's mind.

The Grove of Tranquility lies in a ragged stripe of low forest, the ill-defined border area between the sodden expanse of the Flowering Moors and the echoing wastes of the Chalklands.  It was only the advent of the Black Circle as a dominant trade route that made the ageless Grove into a populated place '" before then, it was anathema, a place few went willingly.  Wealth will make creatures do strange things, and now it is has been drawn into the cycle of trade, risk, and adventure, a perfect circle of timeless peace in a swirling current of volatile modernity.

Even the city's regular residents call it 'the Grove,' but this is misleading '" there is only one tree here.  It is enormous, with a trunk measuring over 600 feet in circumference.  Around the tree are seventeen concentric circular canals, crossed by six canals that run perpendicular to the rest, like spokes on a wheel.  The tree's trunk does not touch the ground; enormous roots branch off from the trunk starting hundreds of feet into the air and descend in twisting paths to the various moats below, until the trunk dwindles to nothing '" and in fact, the central 'island,' directly beneath the tree's trunk, has no roots touching it.

The Grove is the dwelling-place of the Caretaker (also called the 'Unflowering One,' or simply 'the Master' to its worshippers).  The Caretaker is a hunched figure whose features are obscured in shimmering veils of an almost ethereal consistency.  Its only clearly visible features are its featureless 'face,' which looks like the bud of a flower just before it blooms, and the snaking whitish-green tendrils that function as its arms.  It is quite large '" it always appears hunched over, but still stands ten feet tall.  It skims over the ground without any visible footprints or audible steps.  The Caretaker does not actually seem to 'fly,' but despite its massive form, it can leap and bound up the tree's roots with effortless precision.  It carries a great pruning hook made from a silvery-white metal.  Its 'function' appears to be cultivating the tree, and it spends most of its time tirelessly pruning and shaping the tree's glacial growth.

Interaction with the Caretaker is limited in the extreme.  It ignores those who approach it.  It does not speak, though the rustling of its many cloaks sounds like a chorus of whispers.  If it is attacked, it stops briefly, and simply adds the offender to its roster of 'boatmen' '" for there is a reason it is also called the Servant's Grove.  The Caretaker '" or perhaps the Tree itself '" always maintains a complement of servants, known as Boatmen.  The Caretaker takes them as it wishes, moving up to its target like a swift wind and touching them only once.  Those its touches become its servants, and acquire a singularly disturbing expression of perfect contentment.  The Boatmen '" who appear to be chosen at random from those who enter the Grove '" weed the grounds, maintain the trellises of lesser plants, and pilot small, wooden punts (a boat driven by a barge-pole) around the canals.  There are between 30 and 60 of them at any one time, and they will take a visitor on their punts if asked '" but will never speak, or change the mask of bliss on their faces.  They do not hunger, or thirst, or age.  If they are abducted, they do not fight back, but as soon as they are free they begin steadily walking back towards the Grove, no matter how far it is.

The Boatmen are released as abruptly as they are taken '" suddenly, they are free, with no fanfare or ceremony at all.  They remember their service, and generally recall feeling overwhelming love and devotion towards the Tree more powerful than anything they had ever experienced before.  Some recover quickly from their experience, while others are forever changed, or join the cultists that worship at the Tree's base.  Most have some sort of "withdrawal," describing the world without devotion to the Tree as cold, dark, and joyless in comparison.  A few never do pass this phase - they go into an incurable melancholy and waste away shortly thereafter, wander off in a daze never to be seen again, or collapse into inconsolable sorrow and retreat into a bottle for the rest of their lives.

The 'term' of a Boatman seems to vary between a week and several years, with no apparent pattern for most.  Those that do violence to the Boatmen or the Tree become new Boatmen, often for a very long time (one of the current Boatmen is an Iskite called only 'the Elder' who has been a Boatman for 61 years and counting).  The only interruption to this routine was in the latter days of the Orange Strife, when a large armed company descended on the Tree with pitch and torches, believing it to be an instrument of the arcane that needed to be destroyed.  With a single gesture (according to a few stragglers who observed it firsthand), the entire force fell under the Caretaker's spell.  Silently, they entered the Grove, each one going to a different root and kneeling in front of it.  Just as silently, the Caretaker went from man to man on a Boatman's punt, stopping at each kneeling bandit to swiftly decapitate him with its pruning hook, until none remained '" an expression of sublime peace on their faces until the end.  Their blood watered the tree and the Boatmen made trellises out of their bones, many of which can still be seen today (along with the more mundane trellises, crafted from fallen bark or cultivated by the Caretaker from the Tree's smaller roots).  Armor and weapons littered the Grove for years afterward, though scavengers have since taken them away with no interference from the Caretaker.

The first settlements were outside the Grove, as travelers feared to enter.  During the Recentering, however, refugees fled into the Grove to find sanctuary from the troubles of the world, and the 'city' has since grown under the shade of the tree's roots.  Neither the Caretaker nor the Boatmen seem to mind development so long as it does not injure the Tree or upset the trellises.  The city has no roads, only canals, and its residents live, work, and trade right on the water.  Visitors who wish to go somewhere need only wait for a Boatman; larger cargo barges must be piloted by others, for the Boatmen do not tarry to load cargo, and are never in any particular haste.  In this way, the Caretaker and its men live symbiotically with the city.  The residents provide more than enough folk to keep the Caretaker's 'staff' full, and the moats protect the residents (as does the reputation of the Caretaker, who has demonstrated his ability to single-handedly stop a small army).  It is uncertain if the Caretaker cares or even knows about the city or its people, gliding over them or among them without ever acknowledging their existence.

The Tree of Tranquility itself produces little '" it flowers every year, and eventually its flowers fall in a pink blizzard of petals the size of dinner plates, but it never bears any fruit.  Attempts to harvest its wood or sap inevitably end with the arrival of the Caretaker and a new Boatman being added to the labor force.  The residents have found that anything they plant is pulled up by the Boatmen as a weed, but they are free to pick from the trellises that bear fruit.  Most of the trade conducted in the settlement consists of merchants from the Black Circle buying goods from the Greater Netai, or vice versa.

The city's population is mostly Umbril and Tahr.  The Umbril dredge decaying organic matter from the canals and eat it, while the Tahr gather fruit from the trellises and lead hunting parties outside the grove.  There is a small Ussik population here too, far from their homeland in the Wash.  They live off fish transplanted here generations ago from the Flowering Moors.  The population is split not along racial lines, but between the 'Blacks' (travelers and traders on the Black Circle who do not reside permanently in the City), 'Greens' (permanent residents, mostly descended from refugees of the Recentering), and 'Pinks' (the Society of the Seed, a pink-robed cult of silence that worships the Caretaker as a god).

As the safety of the city is maintained by the Caretaker, there is little need for strong rulership, and the Greens adhere largely to a Umbril mode of 'governance' where power is exercised informally and behind the scenes among those who care to exercise it.  The city has no militia and few weapons save those needed for hunting.  In the outer circles of the city, where Blacks dominate, agents of foreign merchant houses, flyer outfits, and smuggling rings are found in abundance - the Greens in general aren't very interested in the trade and are content to let the outsiders do what they want as long as it doesn't spill over into the Green-dominated rings.  Life in the outer rings can be dangerous and deadly as a result.  A handful of private thief-takers are the only real law there, and some of them are as corrupt as the criminals they chase.  The further in one goes, however, the less this kind of behavior is tolerated.

The Society of the Seed has its own masters who instruct the cult's initiates and concern themselves very little with the bustling trade of the outer circles.  By common agreement, only the members of the Society are permitted in the 'sanctuary,' the innermost circle (though the Boatmen are not privy to this arrangement and will blissfully take anyone anywhere).  There is a simple monastery there, in the shade of the tree's trunk, where full members of the Society reside and worship.  The Society members are unobtrusive and always silent, but there are persistent rumors that the Pinks sacrifice intelligent beings in their monastery to "water the Tree" and hasten the apocalyptic "Coming of the Seed."  Their dogma is little known outside their own ranks, which only encourages such rumors.

Traveling clockwise, the next Jewel in the Obsidian Crown is the Rookery, and the section of the Black Circle that lies between them is the one most heavily traveled by khauta.  No flyer could possibly miss the towering Tree, and a facility has been constructed to aid intrepid dendronauts.  There is an aerial docking platform for skiffs and smokeships in the tree's branches, secured to the tree by heavy ropes of twisted Saryet silk, which can be accessed from the ground by several long rope ladders.  Three lead pipes wrapped in heavy cloth run down from the platform to a trio of beehive-shaped furnaces on the ground.  Here, wood (cut from outside the Grove, of course) is burned to produce hot smoke, which is piped up to refill canopy skiffs so they never need to touch the ground.  A pair of large treadwheel cranes on the platform are used to raise and lower pallets of goods.

The Blacks tell a lot of queer stories about the Greens and Pinks at other stops on the Black Circle, and the permanent residents have a reputation for being a little bit odd, supposedly due to the fey influence of the Caretaker.  Elsewhere on the Circle, the term "Boatmen" is sometimes erroneously used to describe the residents as a whole.  Some suggest that all the residents are under some kind of mind-control, and a few traders refuse to go there at all for fear they will never be able to leave.

[Polycarp]

I am guilty of neglecting this thread, if not the setting.  This is because I've been focusing my work (when I get the time for it) on the wiki.  I do still intend to post big updates here when I polish them enough, but for now if you're interested in reading more the wiki is the place to go.  I would like to share with you some of the more complete pages on the wiki that aren't in this thread:

The

Recentering, my newly re-imagined "big event" that sets the stage for the modern Clockwork Jungle
*The World-Queen and her empire, as well as those who oppose her
*The wyrms and their immortal lords, two of which have been written up
*Saffronites and Indigo Chapters, enemies locked in struggle across the Forest
*And more, if you follow some links around.[/list]
Also, I'm going to be the first up for LC's "Author Q&A Series" on the CBG's chat channel, so stay tuned to that thread if you'd like to ask me anything (really - anything at all) or just tell me what you think.

[Polycarp]

[ic=A Tahr Aphorism]Where you find a banner, there are many who clamor to carry it; but where you find a burden, there is only the sound of the wind in the trees.[/ic]

The Tahro

It is sometimes said that the category of 'civilized race' is extended to the Tahro only out of charity.  Unlike the Gheen, Iskites, and Umbril, the Tahro are not sedentary, though they do return to established camps on a seasonal basis.  Their living groups are quite small, and they neither cultivate the earth nor forge metals.  Even before the Recentering, they set themselves apart from the others, choosing to live under the shadow of aliens rather than embrace the power of the Oracle Tree.  Aliens see their deep traditionalism as obstinate and foolish, but their reluctance to accept the ways and cultures of others has also preserved them as a people against far more organized adversaries.  The Tahro are not, in any fair sense of the word, 'uncivilized,' despite the opining of alien philosophers '" but they are protective of their own civilization, an ancient bulwark of strength against a raging world that gleefully tears down the weak.

[spoiler=Physiology]Tahro are large, physically imposing apes.  To a native of our world, they would appear to be built like a slender, more erect gorilla, but in the low gravity environment of the Clockwork Jungle they are perceived as quite bulky and stout.  An adult male weighs around 350 pounds and is about seven feet tall; for comparison, they are 75% heavier than a female Iskite despite having the same average height.  Female Tahro are usually a few inches shorter and 20-50 pounds lighter than the males.  Though they have a more erect posture than earth gorillas and are no more predisposed to knuckle-walking than to an upright gait, they still appear somewhat hunched and rarely draw themselves up to their full height unless trying to intimidate.

Though they are gorilla-like in size and build, their features are more suggestive of a Drill (the monkey, not the power tool).  They have golden eyes, long nasal bridges, and short, sharp fangs.  They have thick, coarse hair on their backs and legs, with finer and shorter hair on most of the rest of their body.  Their hands, the soles of their feet, and their faces are hairless.  Their skin is a subdued grey color, and their hair is most often reddish-brown, though it can vary from a fairly vivid red to a very dark brown.  Adult males have a 'mane' of lighter, reddish-gold fur around their face that appears much larger when they are angry or feel threatened.

The Tahro are renowned for their strength and stamina, though they lack the phenomenal healing of the Iskites or the resistance to toxins shared by the Umbril and Gheen.  They are capable of continuing physical exertion for far longer than any of these aliens, and are considered more than a match against them in hand-to-hand combat.

Tahro can climb trees large enough to support their weight, but are primarily creatures of the forest floor.  Though they are no great leapers like the Gheen, they have been known to jump between stout understory branches to get over an obstacle or come at an enemy from an unexpected direction.  They are not monkeys and do not brachiate.

Tahr hearing is quite acute, and their eyes work very well in low light conditions.  Their senses are otherwise unremarkable, save for their magnetic sense.  The Tahr are capable of intuitively sensing the pull of the Grandmother Mountain and always know in what general direction it lies.  Though this is nowhere near as accurate as a proper lodestone compass and can't guide a Tahr to precise locations a long distance away, it does prevent them from getting hopelessly lost, and is an asset on their constant migrations.[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Language]Of all the languages of the creatures of the Forest, the languages of the Tahro would be those most familiar to humans.  They speak in low-pitched, sonorous voices, without either the clicks and trills of the Gheen or the hissing and ingressive 'gasping' sounds of the Iskite Luminous Tongue.  The Tahro, however, have more regional variability in language than any other alien species.  Bloods that share a Red Camp have few linguistic differences (or none at all), but those in different regions have languages that are seldom mutually intelligible.  An alien who learned the Tahr language of Koldon's Well will find it does him little good among the Black Blood or the Tahro of the Netai.

Tahr script, however, is logographic, and though the symbols may be pronounced in wildly different ways, most Tahr will be able to understand the general content of a written message regardless of which Tahr language it was written in.  Because one can easily understand Tahr writing without necessarily being able to pronounce Tahr speech, Tahr writing is used by aliens in some locations as a means of trade and diplomacy with other aliens even when Tahro aren't involved.  Tahr numerals have been adopted into most written languages save the Luminous Tongue, which retains its own numeric system because of its distinctive line structure (and Iskite pride in their 'universal' language).[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Life Cycle]Tahro are mammals and have live births after a 8 month pregnancy.  Like humans, the vast majority bear a single child, though twins and triplets do happen on rare occasions.

Children are raised chiefly by their parents, though the other Tahro of the blood play a role.  The child is taught the skills of survival by its parents.  Male children are tutored as hunters, while female children usually learn specific crafts like painting, weaving, herbalism, and blacksmithing.  The forest floor is dangerous and Tahr children are kept under close watch during their development.

Adulthood among the Tahro occurs not when an individual reaches physical maturity, but when they are considered strong enough to help defend the blood.  A Tahr must have a significant kill to his or her name, usually of some large game animal or a reasonably dangerous predator (though in times of war, an alien may suffice).  A Tahr that reaches physical maturity, usually around 16-22 years of age, becomes a 'sub-adult.'  This differs from childhood only in that they are taken along on hunting trips (or raids, during war) that they may be granted an opportunity to prove themselves and take on the mantle of 'real' adulthood.  An adult Tahr (of either sex) abandons his/her childhood name and is given a new one by the blood.  An adult gains the right to paint him/herself, the right to participate in religious rites, and the right to take a mate.

An elder Tahr's coarse hairs on the back and legs begin to gray as he ages.  For males, the mane starts to grow dull after their reproductive years end.  They eventually grow infirm and die, and are interred within the ground by the members of their blood.  The Tahro return to the earth, and their grave is never marked, out of fear that evil spirits or the Saffron Moss may use any marking to disturb the rest and peaceful decomposition of their fallen kin.  They are always buried with their heads towards the Grandmother Mountain to assist them in navigating the afterlife.

The Tahro usually live to around 150 years of age if spared an unnatural death.  Many bloods have tales of long-dead patriarchs who lived far longer than this, but this is likely exaggeration accumulated in oral histories over time.[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Society]Tahr society centers around the blood, an extended family composed of the patriarch, his mate, his children (save his adult daughters, who are likely living with other bloods), his daughters-in-law, and his grandchildren, as well as any of his brothers not powerful or prolific enough to have their own bloods (and their descendents).  The blood is the fundamental unit of society, and its members are expected to be loyal to it above all else.  They do not subscribe to the 'immortality of the blood' that Gheen do, but family is nonetheless important to them, and is the fundamental basis of their understanding of the world and the place of society within it.  They are expected to give and sacrifice for their family, which is its own reward, and to do so stoically and without bitterness or regret.  There are distinct channels through which a Tahr shares its feelings, primarily through ritual, battle, and music, and outside of these channels they are typically phlegmatic and terse in nature and speech.  They are seldom clearly excited or curious and react to most new things and developments with dispassion.  Outsiders find Tahro to be stubborn, cold, ignorant, and incurious, but they are also determined, prudent, magnanimous, loyal, and generous.

Tahr bloods revolve around the patriarch, whose station comes from age, not ability.  Patriarchs must be respected and have a great deal of children in order to break off and form their own blood, but most patriarchs came to the position simply through the death of their father and their position as the eldest son.  There is no societal basis on which to challenge a patriarch's leadership '" an individual can either accept it or leave the blood.  Patriarchs are often given advice from their mates, brothers, and sons, and the wise ones solicit it and consult with their family.  Still, in the end their word is law within the blood, and they must be treated with the respect they are due even if their judgment is clouded by age.

Tahro are semi-nomadic, and move between a variety of camps in the course of a year.  They are 'semi' nomadic because these migrations are generally cyclical, with the same camps being used year after year.  This is done primarily because the Tahro are voracious eaters that would deplete any one camp of game quite quickly if they did not allow time for the area to recover.  Some bloods maintain 'alternate' camps for different seasons in case of danger or changing conditions, and many have camps near alien settlements for trade purposes.  They refer to all their camps on the basis of color '" one that is inhabited in the Green season will be called the Green Camp, and further refinements are sometimes used (Late Yellow, Blue-Indigo, etc.)  Multiple bloods (usually 4-8, but sometimes as many as a dozen) share a single 'Red Camp' where they meet during the Red Season.

During the Red Season, the usual Tahr lifestyle is put on hold.  This time is the most important part of the year on the Tahr spiritual calendar, and every day is marked by a different religious ceremony.  Bloods are forgotten, and all Tahro reaffirm their identity as one 'universal blood' that encompasses all their species.  The Red Season is also the time for exchanging news, stories, and chants, as well as trading and recreating with friends and cousins not seen since last year.  Most importantly of all, these meetings are where mate selection takes place.  For males, many of the religious ceremonies serve double duty as tests of mettle, prowess, and stamina '" long-term seclusion in sweat lodges (a practice adopted from the Gheen), exhausting physical feats, ritual hunts, and even pain-endurance rites.  Females endure very similar rites during this season, but they do not hunt.  These acts have ritual significance but are also designed to allow young adults to showcase their desirability as a mate.

By necessity, Tahr courtship is fast '" many Tahr take the Blood Oath (as Tahr 'marriage' is called) after the two-week courtship of the Red Season, before which they may not have even met before.  Blood Oaths must be approved by the patriarchs of the couple's respective bloods, but this is traditionally given unless one of the Tahr has committed a crime or is otherwise undesirable to the other blood.  When the Oath is approved, the female is 'given' to the male's blood in a ceremony at the end of the Red Season, and the male's blood gives a suitable gift in return.  The female joins the blood of her mate and leaves with them when the great meeting is dismissed.

There is no societal sanction against abrogating the Blood Oath (that is, divorce) in Tahr culture.  Many mates do remain mates for life, but a Tahr of either sex that finds their mate unsatisfactory can easily end their relationship at the next Red Season.  In fact, the Blood Oath itself only lasts for one year; Tahr mates endure the same 'marriage' ceremony year after year.  A pair that does not wish to remain a pair needs only to skip the ceremony.  Not wanting to renew the Blood Oath is not considered an insult or slight to one's mate, and 'ex-mates' usually remain on friendly terms.

Thus, Tahro who do not find a partner they wish to commit to (or one who wishes to commit to them) live out a series of annual 'serial marriages.'  Children stay with the father's blood, so a child could conceivably have a rather long list of 'mothers' who helped raise him as his father takes new mates.  Mothers are expected to treat their children and step-children equally and generally make an earnest effort to do this.

Reciprocal gift-giving is critically important to Tahr culture.  Nothing is bought, sold, or bartered, save with aliens, who tend to have a rather poor understanding of the custom.  Gifts are given for even the most minor of occasions; for instance, Tahro do not celebrate birthdays yearly, but weekly.  Gift-giving, however, is not frivolous. Gifts are utilitarian and valuable '" food, tools, clothing, and so on.  Those who receive gifts are expected to give back in turn.  Through mutual generosity, the blood cooperates and thrives.  Among the Tahro, selfishness is the cardinal vice.  Aliens often make light of the custom as simply another way of describing 'barter,' but the Tahro insist that real gift-giving comes without material expectations.  One should expect only generosity, and to that end be as generous as possible so others return the favor.  The Tahro seek to continually outdo each other in generosity, but are also careful not to give a gift they know the recipient cannot possibly reciprocate (this is considered rude).[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Habitat] More than any other civilized race, the Tahro favor ruins.  The ruins of the Ancients provide perfect seasonal camps, as they are permanent and often much easier to defend than undeveloped Forest.  The Tahro value good ruins highly, and will explore new complexes they come across to see if they are fit for use.  The work of the Ancients is believed to have certain sacred properties, and it is considered auspicious to maintain ruins camps, especially a Red Camp.  Such settling is done carefully, however, as some ruins are still guarded by Cogs, or may be homes to more recent occupants.

The Tahro sometimes shape the Forest for their own purposes if good ruins are not available.  Trees will be planted and pruned yearly in order to make 'living palisades' that provide sites with some additional protection; if done well enough, the growth appears natural, and few will suspect that a solid tangle of branches and brambles is actually the wall of a seasonal camp.  The Forest is notoriously difficult to restrain or thin, but easy to coax into growing even thicker.

Tahr camps are not highly developed.  The Tahro build no permanent structures, simply constructing lean-tos and shallow burrows when the blood arrives.  Unlike the Umbril, who rely on stealth and concealment to protect themselves, the Tahro are capable of fighting off most forest floor predators.  Still, they do not invite trouble, and favor naturally strong defensive locations and conceal them with leaves and branches.[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Warfare]For the Tahro, physical defenses like walls and palisades serve to keep out wandering predators, and are not a means of defeating any enemy.  That task is borne by a blood's warriors.  Tahr warfare takes two basic forms.

Disputes or vendettas against two Tahr bloods may progress to a 'blood war.'  Usually, this is the result of a dispute over a particularly good ruin, the dishonor of a family member, or theft (which is considered as heinous as murder, as it sabotages the principle of generosity).  Individual Tahr who are wronged will seek a duel with the one responsible, usually during the Red Season, and have the option of killing or sparing their enemy if they win.  Tahr duels are fought unarmed, and have few rules.  If the duel is refused or offenses continue, the bloods may take up the vendetta and go to war.  War between bloods follows a strict ritual code, but still can be fatal.  Surprise attacks against another blood are forbidden.

Against aliens, all restrictions are off.  The Tahro use surprise whenever they can and do not restrain themselves with ritual.  Individual bloods rarely war with aliens; instead, several patriarchs make the decision together.  The Tahro are prudent about war and seek to build up alliances with other bloods and even alien settlements before committing themselves to action.  They often give gifts to alien allies, but will not fight with aliens they believe are only fighting because of such gifts.  The Tahro favor fast, decisive battles where they are on the offensive.  They will allow opponents to flee a lost battle, but do not typically take prisoners.

Tahr warriors in blood wars are always male; upholding the blood's honor is considered an exclusively male obligation.  Against aliens, warriors are usually male, but females will join if the stakes are high or if the blood or its camps are in danger.  The Tahro favor surrounding their opponent and charging into melee combat immediately, though they will often throw a volley of axes, bolas, nets, and spears just before the charge.  They often wear light armor but prefer to not restrict their movement too much with the heavy armors favored by the Iskites.  The Tahro themselves do not forge metal, and their blacksmiths only sharpen and repair tools and weapons, so they usually lack the resources to make metal armor anyway.  In general, they fight more as individual warriors than a cohesive whole, which sometimes puts them at a disadvantage against more organized Iskite (or sometimes Umbril) forces.[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Art and Music]Chanting fulfills religious, social, and artistic purposes in Tahr culture.  All Tahr adults have some chanting ability; the best of these are the blood's Lore-speakers, who serve as the memory of the blood (since the Tahro write very little down).  They commit many long chants to memory that recount the history of the blood as related by heroic acts, excellent gifts, notable wars and conflicts, noble sacrifices, and distinguished patriarchs.  Chanting by all members of Tahr society is used both formally (in religious ceremonies and before hunts and other events) as well as casually, to keep time while cracking nuts or weaving cloth or to entertain one's fellows over a campfire.

Instruments are not generally used to accompany chanting, save for certain religious rituals.  Hand-held drums and clappers are the most common varieties of these, but the Tahro also use pipes and other wind instruments unaccompanied.  Circular breathing is a skill Tahro are born with, not a learned technique, and they can chant or play a wind instrument for an hour or more without stopping for breath.

The Tahro create only the art they can take with them '" or carry on their bodies.  Tahr adults regularly paint themselves, especially the hands and face.  Paint is used instead of tattoos because these patterns change frequently.  Face-painting is critical before a hunt, a battle, or any ceremony of any kind, and is often done even when no significant event is forthcoming.  It may carry some significance to members of the blood or other bloods within the larger group, telling of an individual's age, accomplishments, offspring, or availability for the blood oath.  These kind of meanings vary drastically between regions.

Most Tahr art consists of decorations of everyday objects.  Virtually no object owned by the Tahro is without patterns, pigments, beads, engravings, or some other embellishment.  Even objects acquired from trade with aliens (like most Tahr weapons) are augmented with designs, tassels, paints, and so on.  The Tahro consider this to be the real purpose of art, and don't see much point in an 'art object' that has no purpose besides looking pretty.  To own such a thing would only mean additional weight and encumbrance for no real purpose.[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Food]The Tahr diet is rather like that of bears.  Hunting is an important part of their diet and culture, but they also eat a great deal of tubers, berries, fruits, and other products of the Forest.  They find grains tasteless and the meatless diet of the Gheen insubstantial (and, of course, have no love for Umbril cuisine).  Drying food is practically impossible in the humid jungle, so the Tahro use other methods to preserve their food supply.  The Tahro smoke most of their meat and pickle some fruits and vegetables in vinegar or alcohol.  Preserved meat is often stored in caches at seasonal camps; it is placed in a clay jug with hot ashes and buried underground.  In this way, nothing is wasted, and the blood is well supplied both on the move and whenever they return to an old camp.

The Tahro do make some alcohol from fermented fruit, which is used both for drinking and for preserving food.  'Tuber Beer' is a common Tahr drink, made from ginger and starchy roots mixed with honey or cane juice that is allowed to ferment.  When honey is found, it is often made into mead.  The Tahro do not have the technology for distillation, and usually trade with the Iskites for such spirits.  Mead is sometimes consumed ritually during certain Red Season rites.[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Recreation]Tahr recreation is primarily physical in nature.  They prefer wrestling and running to the games of the Umbril, partially because the skills learned and maintained in wrestling matches help to sustain and protect their community.  Bola-throwing is the centerpiece of several Tahr sports; Tahro may compete to wrap bolas around set posts at long range, or seek to entangle each other while dodging back and forth.

Because Tahr culture is largely oral, few books or manuscripts are kept by a blood and none are made.  Those that the blood does retain are usually foreign works of utilitarian value, or novelties of culture or philosophy owned by a single Tahr.  These works often circulate throughout the blood over time, with the expectation that eventually they will work their way back to the original owner, who by that time may be interested in reading them again.  Such things are rarely carried with a blood, and a blood with a particular literary interest may keep small stockpiles of books and scrolls in caches throughout their migratory route, so each camp has its own small library.

The Tahro and Umbril have a similar outlook when it comes to the use of mind-altering substances '" they serve a serious ritual purpose, and 'recreational' use is self-contradictory.  Many Tahr bloods have incorporated Umbril pharmacological knowledge into their rituals, especially around the Red Season. [/spoiler]

[spoiler=Religion]It may come as unsurprising that a nomadic people conceive of the spiritual realm as a journey.  The predominant Tahr belief is that the yearly cyclical migration is merely a physical reflection of a more important metaphysical cycle between life and death.  The individual is only present in his material body for part of this journey; when he dies, the soul wanders elsewhere, to return when the time is right and begin a new life among the bloods.  Most Tahro thus believe in reincarnation: a Tahr will return as a new Tahr in time, even if he has no memory of it.  'Memory' is believed to be a property of the physical world; the spirit itself lives only in the present and lacks any knowledge of the past or apprehension of the future.  Memory is the burden of the living, to be gratefully shed upon death and solemnly shouldered when one returns.

A great deal of Tahr ritual concerns preparing oneself for the spiritual journey after death.  Just like a 'real' migration, preparations are needed, and one must take precautions against the dangers of the spirit realm that exists both within and parallel to the 'real' world.  One can, it is said, get lost in the world of the spirits, and never return to life.  As spirits do not have memories, however, the preparations are not memorized lists or advice, but a cultivation of the 'essence of the soul' through asceticism, meditation, chanting-trance, and other processes.  Upon death, a spirit is laid bare before the world '" it literally knows nothing except itself.  The purpose of ritual, then, is to refine the self to a point where one will naturally be able to navigate the great cyclical journey and return to life again.  The Tahro believe preparation for death must begin at birth, for death may come quickly and unexpectedly like an assassin spider, and they involve even the youngest of children in their religious practices.  Tradition and religion are inextricable in Tahr culture; it is impossible to disentangle one from the other, and the Tahr often assert that there is no appreciable difference between the two.  The journey is eternal and unchanging; so too is tradition.

For the most part, Tahro do not concern themselves with the question of what happens to aliens after they die.  A minority of Tahro believe in 'transincarnation,' the idea that a dead Tahr does not necessarily return to life as a Tahr '" all sentients (or alternately, all animals, or even all beings) share the same manner of spirit, and thus frequently return as another kind of life altogether.  Proponents of this idea are generally split as to whether one's new form is essentially random or a reward (or punishment) for behavior in the world of the living (and if the latter, what entity is doing the rewarding and punishing).

The Tahro are generally ambivalent about things such as 'gods.'  They recognize that there are beings much powerful than themselves, but deny that power in the physical world necessarily translates into power in the spiritual one '" a powerful entity may kill you, but it cannot extinguish your spirit.  The Tahro give respect to those beings they see as more enlightened than themselves, because these beings serve as examples to those who wish a purer essence of the soul.  They withhold real worship, however, to those beings they believe have the capability to exist in both worlds, or to cross between them trivially.  Chief among these are the dragonflies, represented by the dragonfly messenger-god Ath, who serve as intermediaries between the physical and the spiritual.  These 'children of Ath' are believed to fly between worlds, and carry the souls of the newly dead and nearly reborn.  They are seen in Tahr culture as harbingers of both death and birth, and it is considered a great sin to harm them.
[note=Dragonflies]Dragonflies in the Clockwork Jungle (more correctly, 'Wyrmflies') are more like dragonflies on prehistoric Earth; some species reach a wingspan of three feet.[/note][/spoiler]
[spoiler=Adventurers]Tahr bloods allow their adult members to come and go as they please.  The world beyond the community is dangerous, but to leave is ultimately the decision of the individual, not the patriarch.  Tahr bloods tend to be self-regulating '" when the population grows too high, the blood splits, and when it dips too low, the blood may join another it is related to (at least for a time).  Thus, the Tahro are much less concerned about members leaving than the Iskites are, but they do consider it supremely irresponsible to abandon one's own children (if they are not yet adults).

As a result, many (perhaps most) Tahr adventurers are not young adults straight out of adolescence '" instead, they mated early on, raised children to adulthood, and only left the blood around 40-50 years of age.  As Tahro do not really begin to suffer the infirmities of age until they are a century old, this still leaves plenty of time for an active career in the wider world.

Young Tahr adventurers usually left on a less positive note, having fallen out with their blood or Tahr society in general.  Others are exiles, cast out of the blood for committing a crime or because of a particularly bitter vendetta with a patriarch. [/spoiler]

[spoiler=Relations]The Tahro stoically suffer the oddities of aliens; they consider it only proper to bear with the antics of others and not burst forth in annoyance or anger.  They are not made of stone, however, and even a Tahr has his limits.  In general, the Tahro have very little interest in the lives or customs of others, preferring their own traditions and customs and leaving alien things to the aliens.  They are usually self-confident enough that they do not fear the corrupting influence of foreigners, but they also know that aliens are often grasping and ambitious and have found that it rarely hurts to be suspicious.

The Tahro are not overly fond of the Iskites, who they see as haughty, self-centered, and callously destructive.  They don't care much whether the Iskites think of them as 'civilized' or not '" it's not important what outsiders think '" but do resent the way in which the Iskites lord themselves over the Tahro and others they believe to be their inferiors.  The Iskites do not give them the respect they believe should be extended to all sentient creatures.  Most egregiously, the Iskites occasionally settle on a Tahr seasonal camp when the blood is elsewhere; the blood returns only to find that the Iskites have destroyed it, turning carefully managed groves and sacred sites into fields and pasture.  The Iskites are seldom aware they are settling on a seasonal camp, but are dismissive of the 'rights' of non-sedentary beings and typically refuse to return the land.  Wars often result from such incidents, ending only when the blood gives up and relocates elsewhere, or when the village is destroyed and the Iskites are forced from their recently-acquired land.  This kind of conflict is not very common, however, and usually nearby villages and bloods maintain a lukewarm trading relationship, exchanging valuables and goods but not expanding their interactions beyond that.  Every Tahr blood has stories of Iskites destroying sacred camps or taking Tahr slaves, and have a deep distrust of the race as a result.

The Tahro find the personal habits of the Gheen to be frequently frustrating and sometimes downright annoying, but respect the 'tree sprites' (as they call them) and often maintain friendly relationships.  They find the Gheen devotion to family to be commendable, if perhaps a bit excessive, and believe them to be more capable of dealing in a forthright and honest manner than either the arrogant Iskites or the untrustworthy Umbril.  As a result, though the Tahro do not welcome the Gheens' ham-fisted and oblivious attempts to ingratiate themselves into Tahr culture, they do seek them out as trading partners and '" in times of war '" allies.  They conceive the Gheen as very different and yet unopposed to them, a culture that they have no interest in emulating, but nonetheless possessing enough merit to engender cooperation.  The Tahro usually trade decorated crafts and plant goods from the forest floor (which is dangerous for the Gheen to tarry in) for Gheen silk, metal, and pigments.  The Gheen have also introduced the Tahro to the khauta, which some Tahr bloods use to observe the land around them and plan new migration routes or reconnoiter possibly hostile villages or other settlements.  Bloods and dreys seldom ever come into conflict, as they do not share the same habitat and have no other reasons to be at odds.

The Tahro are very suspicious of the Umbril, who they share the Forest floor with.  They believe the Umbril to be overly self-confident, thinking themselves smarter and more clever than they are, yet still clever enough to be masters of deception.  The common Tahr conception of the Umbril is that they are pathological liars, incapable of telling the whole truth even when there is no reason to lie.  They suspect that the Umbril feel safe when they believe they know more than others, and because of this the Tahro often act purposefully oblivious even when they know an Umbril isn't telling the truth.  In a similar way, they know the Umbril sometimes cheat them in negotiations and trades, but prefer to let the Umbril get away with a little rather than pressing the issue and risk the Umbril cheating them in another way they don't know about.  The Tahro have very little faith in the Umbril moral fiber, but abide it in part because they believe the Umbril to be a part of the Forest, more like animals and Aras Tay than themselves, and thus restricted by their 'natural' inclinations and in some way unable to control their instincts.  They often act as regional intermediaries between Umbril colonies and other settlements, trading Umbril goods to those the Umbril would rather not meet personally.  Some cultural exchange has occurred between bloods and colonies, and Thalevin (known to the Tahro as the goddess Tholveth), the Umbril deity of renewal, fertility, healing, and giving, is more widely revered by Tahro than it is by the Umbril themselves.

Though membership in a blood is generally determined by heredity and marriage, the patriarch may choose to allow a non-related Tahr or even an alien to live with the blood and share in communal rites and obligations.  Though this is not exactly a common practice, if an alien shows an earnest desire to live according to tradition and has the potential to benefit the blood, he may be accepted as an honorary member.  Regardless of age, the new member must undergo the Tahr ritual of adulthood before they are granted full privileges in the community, but once this occurs they are treated more or less as an equal.  The most frequent blood-aliens are rogue Iskites, though some Gheen with an interest in Tahr culture may attempt it, and very rarely an exiled Umbril may turn to a blood for community and protection. [/spoiler]

[spoiler=Varieties]The Tahro vary regionally with regards to coloration, but unusual populations are more typically identified by culture and tradition rather than physical features.

The Tahr bloods of the Feathervale, known collectively as the Exiles or the Banished Blood, were driven from their traditional camps by the World-Queen and now live in the Wash and the edges of Whitefen.  Many have pledged to never abandon the land they have lived in since time immemorial, and serve the League of the Waterfall against their oppressor.  They are known for the prevalence of dark green eyes in their population, something unknown within other Tahr communities.

The Black Blood is a population of Tahro that lives around the Sea of Serpents and in the perilous environment of the Chokereed.  They live primarily on the water, migrating in reed boats and hunting riparian game.  They are staunchly isolationist and frequently attack first and ask questions later when it comes to alien visitors.

The only 'Tahr City,' better understood as the largest Red Camp in the world, is the settlement of Koldon's Well on the Black Circle.  The bloods that travel there in the Red Season are considerably more cosmopolitan and technologically advanced than most of their kin, though they have resisted better than most the inclusion of "Black Circle culture" into their society.  Some have even become 'settled Tahr,' members of a unique blood called the Children of the Well that pledged itself generations ago to abandoning nomadism in order to guard the Red Camp against enemies while the other bloods are elsewhere.[/spoiler]

[Steerpike]

Finally the long-awaited Tahro!  And they don't disappoint.

One small fix just on first reading:

[blockquote=Polycarp!]The Black Blood is a population of Umbril that lives around the Sea of Serpents and in the perilous environment of the Chokereed.[/blockquote]I think you meant Tahro, not Umbril?

[Polycarp]

Yes, I did.  Fixed.

[Polycarp]

[ic=Ot, Further Ruminations]Those who argue so incessantly and inconclusively about 'what is death' should not be so quick to judge what is life.
- Ot, Cog philosopher[/ic]
[ic=Excerpt, an Iskite song heard in Anath]If they can make a cat and a bird on a tree,
Then why can't the Ancients build a mate for me?[/ic]

The Cogs

No, the Cogs are not a 'playable' race in the Clockwork Jungle, but they are a key component of it.  They are not just a possible encounter for an adventuring party '" they are omnipresent.  It may be safely estimated that there is at least one Cog for every three animals in the entire Forest, which adds up to a truly immense amount of these creatures.  To the natives of the Forest, they are merely another kind of creature, with predators to be feared and others to be hunted.  They are recognized as different '" and perhaps a bit mysterious '" but no more wonderment is expressed at the sight of a Cog bird than its 'real' counterpart, and no more terror is felt for a Cog speckled cat or assassin spider than their fleshier cousins.
[note=Originality]This is a rewrite '" some material is old, some is new, some was discussed in the recent chat.[/note]
Cogs are, it is widely understood, living things.  Though not organic (notwithstanding some of their parts, which are wooden), they are powered by the same essence '" whether you call it life force, spirit, soul, or 'magic' '" that flows through all other living things.  The greatest of channelers, those capable of consciously drawing and using this force from other entities, have confirmed that it dwells within Cogs as well.  The difference is simply that the Cogs '" unluckiest of all living things, perhaps '" cannot produce this essence themselves.  They feed off it, and even small amounts can sustain them for weeks or months, but once its influence fades they become dormant and appear 'dead' by any reasonable definition of the term.  It is for this reason that channelers themselves must be cautious in the ruins (or anywhere in the Forest): the mere act of channeling will draw awakened Cogs to the channeler, and will rouse dormant Cogs from their slumber.  Often, this is harmless '" the classic example being Cog birds and insects flitting around a channeler's head '" but everyone has heard stories of channelers inadvertently awakening hostile Soldiers or dangerous Cog predators.

Cogs may be alive '" but do they have a 'heart,' so to speak?  Can they feel pain?  Do they have emotions?  This is a topic many natural philosophers have argued over, but the general consensus is that if they do not, it is impossible to know.  Removing a part from an animal Cog elicits the same response as ripping out a piece of a real animal '" it thrashes, struggles, and screams, and though its voice may be a hollow, mechanical mockery of a real animal's voice, it is no less convincing in its stridency.  Social cog animals (such as Cog monkeys) living among their organic cousins have been observed getting upset, showing affection, and even giving their lives to defend the group's (non-Cog) young.  They show no behavioral differences from their organic counterparts whatsoever '" except one.
[note=Descartes]My inspiration for animal Cogs is Rene Descartes, who believed that animals were incapable of real thought or feeling and only acted like they were conscious.  To him, an animal's scream of pain was analogous only to the squeak a screw makes when you tighten or loosen it - simply an automatic, mechanical sound with no conscious source.  It's an abhorrent belief to me, but it makes you wonder how you could distinguish between a machine that really feels pain and one that just pretends to.  How do you tell if a scream is 'real' or programmed?  Is there a difference?[/note]
No Cog ever harms another.  A Cog speckled cat may kill a real monkey, but it will never lay a paw upon a Cog monkey (though the Cog monkey will still flee and warn its organic 'friends,' seemingly not knowing it is in no danger).  Only Soldiers break this rule, and only when they encounter a Cog that is infested, controlled by another entity, or otherwise compromised.  If the civilized races did not exist, no Cog would ever die save by rare accident, for nothing predates upon them save those who wish their parts for the crafts of civilization.

Animal Cogs are naturally stronger, faster, and more resilient than their natural counterparts, but they are no more resilient than their component parts.  All Cogs are made up of varying proportions of wood, glass, stone, 'Cog gold' (brass), and 'Cogsteel' (high-quality steel).  These are not supernatural in terms of strength, but are apparently immune to serious natural corrosion.  A Cog's wood may discolor over time, and its stone parts often grow lichen or moss, but these parts never seem to be structurally compromised by time and weather (the wood never rots, the brass never corrodes away).  These materials retain this property even when removed from the Cog, so even non-metallic Cog parts are valued in many different applications.

Animal Cogs, as mentioned, are replicas of actual animals (though they are obviously recognized as Cogs even from a distance). They are the same size and shape as their "real" counterparts and behave virtually the same way.  An animal Cog that replicates a predatory animal, for instance, will hunt and kill prey (though it will not actually eat it, as Cogs are incapable of consumption).  They are just as social as the animal they replicate, and may live in herds, flocks or packs of other Cog animals of their type.  Just as often, they seek to enter into the societies of 'organic' animals, seemingly unable to tell the difference between Cog and non-Cog.  Whether an animal group actually accepts a Cog into its society is generally dependent on the individual species, but the Cog will try to be included regardless.  

Cog animals attempt to replicate animal sounds, but they tend to sound mechanical and distorted.  It does not take an experienced outdoorsman to tell the difference between Cog sounds and actual animal cries, though there is typically an eerie similarity.

There is no known example of a Cog duplicating a 'sentient' species '" no Iskite, Tahr, Gheen, or Umbril Cogs, nor cogs of Asheaters, Golhai, or any kind of wyrm.  This has been suggested as a way to tell by inference if a creature is sentient or not; most notably, there do not seem to be any Saryet spider Cogs, which has led many to conclude that these tree-dwelling social insects are a 'Primordial' race of their own.
[note=Primordials]'Primordial' is the term used by the civilized races to refer to intelligent species '" like Asheaters and Golhai '" that are nevertheless not considered 'civilized' like they are.  The Primordials themselves do not use this word, and indeed the Primordial races have nothing in common save that the four civilized races have deemed them in some sense uncivilized.  Some, especially Iskites, sometimes put the Tahro in this category, and it becomes a slur instead of a supposedly neutral term of categorization.[/note]
Soldier Cogs are bipedal constructs around eight feet tall. Some variations between individuals have been observed, but they follow the same basic template.  They have long double-jointed limbs (two 'elbows' on each arm, two 'knees' on each leg), with arms that nearly reach to the ground even when standing erect.  The shape of their heads varies, but they always have either two glass 'eyes' with one on top of the other (never side to side like most animals) or three such eyes in a triangular configuration.  They have no orifices, or anything resembling a nose, mouth, or ear.  Their vital clockwork innards are covered by Cogsteel plates (resembling plate armor) engraved with pictures of animals and/or geometric designs, and they carry solid Cogsteel glaives. The blades of these weapons are highly prized but they must first be separated from the rest of the weapon, as only Soldier Cogs can realistically wield a weapon with a ten-foot solid steel haft. They are extremely difficult to destroy, being made of proportionally far more Cogsteel than animal Cogs, and can skillfully annihilate an entire squad of professional warriors singlehandedly.

Soldier Cogs can be dangerous or benign depending on what their orders are.  Some guard a specific location or patrol a certain route, and will only attack trespassers.  Others stand motionless, and a dangerous few seem to stalk through the Forest killing everything in their path.  As a general rule, unless their orders require your death, they are completely harmless '" assuming, of course, you don't provoke them.  Attacking a Soldier Cog, attacking another Cog in its presence, or attempting to take the Soldier's weapon will provoke a violent response.

Soldier Cogs are exceptionally intelligent fighters and are very difficult to fool. In groups, they make use of complex tactics, utilizing feints, flanking attacks, feigned retreats, diversions, ambuscades, and surprise.  They learn from their opponents and never fall for the same stratagem twice.  They do not hesitate to kill but will usually not pursue a fleeing opponent, and will settle for giving a creature a sound beating if killing is not necessary to accomplish its objectives.  It should be noted, however, that a 'sound beating' administered by an eight foot steel warrior is frequently crippling, if not always fatal.  Soldiers can, quite literally, snap a femur like a twig.

Despite their intelligence, Soldier Cogs do not communicate with others. The only sound they make is a shrill mechanical whistle, and this is only done when other Soldier Cogs are around, leading some to conclude that this is the way they communicate with each other. They do not seem to have any rank or hierarchy, and do not display emotions or emote pain as some Cog animals do.  Most assume that whatever created the Cogs quite reasonably saw no point in giving dedicated soldiers the ability to feel pain.

Hauler Cogs are large, blocky constructs with between three and six legs.  They are not copies of any known living thing, though in general they bear a very passing resemblance to large beetles.  They carry objects with different mechanisms - some have a chain winch on their underbelly, while others have flat backs onto which they load cargo. Like Soldiers, they carry out their directives faithfully, and these orders usually involve stacking, moving, or organizing materials. They do not exhibit the same intelligence as Soldier Cogs, but are physically even stronger.

They are usually harmless but can be dangerous in strange ways. For example, if a Hauler's objective is to "bring stone here," it will do so, even if that means tearing down every last stone building in a nearby village. Such encounters are rare but not unheard of. Haulers will strike out in self-defense, so most villagers would rather just move elsewhere than attempt to kill something that could probably smash a bull elephant into paste.  Haulers are certainly no tactical masters like Soldiers '" their combat 'strategy' involves kicking out forcefully with their legs while retreating from the source of their affliction.  Usually this is enough to discourage pursuers.

Hauler Cogs are occasionally seen with several Soldier "escorts" who follow it around and protect it from scavengers or Cog-hunters. They seem to do this regardless of the Hauler's orders, and squads of Soldiers have been seen guarding motionless, inert Haulers as well as those carrying out tasks.

Two other distinct kinds of Cogs are known, but one only occurs in the half-sunken ziggurat of Teven, and the other is evident only in ancient engravings within the bowels of that same complex.

Lantern-bearers are a kind of Cog that dwells within Teven, dormant save for thirty-six days of the year, called 'Lantern Days' by the locals (The above-water portion of the ziggurat is inhabited, mostly by Umbril, and the settlement is part of the Netai Confederation).  The city's giant steps are dotted with large stone fire-bowls.  On Lantern Days, the spider-like Lantern-bearers skitter forth to light these fire-bowls with the flint-sparking mechanisms that make up their 'jaws.'  The residents have learned to keep the fire-bowls well stocked with fuel, for if the Lantern-bearers find them empty, they proceed to use doors, furniture, clothing, or any other flammable belongings of the residents to accomplish their task (they will literally rip the clothes off your back if that's what's closest).  Other than this use of 'local resources' when the fire-bowls are empty, the Cogs ignore the citizens totally.  The citizens take advantage of the ample light by holding ceremonies, festivals, or outdoor meetings during these Lantern Nights.  The Cogs do not tarry to enjoy the festivities - once they have lit their fires, they retreat into their dark lairs and wait, silently and motionlessly, for the next appointed day.

Smith Cogs are hypothetical Cogs known only from a huge engraving on a wall deep in the underwater recesses of Teven.  The wall depicts an immense vaulted room or cavern in which bipedal Cogs are bent over anvils and furnaces, engaging in what appears to be the manufacture of other Cogs.  One figure holds what appears to be a Cog songbird in mid-song, but most are engaged in the production of bipedal Cogs that could either be Soldiers or other Smiths like themselves.  No actual Smith Cog has ever been found.  Some believe that they may be hidden away in the deepest recesses of Teven, at the base of the ziggurat where the passages are one with the dark, crushing depths of the Sea of Netai.  Others believe that other ruins hold these creatures, ruins yet to be discovered within the Forest or completely submerged beneath the waters.  The question that most wonder about is - who built the builders?

[LordVreeg]

I love the cogs.
I use my shadowy Machmen in similar ways, to show depth of history with the display of a construct that was made for unknown purposes.

But yours are so alien and strange.  The Lantern cogs are wondrously incongruous, and the terror of ending up on the wrong side of a soldier cog...frightening.  Another truly wonderful addition.

[Ishmayl-Retired]

I have to admit Polycarp,
I've never delved too deep into this setting before.  Time doesn't permit me to fully immerse myself in all the settings that I would like to.  But ever since the Q&A, I've been reading your stuff, and I'm having a wonderful time!  I'm curious, what (if any) historical analogy do the Tahro have?  I've been doing some anthropological research recently for some writing that I am doing, and the Tahro have some interesting familiarities with an Australopithecus subspecies called the Paranthropus.  Similar diet and (from the limited bit of knowledge we have on them), a similar social life in terms of family and living style.

Looking forward to more!

[Polycarp]

I can't say that the Tahro have much of a specific historical analogy; most settings I've made feature some kind of nomadic race or culture, and they are the result of an attempt to graft that into an environment not usually associated with nomadism (jungle, rather than steppe or tundra).  The idea for rotating between seasonal camps, however, does come from some anthropological study I did in college (specifically, a course on the Levantine Neolithic).  I can't remember the specific culture/group offhand, but a similar pattern of movement between set "hunting camps" was noted there as well.

Actually, there's a fair amount of influence from the Neolithic generally and that class specifically in this setting.  Gheen death rites, for instance - placing the bodies on a platform to let them be stripped by scavengers, and then plastering the skulls - draw from practices discovered or proposed at places like 'Ain Ghazal and Çatalhöyük.

[Polycarp]

I must admit, I've been a little bit off-game; updates have never been very frequent, but I've been having trouble recently formulating new stuff, or at least getting that stuff onto paper/screen.  I have a pretty good idea of how the world works, who lives there, what it's like, but the drive to explain it all has been elusive recently (I'm sure you can all relate to that).  I find it's best in times like this to focus on details rather than the big picture, so I'm continuing the project I started with the Grove of Tranquility by doing more to describe the Black Circle cities.

The basics of the City of Orpiment can be found on the wiki.  This is just an alternate way of exploring something by walking you through it; let's say I'm just experimenting with a perspective I don't normally write in.

[ic=On Justice]Orpimine justice is predicated on the notion that nobody may find fault with laws they do not know.  After all, if you knew the rules of the game, you might win.
- Ruk Etan Iyeera, Gheen merchant and writer[/ic][ic=Famous Last Words]I am justice inerrant; you are iniquity manifest.  A storm of retribution will pour down upon you that will make the ash and fire of the Grandmother herself seem like a passing rain.
- Jengesh, Lord Master of the Flowering Gauntlet, in a public address hours before his assassination[/ic]

A Walk Through the City of Orpiment

You close the flophouse door behind you and step into the dim clamor of the Furrows.  Constrained in its growth by the massive basalt Forest Walls, the City of Orpiment has been forced to grow upwards over hundreds of years, until the streets resembled thin, snaking canyons carved through solid blocks of shops and tenements.  Eventually, the buildings grew together over the streets, and a whole new city was built over the existing one.  The districts below, that touch the city's bedrock, are collectively known as the Furrows.

The light of the Furrows is not too different from that usually available on the forest floor.  It filters between the floorboards of the wooden streets above, or emanates dully from sooty lanterns hung outside prosperous homes or storefronts.  In some places, patterns are cast upon the streets by arabesque latticework set into circular skylights punched into the streets or vaulted ceilings above.  Umbril find it comfortably dim; Gheen, in contrast, are at a severe disadvantage.  If you have a few notes to spend, you may be accompanied by a furrowman, a hired hand carrying a lantern, torch, or tallow lamp.  This is the favored vocation of the city's poor, as beggars and drifters will quickly be caught up by roving squads of Pipers '" the Overseer's enforcers and slavers '" and pressed into service as slaves of the city.  The more you're willing to pay, the better equipped your furrowman will be.  A pittance will gain you a gaunt, shabby figure with a stubby, smoky torch made from oiled rags on a table leg, while a more generous sum will ensure your steps are illuminated by a beaten copper lantern in the hands of a guild furrowman dressed in distinctive livery.

Good furrowmen do not speak unless spoken to, but their silence is little comfort in the Furrows.  To speak with anyone you pass, you will likely have to shout over the noise of Furrow merchants hawking orpiment-copper knives, turquoise jewelry, dried fruit, and stewed refuse, in addition to the constant thuds of tramping feet upon the streets above.  The nose is equally under duress, as burning tallow, rotting foliage, and furnace fumes mingle in the stuffy air of the Furrows.  Peddlers give you no breathing room, crowding about you (if you seem like a foreigner) and pushing goods in your face.  The wise course of action is to ignore them, though if you find them particularly bothersome, most Pipers will accompany you for a time and freely beat anyone who gets too close in exchange for a fair 'donation.'

You see two of these latter figures strutting down the street in the opposite direction, and the cloying merchants give them a wide berth.  Their fan-shaped red headdresses are visible over the crowd, as are the four-foot hollow staves they carry over their shoulders.  These are the 'pipes' for which they are named, stout blowguns that they use to subdue criminals (either with poisoned darts, or by beating them senseless as if the pipe was a quarterstaff).  Pipers are exclusively Iskites and Tahro '" Gheen lack the physical strength needed, and their poor low-light eyesight is a liability in the Furrows.  Some say Umbril are excluded because the Overseer doesn't trust others of his own species; others argue that it is simply because the Umbril are physiologically unable to use a blowgun (they have no lips, and do not exhale through their mouth anyway).  The Pipers have carte blanche to enforce the will of the Overseer, and the will of the Overseer is something only they know '" the city's laws, if there are any, are secret.  In general, anything that substantively disturbs order, business, or the interests of the Overseer is criminal, and carries a punishment ranging between a public beating to summary enslavement.  Nobody is executed in the City of Orpiment, but being sent to the Delving (the massive network of mining tunnels below the city) is just as fatal, though not as fast.  Even the Pipers must be careful, however, as not even they are trusted by the Overseer.  Officials called Inquirers spy on the Pipers and each other constantly.  Pipers who betray or neglect their master's interests vanish, presumably to the Delving, and never return.

As you continue your walk, you espy a yellow-tinted lantern casting its sallow glow on a brick archway.  This indicates a ramp or stairway that leads up to the open-air thoroughfares above, known as the Perch.  You climb a curving stairway made of pumice concrete, and abruptly stride into the light of the noon sun, filtered into a dusky orange glow by the ever-present haze of the Obsidian Plain.  To a human, the darkness of the Furrows may suggest that it is a slum or an otherwise undesirable part of town, but the only difference that actually exists is a demographic one '" Umbril and Tahro, creatures of the forest floor, prefer the furrows, while Gheen and Iskite residents of the city prefer the Perch.  The distinction is not an immutable one, and each year new structures and streets are built atop the existing ones.  Streets, blocks, and gradually whole districts fade into the Furrows as a new part of the Perch is built atop them.  What was the Perch two hundred years ago is now entirely in shadow.

Squat, black, and enormous, the Citadel of the Overseer looms over you.  It has few windows, and those it does have are stories above the highest rooftops.  Chimneys and vents, continually spewing forth black smoke from the furnaces of the Delving, jut out at odd angles from the basalt monolith.  The Delving is only accessible from the lower levels of the citadel, which itself is off-limits to all but the servants of the Overseer and guests there on the lord of the city's personal invitation.  Though the city draws much of its wealth from the toiling of slaves in the Delving, these hapless laborers are never seen, never heard from, and seldom thought of by the free people of the city.  The Delving is abstracted suffering, a productive hell kept far from the minds of the city's population, trotted out in stories and tall tales like a sinister bogeyman but seldom actually treated as a real place where slaves of the city die every day.

Nowhere are these images of suffering further away than the Perch, which is decorated in riotous color by the city's Gheen residents.  Organ grinders roam the streets, spouting thin melodies that hover above the commotion of the market.  The good ones will play if you pay them; most will play until you pay them to stop.  Because of the long-standing policy of the enslaving of vagrants, everyone on the streets before you is going somewhere, doing something.  Even those waiting for someone will be playing an instrument or obviously holding money and surveying goods (to suggest that they are prospective patrons of the various merchants).  As long as the merest veneer of purposeful activity or profitable intent is maintained, the Pipers will walk on by.  If you wish to see idlers, you must go indoors, perhaps into one of the city's many taverns, teahouses, or drug dens.  These are most common in the Perch, but some that cater specifically to the city's Umbril population are found further down.

As you approach the citadel, situated in the city's center, you notice distinctive banners hung from the walls of the structure '" light beige, with a black heptagon in the center.  This is the device of the Inerrant Vane, the city's guild of lodestone merchants.  Only the Overseer has more power within the city walls, and their traditional position around the base of the citadel expresses this in a physical sense.  The lodestone trade is too precious and dignified to take place in the streets; instead, the Lodestone District of the Perch is nearly empty outside, with copper-helmed retainers standing guard and keeping a tight grip on their gilded batons.  Counting houses, meeting dens, and warehouses line the courtyard that encircles the citadel, and one enters only by invitation.  The Lodestone District is its own little city within a city; at night, it is actually sealed off from the rest of the city by iron gates.  Pipers don't go here unless passing through on their way into the citadel, leaving any matters of order to the Vane's armed retainers.

Travel either way about the base of the citadel and you will come to the Minor Gate, the only obvious entrance to the structure (there are rumored to be secret ones as well).  It is named for its small size when compared to the four great gates that pierce the Forest Walls, but it is even more striking.  The tall, pointed gate is solid orpiment-copper set with polished obsidian.  From the outside, it resembles an utterly black stained glass window, depicting a forge hammer with ivy curling around it.  A semicircular stairway descends from the gate, divided at the bottom by four evenly-spaced basalt statues of Asheaters.  Each one holds a single hand forward, silently warning you to come no closer.

[spoiler=Selected Places within the City of Orpiment]
The Aviary
The Aviary is a towering, bell-shaped, tarnished copper cage that rises from the streets of the Perch near the Golden Gate.  It was built hundreds of years ago during the Age of Prophets as a place for public humiliation of petty criminals, but it was soon discovered that enslaving those criminals was a far more productive mode of law enforcement.  For a time, it was a holding pen for slaves awaiting sale, but the trade of slaves was banned some time before the Recentering (since then, slavery has remained a monopoly of the Overseer).  It sat empty for many years, until several Iskites petitioned the Overseer to grant them the use of the structure as a zoo and aviary.  This was granted, and the Aviary was inhabited by organic and Cog birds, lizards, and monkeys until the devastation of the White Plague of 288, which killed virtually all the 'real' animals in the Aviary (in addition to thousands of the city's residents).  The Aviary now houses only Cogs, who are protected from poaching by the Pipers.

Garden of Sanctimony
The City of Orpiment has always had a problem with ideologues.  Its location within the stark Plain has attracted many pilgrims, prophets, and cultists who seek consolation, purification, or inspiration in the elemental chaos and desolation.  A third of the city was destroyed 80 years ago by a fire set by a cult arsonist.  The city's civil society was nearly torn apart a scant few years ago by a street war between the Flowering Gauntlet, a militant Indigo Chapter, and several other societies and cults they accused of being Saffronites.  Enslaving the firebrands that led such groups failed to produce a desirable result, as they were hallowed as martyrs instead of forgotten.  The present Overseer sought to resolve this problem by building the so-called 'Garden of Sanctimony.'

The Garden is a round, stepped pit, descending into the Furrows like a cone-shaped inverse ziggurat.  Those the Pipers deem 'philosophical troublemakers' have iron helmets with bizarre masks locked upon their heads and are then thrown into the pit, where they must struggle to survive amongst their fellow inmates, many of whom are quite disturbed from years in the Garden.  Barred windows to the outside line every step and walkways cross over the top, where onlookers can throw rubbish (or, if more charitable, food) to the pitiful inhabitants.  Though it is called a 'garden,' only a few sad-looking plants spring from between the stones of the pit.  The 'community' is the closest thing the city has to an asylum, but it is designed not to cure or isolate, but rather to aggravate eccentricity into madness and totally discredit the more dangerous cultists and prophets through public humiliation.

The Sleeping Sage
The grandest market of medicines, herbs, and poisons in the City of Orpiment is a domed structure in the counter-clockwise Furrows called the Sleeping Sage.  It was founded by none other than the peerless Umbril herbalist Evin-Nethir, whose mummified corpse is now propped up in the center of the structure's main bazaar.  Ownership of the Sage passed to Thals-Venan, Evin-Nethir's pupil and the writer of the wildly popular Five-Fold Pharmacopoeia (subtitle: A Flower-work concerning the flora, fauna, and fungi of uses both baleful and beneficent).  Thals-Venan wanders the market stalls whenever it is not busy in its private library or garden, and has been known to offer advice and opinions on herbalism (or anything else) to buyers.  On one occasion, Thals-Venan became enraged at a Tahr merchant selling sub-standard soporifics and set his stall on fire, prompting the Pipers to condemn the herbalist to first-order slavery for a year.  Though it suffers from somewhat poor impulse control, Thals-Venan is a highly respected figure in Orpimine society, in part for housing hundreds of people displaced during the internal Gauntlet War at his own expense.

The Chapter House
The faded teal dome of the Chapter House rises half-way out of the Furrows like a brickwork blister.  It was built not long after the construction of the Forest Walls as a granary and swamp pit, but when the pits were moved to deeper recesses of the city in later decades, it became a public theatre, and was later auctioned off to a wealthy Iskite merchant who used it as a warehouse (and rented most of the space to other merchants).  This merchant was devoured by Kaerlings many years later, and the structure was 'claimed' soon after by the Flowering Gauntlet, a militant Indigo Chapter whose members had been expelled from Greythorn for heresy.  They had been invited in by the Overseer, as relations between the city and Greythorn were strained.  Later Overseers came to regret this decision, and attempted to curb the influence of the Gauntlet by clandestinely encouraging rival societies and religious movements.  This policy backfired during the administration of the current Overseer, leading to the 'Gauntlet War,' a prolonged conflict in the streets of the city between the Gauntlet and its enemies.  It was only resolved by the assassination of the Lord Master of the Gauntlet and the intervention of soldiers of the Golden Principality at the behest of the Overseer.  The remnants of the Gauntlet were forced to dissolve and hand their property, including the Chapter House, to the Overseer.  The structure is being renovated as a theater/planetarium by a group of Gheen astronomers and natural philosophers, complete with a (much simpler) copy of the infamous Shuszan's Orrery, but it is widely rumored that the remnants of the Gauntlet still hold meetings in forgotten passages beneath the main hall.

The Dusky Cabochon
The Cabochon is the most notorious gondola in the city (combination inn/tavern/drug dens catering to flyers and foreigners are called 'gondolas,' after that part of a khauta).  Run by a crippled Tahr exile from Koldon's Well named Ulth the Lame and a rogue Iskite (and former male courtesan)  named Engesz Smooth-tail, the Cabochon provides just about every diversion a traveler might be interested in.  The air is heavy with Itheel smoke tinted blue by the Cabochon's cerulean lanterns, and stinger-addicts gorge themselves on saosan fruit in continually-occupied feast halls.  It is joked that a bottle of their strongest spirit could power a khauta from there to the Rookery.  It is considered a slow week when nobody dies, usually from some overdose or accident, but the and the owners have a long-standing agreement with the Pipers wherein the latter do not venture into the Cabochon so long as any 'nuisances' are kept within its walls.  The Cabochon was heavily damaged in a riot during the Gauntlet War, but has since rebuilt and is as prosperous as ever.

The Stew
The city's Umbril population is sustained by massive swamp pits tended by slaves, in which organic waste from the captive forest is mixed and allowed to decay.  The district of the Furrows in which these fetid hollows are located is known as the Stew.  It is an entirely Umbril-inhabited area, for no other creature can stand the ever-present stench of rot and decay.  As fermenting vegetable matter has been known to spontaneously combust on occasion, the pits are continually fed by cooling aqueducts which create a sickly mist that rolls through the streets and is claimed to be able to peel paint off doors.  The Umbril find these smells appetizing rather than revolting, and 'taking the stew-mists' is considered by some Umbril to be a health-promoting leisure activity.  The Stew also doubles as the city's unofficial morgue, and the bodies of people who disappear by the work of assassins or other malefactors often end up in the pits.  It is rumored that somewhere in the pits and aqueduct systems is an empty cistern or other secret space in which escaped slaves maintain a community and hide from the Pipers, but the Pipers themselves dismiss this as pure fantasy.
[/spoiler]

[Polycarp]

[ic=On the counting houses of White Lotus]The counters of the Grasping Palm
By far the canniest of all,
They'll send you by the longest way
And hope you'll drink away your pay!
- Flyer's song, traditional[/ic]

Trade, Currency, and Credit

If trade is the metric by which a civilization's prosperity is judged, the modern civilizations of the Forest are lowly '" but on the ascent.  The Recentering scattered populations, broke regional power structures, and isolated communities from each other in a way they had not known since before the Age of Prophets.  The twin advent of dendronautics and block printing, however, has begun to reverse the losses suffered by civilization.  The birth of the Black Circle route has enriched not only the communities it passes through, but thousands of other distant villages, colonies, and dreys that receive the occasional khauta-borne peddler or merchant caravan traveling outwards from the Obsidian Crown.

In most Forest communities, 'money' is not an issue.  Such habitations seldom have more than a few hundred individuals, and everybody knows everybody else.  The needs of the community are known and the volume of exchange is not so great as to require the introduction of a standardized currency.  These community folk, however, are well aware that foreign and alien merchants are only interested in goods they can carry with them to other settlements, and endeavor to gather or produce at least one good that will attract caravans and fliers to them '" even communities with no uses for foreign goods enjoy the news, literature, and art that merchants bring with them.  For the Iskites, this is typically a product of their farms, alcohol, or metalcraft.  Gheen dreys may trade rare edible or medicinal plants, bark cloth, Saryet silk, or paints and dyes.  Umbril colonies typically trade in medicine, drugs, poison, or other fruits of their herbal and pharmacological knowledge, but also produce tea and edible fungus.  The Tahro only dabble in the creation of trade goods, but often hide caches of hides, cog components, and crafts of bone and horn to trade with merchants who catch them at one of their camps.

Currency is only in significant use in places of dense population; most notably, the cities of the Black Circle, and (to a lesser extent) the Netai.  Much of it comes in the form of commodity money '" that is, established quantities of a valuable good fit for circulation.

In the City of Orpiment, commerce relies on 'citadel tiles,' rectangular slips of refined copper.  Each one is painstakingly inscribed with a rampant Asheater on one side (the Overseer's personal sigil), a forge hammer with ivy curling around it on the other (the city's symbol), and writing attesting to the tile's purity and weight.  The writing wraps around the edges as well, to discourage villains from filing or chipping off small pieces and degrading the weight of the currency.  Merchants will often insist on personally weighing tiles, especially in larger transactions.  Metals like gold are considered too valuable to circulate in the form of currency, and gold is more often seen in the form of jewelry or some other ornament (even if it is only valued by its weight).

As a great deal of Black Circle trade is carried by khautas, the fuel of these vehicles has become a kind of currency in itself.  This comes in two forms '" bricks of pressed and dried peat (or, less commonly, charcoal), and canvas-wrapped casks of highly distilled alcohol.  Both can be used to power various kinds of craft and are accepted by most merchants on the Black Circle or in the cities of the Netai.  Most savvy merchants will 'taste' alcohol to make sure they're not just getting a barrel of water, but drinking such strong stuff is generally a bad idea.  Outside well-travelled khauta routes, this kind of currency is worth significantly less.

Perhaps the most common form of commodity money in use is tea.  Tea is one of the few things that all four of the civilized races find enjoyable and palatable; even the Umbril, whose cuisine disgusts all others, consume it on a regular basis.  Tea leaves are dried (and sometimes ground into a powder) and then compressed into a hard brick that is then wrapped in large, waxy leaves to keep the rain off it.  Tea bricks are usually stamped with their type, grade, place of origin, weight, and so on, and many merchants are capable of knowing the relative value of a tea brick just by glancing at the stamp.  They are dense, high-value items that are perfect for trade, and they ensure that a traveling merchant will not only have tea whenever he wants, but food as well.  Tea bricks are generally edible (if not exactly delicious) when softened with some water, and one can even find some regional recipes that call for the addition of a chip off a tea brick.  Tea bricks are used almost everywhere, but they are especially predominant in the Wash.  The Black Circle city of White Lotus, which borders both the Wash and the Obsidian Plain, is considered the tea-trading center of the world, and its various tea trading guilds keep long ledgers recording the rarity and value of thousands of different grades and types of tea brick.

The spread of block printing has also opened the possibility of paper money.  Paper itself was already in widespread use long before the invention of the printing press.  The advantages of a lightweight substitute for commodities is obvious, especially when you consider that khauta-borne merchants can only carry a very limited amount of cargo with them.  Fears of counterfeiting have prevented any city from printing its own notes, but these may be overblown, as in practice a printing press is not something just anyone can get a hold of.  Merchant guilds have stepped in to fill this gap, avoiding counterfeiting by keeping circulation limited.

Guild notes are notes worth a certain amount of a commodity issued by a specific merchant guild.  They specify that the issuer will pay the bearer the commodity amount as described within a certain time period (this varies from issuer to issuer).  They are not for 'general circulation;' rather, they are issued to merchants and other agents of the guild to be exchanged with other guilds that have currency agreements with each other.  These guilds keep mutual lists of trusted persons who they will pay a note's amount to; if a person is not on their rolls, they are not obligated to pay him no matter how many notes he holds.  Most reputable merchants are on the lists of several different guild groups and can freely exchange notes between each other, while a street peddler would be unable to cash them in.  Still, some who are not on these guild rolls do accept guild notes, assuming that they in turn will be able to trade them to somebody who is.
[note=On the roll]This is the origin of the Circle slang on the roll, meaning that someone can be trusted or depended on (as in 'don't worry about her, she's on the roll').[/note]
Several attempts have been made to combine these various lists into something resembling a universal roll, but the merchant houses of the Black Circle do not trust each other enough to do this.  Most rolls are kept by a handful of institutions; the largest, the 'Star-Gold Roll,' is used by 14 merchant groups, most of whom have an interest in jewelry and metalworking.

Generally, merchants pay a surcharge to have their names kept on a roll; the amount varies from roll to roll.  Some merchant groups have undergone a transition into something resembling proper 'banking;' the Jade Leaf Roll, a group of White Lotus tea traders, presently has very little activity in the tea trade itself.  Instead, they make money off regular fees accrued from merchants interested in being on their roll (partially because their notes pay in tea bricks, which are valid as currency nearly everywhere), and from loans made to flyers and traders in which the group sees the potential for profit.  The Jade Leaf Counting House is one of the largest structures in White Lotus and counts among its owners several prominent members of the Engan, the landowning class that also elects the city's ruler.

Merchant caravans will sometimes extend credit to residents of communities they travel to repeatedly, based off the fact that members of an isolated community who don't know anyone outside the community are unlikely to flee it to avoid paying a debt.  Many merchants maintain good relations with deep Forest communities and will allow them to take needed goods for the promise of future payment (plus interest).  Such transactions usually end satisfactorily for all parties involved, but there have been isolated cases in which a merchant caravan '" which generally travels with parties of well trained, heavily armed guards '" forcibly plunders a community that owes them a substantial debt, or even kidnaps residents to sell into slavery.  This is generally bad policy if one hopes to return to that community to do business in the future.