Author’s Note: This piece was shaped with a little help from AI. It provided assistance on things like the structuring, some names, shortening some verbose language/ideas as I'd written, and gave me the odd turn of phrase here and there. The heart and shape of the story are my own (as adapted from live-play with others naturally), but I realise it is important to be transparent about my use of AI support in producing it ultimately.
|The following presents a summary of an RP event attended by Vratni – the Bree Merchant's Guild Council Meeting. It is therefore written from his perspective, though is in somewhat a the third person style at times. Part of Vratni's Live RP series here.|
Setting: Pre-War: Bree
Featuring: Vratni, Frimsi, Geoadoc, Wittkun, Vladred, Throldir, Arlane, Fugol
Bree, The Prancing Pony, Somewhere Upstairs
(After me first Merchant’s Guild Meetin’)
Room’s a bit drafty, and I’m fairly certain the mattress has a rock in it shaped like a goblin’s elbow, but it’ll do. I paid for the night, and my feet are barkin’ from standin’ long through that Guild meetin’, so I’ll pen my thoughts here by candle’s end before sleep takes me.
First off, I must say: Master Frimsi is a marvel. Sharp as a smith’s chisel, and twice as patient. He steered the whole mad affair with a steady hand, even when certain big folk started tossin’ around words like rotten fruit. If there’s one dwarf in Bree who understands both trade and tact, I think it might be him! If he says there’s coin to be made, I’ll follow his lead all the way to the vault.
Now, I brought up the business about those dishonest scoundrel peddlers workin’ the road between Combe and Bree! Dishonest is puttin’ it gently. I told them how they’d be sellin’ cracked goods and callin’ it “heirloom craftsmanship.” Rag-wearin’ vagabonds, undercutting honest trade, selling gods-know-what from sacks and stumps. They rob not just purses but trust, and that, I told them, is the real coin of a merchant’s work. I told the Guild how I even saw my own mirror for sale, I did.
I put forth a good case, if I say so myself. Guild-branded badges, seals of quality—got a few raised brows, but I’ll not be cowed — even if some of them like their paths as crooked as their walking-sticks!
The crowd was a mixed bag. A merchant called Arlane or was it ‘Lane’, sharp-eyed and sharp-tongued, wasn’t too fond o’ my badge scheme—claimed it was all a ploy to sell me wares, which... well, fair play it is, but she didn’t have to say it out loud! Still, she knows the value of apprenticeships and trade—clearly thinks long-term. I’ll win her over eventually. Maybe I’ll gift her a commemorative badge. 'For Services to the Children’; engraved at her cost.
Now there’s a curious one—Geoadoc I think was his name… A hobbit with decent manners and a good head for keeping things grounded, if a bit quick to threathen violence with that ram cane of his once the talk turned a bit sharp. Seemed to have half an eye on the mayhem, but didn’t stir it much himself. Mentioned he knew Turiann—Company business maybe? Might be worth visitin’ that Ravenmere place he’s pushing…. Could be a soft market for hard goods.
There was a Dwarf too, ((Throldir)) I didn’t catch his name… he was late and at some point he just stood up and muttered somethin’ about Bree losin’ its senses, and stormed out like a forge fire spittin’ coals. Didn't even stay for my discount offers at the end! A proud dwarf, clearly. Bit too proud for Bree’s muddled mix, perhaps. Shame, really—he might’ve had somethin’ to add if he’d stuck around.
Wittkun showed up late but gave me a nod—he’s kin, after all; though we haven’t had much business together as yet. Must see if I cannae’ speak to him further.
And that lad Vladred—bucket helm and all—he surprised us. Proposed a trade school, bless him! Got the crowd right stirred, he did. Poor lad, near swallowed his tongue when he spoke, but he brought forth a noble idea: training the idle youth of Bree in proper crafts. Got the room’s heart, he did, and he’s got mine too — though between us, I’d see him first tested runnin’ leaflets and polishin’ stall signs before handin’ him hammer or saw. Still, good spirit.I even offered to supply the badges for the apprentices. Strictly professional, of course. Wouldn’t want the poor lads goin’ unmarked on their first day. Branding, you know? Very important; and if it will help me clear some stock, all the better!
But the real troublemaker was that staw-haired man ((Fugol)). Now there’s a man who walks into a room already thinkin’ he’s the smartest one in it. Didn’t catch his name—never offered it, of course, but he carried himself like we should all know it already. From the first he had that look—nose ever so slightly tilted skyward, like he could smell bad business, and I was wearin’ it as cologne.
Made a few remarks early on, all sharp-like, snappin’ at this and that, but it was when he made that insinuation—oh aye, that one—about the Company of the East Road, that I stood up and gave him a proper dwarven reminder about respect.
He never named us directly, mind, but his tongue danced close enough to draw sparks. Said he’d seen the sort of ‘peace and prosperity’ my ‘kin’ were peddlin’ on the roads. Now what’s that supposed to mean, eh? I’ve walked those roads, kept ‘em safe, and I’ve sold only the finest wares this side of the Blue Mountains! For him to hint that our Company’s reputation is anything less than immaculate—well, that’s either ignorance or insult, and I don’t like either.
Still, I did hold my tongue. Frimsi gave the word—asked for calm—and I gave it, just. Sat meself down, mutterin’ under me beard, and let the meeting move on. Gracious restraint, I call it. Wouldn’t want to leave the man bruised in front o’ witnesses, after all. But next time he calls a good dwarf’s honour into question, he might find more than a badge at the end of it. Wittkun would have backed me up an’ then some, I know it.
All in all, I left with more to sell and more to say. Frimsi spoke well of me, even hinted at riches ahead — and by stone and spark, I won’t make him a liar.
So here I sit, the night runs long and my ale is almost gone, but I’ve decided—I’ll draft a formal petition for the next meeting. Something proper-like, to put before the Guild and the Mayor. And not just some slapped-together complaint, oh no. This’ll be official, dressed up in all the right words: ‘community prosperity’, ‘economic integrity’, ‘protectin’ Bree’s honourable trade routes’, and a good heap o’ other phrases what sound noble but cost nothin’. I’ll butter it up so thick, the Mayor won’t know if he’s bein’ flattered or lauded for healing the sick.
Of course, I’ll keep the heart of it true—those peddlers are a blight, and they’re stealin’ coin and good faith from the folk what try to trade fair. But it don’t hurt to wrap it all up in fine parchment and call it a service to the town’s future.
I’ll slip in the badge scheme too, tucked in with a bit o’ talk about ‘merchant trust’ and ‘visible accountability’. Folk love a good emblem, especially when it makes 'em feel clever for choosin' the right seller; and of course, I shall be right there to sell it to them in the first place…
If I write it just right, the Guild’ll be beggin’ to back it, and the Mayor won’t dare ignore it. Might even think it was his idea by the time he's done readin' it. That’s the trick, see. Politics and profit—they’re both best served with a smile, a stamp, and a bit o’ shine.
Tomorrow I’ll head back toward Combe, cart in tow. Still wares to sell. But I’ll be back for the next meetin’, parchment in hand, ready to make Bree just a little more trustworthy—one shiny badge at a time.
—V. Copperhand, Trusted Seller (Self-Certified), Visionary of Roadside Reform
