Civilization and the Road

Roads are one of the great accomplishments of powerful, long-lasting, and well-organized civilizations. Medieval roads were generally awful, unpaved, and poorly kept up. The idea we have of ancient highways stretches back into the classical world where the Roman road system was one of their most celebrated accomplishments, bridging the great distances behind the imperial borders with safe, easy-to-travel, easy-to-use, well-maintained roads. They are a hallmark of organizational ability, for they require labor and material at a constant rate to be maintained. The best medieval folks could generally manage was a stone bridge or two.

The maintenance of roads and highways are a measure of state power, and the selection of which tracks and trails are chosen to become roads is predicated on a number of factors: political, mercantile, and most of all, military. The swift transport of troops is the primary reason for a state to construct and maintain roads, with almost all other considerations being mostly secondary. Of course, once the major military routes are paved and a road-maintenance technology and labor organization is developed and secured, they can be expanded to cover trade routes.

Indeed, the presence of tracks can be a good measure of traffic and can even hint at the size of a settlement. Major markets and traffic centers tend to have a number of trails snaking out from them in all directions, while smaller towns will generally have much fewer and require fewer links. This is a function of economics, and one which has been worked out by greater minds than I. Breaking and bulking centers scale in size from the local, to regional, to extra-regional. Each stage of center has additional road-attachments that lead to and from both its periphery and to the larger markets, operating on a scale that seems almost fractal and only breaks down at the most local of levels.

As farms are attached to a town center by tracks, that town center is attached to its local market by a trail, and that market attached to all town centers in its periphery. Furthermore, that market-center is attached to a regional marketplace, which in turn may be attached to an extra-regional market center, which in turn is attached by trade-routes to other extra-regional centers.

Thus, a center with a lot of roads or tracks snaking off of it will likely be important to the surrounding population. Indeed, one might roughly estimate the size and variety of goods available in a settlement based on the number of roads spiraling off to subsequent marketing centers.

Of course, all this data is based on stuff I read three years ago in graduate school, and it may very well have changed since then. If anyone out there knows a better economic theory to simulate a medieval trade economy, I'm all ears!

The Obsession of Creation

There's something about making things, particularly unreal places, that touches a core part of me. I feel driven to codify, explain, and expand until every stone, tree, and cottage is real. It sounds like insanity: how can describing a place make it real? In a simple pragmatic sense, it cannot. You can't visit these places, except through a mediatior be it a book, a film, a video game, or a DM. They aren't physically present, which makes any pretense to "reality" a bad joke. And yet...

And yet. There's a way to view these creations through a semiotic lens as being no different than the world around us. Dare I say it? Fantasy worlds can be as real as reality itself. It sounds like the claim of someone experiencing a psychotic break or engaged in the highest level of new age bullshit. There is a difference of course, and that's the mediating factor. The real world is mediated through our senses while fantasy worlds are two steps removed: our senses mediate an experience which itself mediates. Thus, it is at least one step removed from the experience of reality. But the same types of interaction are at play. A sufficiently complex semiotic network is indistinguishable from reality. At least, that's what I tell myself.

Can this be what drives my desire to write down, to explain in excruciating detail, to spend hours dwelling on fantasy realms? Over the past four years I've spent a LOT of time developing Arunia and the 10th Age... and I don't see myself stopping any time soon. Every time I complete a treatise on imperial society or finish fleshing out a map of Agstowe or Soloth I feel a sense of divine accomplishment, a profound satisfaction. I have made Arunia a little more real, or so I tell myself.

I can't figure why I do this. Is it a profound sense of egoism? I began it after reading about Tolkien's journey into creating Middle Earth—I think. Reading that he always claimed to be "discovering" rather than "creating." That's what spurred me on, I suppose, the feeling of being a god. I used to relish that. I don't know if its true anymore, I don't particularly feel like a god while I write. I feel more like a historian now, a medium, a vessel. I don't determine the outcome of events, I try to discover the outcome which feels most "true."

I piece together the past of Arunia the same way I've pieced together the history of the House of Ely or the Carolingian Renaissance—with painstaking research. The only difference is that where I must go to real sources for one, I can "discover" sources for the other. Reading a history book, watching television, reading a novel, even experiences in every day life allow me to find "true" things about Arunia.

Just what the hell is this thing that setting designers do? Is it art? Is it history? Is it madness? Sometimes I must admit that it feels something like madness. Few players indeed will read the detailed descriptions I write and most of those are close friends. I cannot imagine that the 10th Age will ever really get a large following in the OSR or the world beyond that—it's just one of those things that I'm compelled to do, to make it available so that if people did want it, it'd be there.

The Small Things

Flavor, as in the flavor of lore, doesn't seem to be present in sweeping histories. Those are backdrop that help explain the world and where everything is. But those don't carry flavor of their own. It's hardly helpful to get a feel of the world if you know that the Thegnari marauders entered Llyris in such-and-such-a-year and the Llyrians incorporated Thegnari horseculture into their ideals of knighthood at such-and-such-a-date, even less so that such-and-such-a-king died in such-and-such-a-manner on such-and-such.

That stuff is all important. That's NOT flavor. Flavor comes from the small things.

Here's an old list of some small things that I made to help give regions flavor:

Atva-Arunë

The Skinchanger Kingdoms

Hardroot, a small brush that grows near large trees, Hardroot is said to have restorative properties.

Skins and Furs (primary trade)

Tin and Iron (lots of iron)

Jet

Amber

Oddities: Skinchangers exist in much greater numbers amongst the Northmen than they do in the heartland. Northmen sometimes wield great two-handed swords, the use of which are rarely seen by heartland warriors.

The Inner Sea

Olive oil

Glintwine, a general term for mulled hot wine

Arunë-Oriens

Moon Kingdoms

Silk (from Diaojiong)

Spices; pepper (minor) and cinnamon (large amounts), clove

Tin (huge trade!)

Garnet, onyx

White gold

Oddities: Goblin-priests of both sexes often wear jewelry that are traditionally “female” in Atva-Arunë: earrings, necklaces. They also perfume themselves extensively (not with alcohol based perfumes, as these do not exist in the 10th Age; rather, with pomanders and other strong-scented caches of herbs, spices, or incense as well as thick salves and essential oils suspended in fat). Indeed, all Moon Goblins are fond of perfume and incense.

Hadash

Sweetwater (a rose-flavored liquor favored by Rayans)

Dragon’s Tongue, a virulent weed that possess toxic properties

Hearthblossom, a flower that only opens at night and glows orange like a fire

Magestone, a purple-black semi-transparent stone said to be more valuable for working magic than even emeralds.

Oddities: The men of Hadash are said to be partially descended from elves, colonies having been established there during the early seafaring period of the elvish kingdoms. They have an intense love for silver, and mint no gold coins, valuing silver much more highly. They are a dark-skinned folk with sharp clever features, so it may be that the rumors are true. Myth speaks of elvish communities hidden in the high desert.

Ishtria

Shadowbloom, thought to be a kindred plant to the Hearthblossom, the Shadowbloom is a purple flower that only blooms during the day. Scholars say that it is perceptibly cooler near a patch of shadowbloom.

Seagrass, cultivated by the few dwarven colonies in Ishtria, Seagrass makes for a disgusting cocktail when fermented; however, it is better than the salt-water near the dwarven port halls. Seagrass Wine is particularly reviled in the north.

Glass, Ishtria and Khewed alone maintain a widespread glass production trade. Thus, almost all glass in use by men comes from Ishtria or Khewed via Ninfa. The same cannot be said of dwarves and elves, who have their own glass manufactories.

Cloves

Desert Sapphires, are a very valuable form of amber that are prized by all races of the north and seem to be found only in desert climes.