Chapter CLX – Mercy rejoiceth against trade.

87th of Spring 5860
Changra, State of Changra

Welcome, to Changra. Population: Six thousand. The frontier of civilization as Gemeinplatz knows it.

Today, the population would increase a few hundred more, temporarily at least, as a caravan of nomads approached the walls. With them they brought an enormous herd of sheep and goats, accompanied by the occasional shepherd dog walking by. A long line of people, with their fur hats still on despite the warmer weather, shepherded the flock towards the walls before they came to a pause. The banners hanging from the walls were different today. Blue-white-green, with a freshly-painted wooden sign above it that read “You are not entering the Federal Republic of Gemeinplatz. Welcome all ye who are free.”

Now, that was quite the pickle. Were these nomads considered free? What even was a republic, or a federal? Most of them couldn’t read or write in the first place, there only being one or two literate people sent with the caravan to barter with merchants. A murmur travelled among the crowd, until one of the literate wise men stepped forward to hail the guards in front of the gate. “Evening. We are looking to sell our livestock at the market. Can we enter?” He took out a small bronze tablet, one which had been stamped with the insignia of the former mayor of Changra. It had some writing etched on it confirming that any caravan bearing this item had the right to enter the town without problem. The tablet was green, having rusted from way back when it had been granted.

The guard looked different than the ones they were used to. He had a vibrant yellow gambeson, a copper helmet and a copper spear. Certainly, nowhere well-equipped for even the standards of the Gemeinplatz frontier. The man didn’t even look at the tablet, just nodding his head. “You may, as long as you come in peace.” He shouted some orders at the man atop the palisade, who swung the gate open to let the caravan pass. Normally the gates on settlements in Gemeinplatz would be open until night, but such border settlements usually had to exercise caution against less peaceful nomadic visitors looking for easy loot.

With the entrance of the nomadic caravan came a scramble inside the town. An excited child shouting “The fur-hats are here!”, followed by a game of Chinese whispers being played until the craftsmen and merchants in the town’s square hear of the arrival way before the men set foot in the square.

“Copper! Fine Casamonu copper! Buttons, rings, mirrors, whatever you need!”

“Dwarven steel, guaranteed protection, limited supply, come and get it!”

“Paperback prints guaranteed to get a laugh and entertain! Hot off the presses!”

With a shortage of coin in a town so remote, most trade would happen with barter. A big bundle of wool for a ring, a sheep for a steel axe, two sheep for a steel battle axe, three sheep for a ridiculously oversized two-handed steel battle axe that nobody ended up buying. Other than that some of the more business-oriented nomads had brought goods from faraway lands, that had ended up in Gemeinplatz through a long chain of trades. Similarly the natives of Changra had goods all the way from Hauptstadt to sell. A genuine bead necklace from Ginye for a silk hat, a bag of spices for a finely-decorated chest, a foreign artwork from the Far West painted onto porcelain for a saddle. Then the items traded by the nomads to the merchants would quickly get bartered between the merchants of Changra, some of them would even end up back in another nomad’s hand, so on and so forth until everyone had something different in their hands than what they started with.

With trade done, it was time for the nomads to leave out of the town, back to the steppe where they would graze their animals until their next visit. A few last-minute barters were done, mostly for fresh food and drink for the way back, and the caravan began making its way out with most of its livestock being left behind in Changra. Some of the nomads left behind, for revelry in the pubs, to enjoy the life in town before they had to go back to the steppe.

However, the way out was blocked by the yellow-gambeson men from before. A line of men, in front of the gate… headed by a priest in front of them who held a stack of papers. Usually, the way out being blocked by armed men does not bode well. The air was tense for a brief moment, hands reaching for scabbards. The priest picked out a man that seemed learned, somebody who had traded his goat wool for a stack of prints, and approached him.

“Please take these with you. It’s a gift from the Republic.” To the learned nomad he dumped another stack of prints, these ones from the Inkwell Printworks. On the paperback cover, a title in a bold serif font: “New Life in the Republic; or, How a Peasant Became a Lord”

A whole stack of the same work, detailing the (admittedly fictional) life of a peasant’s escape from the Empire, to the land beyond Changra, his troubles out in the steppe, and his eventual return back home with a happy ending of him being given a homestead. A novel work written by Dr. Raban Rabanowicz Rabanow, based on interviews with the Casamonu Host conducted by His Eminence Priest Vaiz of Ancoire, illustrated by Haruhito Watanabe, printed by Azra Inkwell, published under supervision of the Commander-in-Chief John Brown, distribution managed by Nirmal.

All of these names were printed on the second page of the paperback, immortalized perhaps by the simple act of printing on paper. To be printed hundreds, thousands of times, and spread throughout all of the Republic, for little cost. Able to be read by many more people thanks to the Republic’s elementary school system, to be distributed for free to any nomads visiting the border cities.

With the mandatory booklet distribution done, the National Guard stepped to the side and let the caravan out of Changra. Soon the booklets would be sold off on the cheap to whoever could read it out in the steppe, read out loud in gatherings around campfires for entertainment.

A tale of free land and free men in the Republic right next door… could it be true?