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Kirsten Does Commorragh

The life of a traveling merchant is not for everyone. It can be tremendously profitable, if you have the right combination of luck and business-sense, but you can also lose everything in a flash if you arrive at your destination to find that the goods you transported at such great expense aren't in as high demand as expected. Of course, you could also lose your life in a major hurry if you were unlucky - some roads were safer than others, and any traveling merchant worth his salt knew which ones to stick to and which to avoid. However, somebody has to be the poor schmuck who finds_out_ that a given road is unsafe. And of course, there was also that all-important difference between 'reasonably safe' and 'completely safe'. Even on oft-patrolled paths, you could wind up falling prey to suitably-desperate bandits, hungry beasts or roving monsters - and the knowledge that those patrols were bound to catch up to your assailants sometime soon was a small comfort indeed when you were bleeding out on the dusty ground, or being slowly digested within some beastie's guts.

Thus, traveling merchants tended to seek safety in numbers, and comfort in the black humor they shared among themselves. In truth, large merchant-caravans were rarely planned out in advance - they just_happened_ when various groups of traveling merchants found themselves moving in roughly the same direction along the various major routes, and joined together to share in the protection of their various complements of guards and hired hands while exchanging tips, warnings and off-colored jokes around their cook-fires.

Of course, it wasn't just for merchants that the roads could be unsafe - lone travelers were, if anything, even more exposed to all the regular dangers. Hence, those who could not afford to hire a coach or a mercenary escort - or just happened to be reasonably frugal and heading from one major trade-center to another - would often join up with a merchant caravan going in the right direction for a nominal fee, or even just earn their passage through labor if they had nothing else to pay with. What kind of labor depended on whether the traveler had a strong arm or an ample bosom... after all, traveling merchants also enjoyed drowning their worries in the pleasures of the flesh, which probably explained why brothels tended to pop up like mushrooms from manure along the major trade-routes.

This_particular_ caravan was fairly large, seeing as it had come together at the bottleneck of a large and profitable route - and it also had an unsurprisingly large number of travelers tagging along, most of whom had paid for their passage in silver. The travelers and the merchants did not usually mingle - not when there was enough of both to make it possible to be sociable without stepping outside their comfort-zone and dealing with people who were _different_from them, anyway - with both groups having erected their own set of fires for cooking and warmth as they paused for the night at a well-trafficked rest-stop, just outside the yawning cave-mouth ahead.

Theoretically, it would've made more practical sense to rest inside the cave - it would provide a free roof over their heads, after all, and since it angled steadily downwards, it would even act as a natural chimney, drawing away the smoke from their fires. And yet, the rest-stop had been established just outside, seeing use from virtually every caravan that passed by. Most people enjoyed having one last night of fresh air, watching the stars and feeling the wind, before they began their descend into the Underdark...

"This your first time heading to Commorragh?" one of the more grizzled-looking merchants asked an unfamiliar - and rather youthful - face who had joined him and several others around one of the fires. The young merchant nodded jerkily, a rather nervous look on his face, while several of the others exchanged knowing looks and grins. "Don't worry kid, you'll love it there!" One of them interjected with a snicker. "It's not for nothing that they say nobody ever wants to leave the place..."

The young man grimaced and shifted uncomfortably on the ground. "The rumors about Commorragh are just... exaggerations, right?" he hesitantly queried, prompting a round of snorts and barks of laughter. "I mean, I know how travelers like to paint faraway and alien places as dens of perversion and licentiousness..." The grizzled old merchant who'd asked in the first place shook his head and sighed. "Exaggerations, huh? I hear the same rumors you do, and let me tell you, they sell the place short if anything. Look - open up those ears of your and try not to bruise your cheeks blushing while I read you in. If you go into that place blind, you can get yourself in all kinds of trouble."

Squirming slightly, the youngster nodded, while the rest of the merchants settled in for the show. The veteran held up a hand, one finger raised. "First of all, kid - rule one, never forget it: Don't call them Drow. They are Drukhari Elves, or just plain Drukhari. 'Drow' only refers to the rebel groups that still sneak about the deeper caves, worshiping stray Driders and whatnot. They're every bit as bad as the old stories would have it - any human they get their hands on can look forwards to being tortured to death and sacrificed to their silent goddess. So, misnaming a Drukhari as a Drow is both offensive and an implicit accusation. Let something like that fly out your mouth without thinking, and..." he trailed off ominously. The younger merchant swallowed something. "W... what? What happens if you do?"

The older merchant snorted and flashed a wide grin. "Well, they get really huffy and correct your mistake with visible annoyance written all over their faces, of course. What did you think?" Then his smile disappeared, turning into a narrow-eyed, stony mask even as his younger colleague glared at him. "Unless, of course, you drop that name to the wrong Drukhari... someone with power and wealth behind them... in that case, the consequences can get_much_ worse." The younger merchant's annoyance at the prank likewise disappeared, replaced with the same nervous tension as before. "Like... what?"

And again, the serious face dissolved into a grin, this one rather sarcastic. "Well, they may kick you out of their store and refuse to do business with you again. Gimme a break, kid. The Drukhari are decent folk - they're not gonna throw you to the Haemonculi for some minor insult. If anything, it'll be a bigger insult if you go around all nervous like that, acting like you're afraid to be strapped to a bloodstained altar if you take a wrong step. Heck, in terms of laws and punishments, they're more lenient than most places I've visited, with a couple of specific exceptions. They take rape and slavery very seriously, for starters - don't expect to talk your way out of that kind of stuff with a well-placed 'fine' like you can in some other places. But I doubt you were planning to engage in any of that, were you?" He looked the young man up and down in a mock-analyzing fashion while the target of his keen regard glared back with a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment. "I was not, no." He replied, rather icily. "Now, have you had your fun? I wouldn't mind knowing what I'm actually in for."

The old-timer shrugged, still grinning. "Aw, I'm just trying to get you to loosen up before we get to the spicy stuff. But, fine then. What you need to understand about Commorragh is that their laws are based on a simple principle: Everybody's responsible for finding their own happiness, and everybody's happiness is different._Hence, you're free to do whatever you please - all in pursuit of your own happiness, of course - so long as you don't interfere with anybody _else's happiness. That means there's no restrictions on any kind of drugs, other than needing to inform the buyer about all the effects and side-effects. No restriction on gambling, either, so long as the dice and the cards are fair. And, of course, no restriction on prostitution - from either side."

The older merchant counted these points off on his fingers while the younger slowly nodded, trying to absorb it all. "Well, that sounds fairly reasonable..." he conceded, scratching his neck. One of the others gathered around the fire, however, barked a laugh. "That's 'cuz you haven't thought it through, kid. Supply and demand applies to any kind of trade, including the flesh-trade. And a_legal_ supply is always preferable to an illegal one - less risk, which tends to also mean cheaper prices. So the demand soars - and the supply soars with it." Another merchant next to him nodded eagerly. "That's how it always works, yeah? And better yet if you have a wider selection of goods than the competition. Not only do you get added traffic from those who want something only you can supply, just getting a reputation for having it all will draw in even more customers - those who have broad tastes and want a bit of everything, and the indecisive ones who want to browse all the options."

A semi-annoyed look from the older merchant who'd started the explanation caused their interjection to peter off, before he shrugged and nodded. "These two chucklenuts have the right of it. Commorragh's central avenue - Direza's Way - which runs clear from the main gates to the old Temple-Citadel in the center of town, with the main marketplace in the middle - is kept relatively 'family-friendly' in the name of the tourist-trade. It's got the five-copper tours, the fancy inns, the theaters, and a bunch of expensive bars with a truly spectacular selection of booze and prices to match. Step off that brightly-lit road, though - north _or_south - and you will swiftly find yourself in... how did you put it? 'A den of perversion and licentiousness' - hah!"

Shaking his head, the old-timer leaned back and scratched his beard with a faraway look at his eyes. "Every alleyway holds temptations. Upscale brothels and reeking drug-dens. Gambling-houses and casinos where the booze flows as freely as the bets. Theaters that show some far more intense performances than those on the main street, with a much lower costume-budget to boot. You can't throw a stone there without hitting half a dozen street-whores, half of whom will profess to be into that while the other half just charges you extra for it! And below those red-lit streets, the Haemonculi are waiting, eager to fulfill any crazy request you might make, for the right price. Poke around the dark corners of the city, and you can see their handiwork walking about - women with tits the size of beer-barrels and spines reinforced by steel. Three-legged men and brutes with muscles so bulging and swollen that they can barely move for them. Heck, you can also find muscle-bound women with enough between their legs to make most men turn green with envy, and a great number of other things too strange to be easily described!"

With another shake of his head, he met the eyes of the blushing young merchant before him. "My advice? Stick to Direza's Way and the main marketplace, where social conventions serve to curtail the radical freedom that the laws of Commorragh accord citizens and visitors alike. But if you're feeling adventurous and want to step off the beaten path... stick to the north side of the street. That's where the more clean, classy, upscale businesses can be found - the south side is cheaper, more run-down, and home to those who cater to a more... niche audience. Visit there, green as you are, and you'll probably see things that'll make your hair turn white!"

"Yeah... and make sure to always carry some spare coppers." One of the two who had butted in earlier added with a twisted grin. "If you're planning to step off Direza's Way, I mean. The public toilets on the main road are free, but in the red-light district, they'll cost you a copper to use. Apparently, they had a lot of trouble with enterprising back-alley whores using those facilities to conduct business, so the city started charging for their use. Solved a _second_problem while they were at it, too..." He snickered, trailing off, then raised an eyebrow at his partner as if he'd expected him to deliver the punchline.

The other merchant, however, was looking over his shoulder. "I'm a bit worried, now that we're talking about this stuff anyway..." he confessed. "I mean, I know Direza's Way is kept 'clean', and that the tourist-guides know how to steer visitors away from the seedier parts of town, but... Commorragh really isn't a place for a little girl to visit by herself, is it?" The other merchants automatically followed his gaze. Sure enough, there she was, some distance away - sitting on a rock a ways from the nearest of the regular traveler's fires, petting the large, red-gray dog that lay faithfully by her side, pretty as a picture.

She was a gorgeous child with dark-blond hair, clad in an elegant, gothic-style dress - all black and white, edged with ruffles and lace, complete with a neat little parasol that currently sat folded by her side. Clearly, it saw much use - her skin was pale enough that it seemed almost pure white against the darkness of the night, given color only by her crimson lips and rosy cheeks. The very image of a sheltered young noblewoman. "Well, it's not like she's_alone,_ as such..?" the merchant whose joke about the lavatories of Commorragh had been so rudely interrupted hedged, shrugging towards the large canine that lay quietly by the girl's side. His partner snorted dismissively. "Oh, I'm sure that thing would do a fine job protecting its mistress from a casual bandit or an ambitious goblin or two, but I doubt it'd be able to guide her away from things no little girl ought see..."

The old merchant, however, just sighed and shook his head, not bothering to look at the girl. "You numbnuts do know that she can hear every word you're saying, right?" He instead sarcastically asked, prompting the two of them - and the younger merchant, who'd been looking at the pretty little girl with expressed concern in his eyes right alongside them - to jump slightly, before the man who'd first drawn attention to her scoffed. "Stop joking around, you senile old ninny. She's way over there! There's no way she can hear us, let alone make... out... a word..."

He trailed off as he turned his attention back towards the pale, beautiful girl... and found her staring right back at him, crimson pupils almost glowing in the dark. Quirking a cute little smile, she lifted her white-gloved hand and blew him a kiss before turning her face demurely downwards again, returning her attention to the dog that lay as unmoving as a stone statue by her feet, combing her fingers through its long, silky fur of mottled reds and browns. A silence spread around the merchants' fire, only broken when the oldest of them sighed again. "I don't know who she is, before you ask, but I do know where she joined the caravan, seeing as it was my caravan she originally sought passage with."

All eyes turned to him - and not just the three others who had spoken so far. "Well, where, then?" One of the until-then silent merchants asked, curiously, after a long moment of quiet. The old merchant shrugged. "The Dragon Utopia. And the journey was paid for in goods, not gold, so she's clearly connected." There were nods of recognition from the men around the fire. "You think she's one of those Rakshasa spies of theirs?" One suggested, but the fellow beside him shook his head. "Nah, can't be... the kitties use illusions to disguise themselves, so they can't make themselves way taller or way shorter than they really are. I bet she's a dragon who's taken on human form with magic!"

Harrumphing, the old merchant rolled his eyes, spared a quick glance for the richly-dressed girl, and scratched his beard again. "That's just silly. Now, that being said... I'm pretty gods-damned sure that_whatever_ she is, she isn't an innocent little girl. And I've a pretty cunning idea that her dog isn't a dog either. So if you ask me, you shouldn't worry that she might be corrupted by the sordid sights of the City of Red Lights - if anything, I'd be more worried about Commorragh!"

The chatter around the merchants' fire petered off soon after that, and it wasn't long after that the fires burned down to the embers and both merchants and travelers sought their tents. When one of the merchants roused himself to go out in search of a bush to water, however, he felt a cold chill run down his spine when he emerged from his tent to see the pale young girl still sitting on the same stone as earlier, pale and ghostly in the darkness, staring silently up at the vast sea of stars that spread out above their heads - gleaming bright, as if eager to get in a final show before the Underdark's stone curtain fell on their performance.

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