The Veld Residential District, the extraterritorial quarter of Velrun was outwardly no different from the rest of the city.
Except for a handful of southern black-armored mercenaries hired by the Northern Foundation, armed with heavy javelins and double-barreled rifles, guarding the entrance.
The city's residents were reluctant to pass through this district. Stories circulated about skeletal figures carved into obscure corners of the buildings or erected there, depending on who you asked.
This was the home of those touched by the Pale King.
Thirty years ago, the Pale King appeared without warning in the northwestern reaches of the continent of Aldenmoor and laid a curse upon a peninsula nation. That nation was unmade almost immediately. The King then extended his reach. He raised the dead of an entire continent, staining every corner with blood.
In lands the curse touched directly, crops rotted, wells ran thick with poison, and the sky filled with venomous insects. The curse has since subsided. The event has not been forgotten. It is called simply 'the Hollowing.'
The Veld Kingdom of Parol had been among the closest nations to the epicenter, yet the Pale King had apparently little interest in them, and they emerged intact. Some Northerners took this as a sign and began to worship the Pale King as a god of disease and medicine, of fortune and wealth.
The destruction of the peninsula nation which had long blocked their expansion toward the western sea, suddenly opened prime fishing grounds and sea routes. As the curse faded, the overpopulated Kingdom of Parol sent settlers, adventurers, and minor nobility flooding into the vacated lands, rapidly extending their reach.
As the seething hatred settled and reason crept back, the Pale King turned his attention to the newcomers. Perhaps determined to treat them as neighbors from the outset, he taught them a dark powder that shook the earth and sky, and gifted them a considerable portion of the fallen nation's wealth.
He had plenty. Even a corpse is empty only until someone empties it. Leveraging all of this, an organization called the Northern Foundation emerged growing wealthy, branching into finance, and catering to northern traders throughout the region.
Another nation's destruction had become their opportunity. People from other regions found it difficult not to resent them for it.
"Elder, Commander, it's been a while, everyone."
"I've heard that twenty-four times."
Aldric replied flatly to the greeting of Grass Mori, the young Northern Foundation branch warden of Velrun, dressed nearly identically to the man who had come to meet them at the docks.
The men behind Aldric stifled laughter. Mori nodded, taking no offense.
"Everyone who knows you greets you the same way every time we meet. Aren't you pleased, Commander?"
"Not really."
Mori nodded again. His eyes drifted sideways to the gold-laden palanquin.
"Sit down. Did you bring it as planned?"
As the elder settled into the long, finely appointed wooden chair, Aldric took the seat beside him, claiming the center position.
"Yes. All cargo, minus the gunpowder already scheduled for delivery. And some of the dead man's gold I mentioned through the Grain Channel."
Branch Warden Mori waited until Oren had taken his seat before continuing.
"The dead man's gold was delivered through the Grain Channel. What else do you have?"
"Not much different from what I told you before. Veld-distilled spirits, central engravings, some amber. Ask Oren for exact quantities and quality. I don't want to spend time on it."
The tone had an edge to it. Unusual for a merchant conversation but Mori wasn't offended. He and Aldric had known each other long enough.
Aldric commanded an armed merchant fleet, but several qualities essential to being a merchant had never taken root in him. His official rank was company commander in the quasi-standing army of the Kingdom of Parol, but at heart he was closer to a wandering raider.
The goods he brought were almost always sold on consignment. Mori wasn't Aldric's customer. Aldric was Mori's. Beyond that, Mad Aldric was a man who operated outside the expected order, a dangerous variable to anyone not properly positioned. Mori handled him accordingly. He glanced at Aldric's damaged armor.
"What happened this time?"
He asked carefully.
"Veld spirits are getting harder to move."
"Why?"
"Cheap rum flooding in from the New Reaches. We're losing price competitiveness."
Aldric frowned. It was widely known that northern distilled spirits were struggling against several competitors, including price. There was no need to re-emphasize it.
"That's why we cut prices. Evaded tariffs, recycled old barrels.."
"It's not enough. I don't know what tricks the western traders are using, but they shouldn't be beating us."
Aldric finished his unusually long complaint and arrived at a conclusion that strained belief. Mori shook his head slowly.
"Could it be that rum prices dropped further in the meantime?"
"Yes."
Aldric was quiet for a moment, staring at the indifferent ceiling. Then, softly, as if tasting something unpleasant:
"Those damn New Reach traders."
Rum made from the molasses left over from sugarcane pressing was a destructive spirit. Since landing on the continent of Aldenmoor, it had not only deepened what was already being called a drunken society, but consistently undercut Veld spirits distilled from grain or fruit grown elsewhere.
"You won't be moving any more Veld spirits then."
"That won't do. Aside from spirits, the Veld has little to sell except gunpowder, wool, and amber. Even a thin profit is better than arriving half-empty."
"A thin profit? Your costs seem to have dropped considerably."
Aldric simply nodded rather than explain. He withheld the full numbers. Even after consignment commissions and shipping costs, the margin left for the branch was small. Whoever was running that brewery was desperate. That was their concern.
"Let's talk about greater profits."
As he finished speaking, Aldric raised his right hand and waved his fingers at the men behind him. A golden cauldron lurched forward. A faint smile passed across Branch Warden Mori's face and vanished almost before it appeared. Aldric glanced at him.
"How about this?"
"It's wonderful. Obviously."
Mori said it with a salesman's composure. Even so, a single box filled with gold and silver, even with a few bone fragments mixed in, was a sight even a Northern Foundation branch warden who routinely moved vast sums would find difficult to keep still for.