u/goop_lizard

The legal system of Freeport is, for the most part, relatively simple. This is not to say that its laws are simple, nor the disputes which surround them, but rather that it lacks complex systems of representatives or jurors which may be seen elsewhere. Instead, crimes are judged by groups of three Tribunes, appointed for life (or until retirement or revocation) by the Steering Council. Within these Tribunals, if all three are able to come to an initial agreement on the nature of the crime which took place and it's punishment, the issue is settled immediately. If not, than two members each take on the role of Accusing Tribune and Defending Tribune, with the roles of arguing against and in favor of the accused respectively. The third, generally the most senior, takes on the role of First Tribune and observes the proceedings before making the final judgement. Being offered the position of First Tribune is seen as a great sign of respect, and while disputes can sometimes arise when all three are of similar position, the role typically falls to more elderly Tribunes who have immense legal experience but may lack the vitality and stamina for the sometimes days-long public arguments that can define the other two positions.

As for the punishments these Tribunes hand down, there are three primary categories, along with a handful of exceptions.

The first category is those crimes punishable by death. This is generally used for those crimes involving violence, as well as particularly severe corruption or mismanagement by politicians and business leaders (a necessary measure to keep the lower classes happy and the upper classes behaving) and is a public spectacle, with the most common methods being beheading or, for more severe crimes, hanging. In the most heinous cases other methods may be chosen, with the most common case being punishments for piracy, which is viewed by Freeport as among the most worst deeds that can be performed. As such all members of pirate crews, as well as those found to be aiding in the commission of piracy, are automatically sentenced to execution by keel-hauling until dead. For those who may be unfamiliar, this consists of tying the criminal to a rope while aboard a large ship, throwing them overboard at one end, and dragging them underneath the ship along the protruding barnacle-covered keel for the several minutes it takes them to reach the other end. Should they survive this endeavor, it is repeated until they do not. Merchant captains often bid for the right to perform these executions in order to demonstrate their commitment to fighting piracy, or as a form of revenge for past damages suffered.

Second, for those crimes which don't warrant execution but still indicate an incompatibility with Freeport society, two forms of exile exist. More severe cases are exiled from the nation entirely, and a triangular notch it cut into their right ear to mark their status. For those who are deemed more capable of reform or merely intolerant of the density and rapid pace of city living, they are simply exiled from the city itself to the countryside, although the massive gap in standard of living and availability of services means this is no small punishment.

Lastly, for those who's crimes are simply deemed a consequence of insufficient education or lack of options, a limited form of forced labor exists, while also supporting the city's bureaucracy and pension systems. For this portion, it is necessary to explain Freeport's strong prohibitions on bonded labor in any form. Slavery, even as punishment for a crime or in as limited a form as systems of peasantdom, is strictly outlawed throughout Freeport, and both the city and surrounding fishing villages and freeholds have gained much of their non-fox non-bug population from escaped slaves. To this end, any use of labor as punishment for a crime must be both strictly non-manual and conceptualized as a form of education first and foremost. To this end two systems of punishment have been existed, to which accused are sentenced for a small number of years according to both demand and their particular skills and failings.

The first are those made to work as scribes, copying records and texts by hand with a more senior professional scribe checking their work, often in large groups. In doing so they learn and practice writing, and will often be able to gain jobs as paid scribes afterwards. Indeed, while higher levels of the bureaucracy often to to formally educated career bureaucrats, most of the lower ranks of scribes and bureaucrats are filled by those who have passed through this program, allowing them to attain a somewhat higher standard of living and much less physically demanding job than would otherwise be available.

The second group is what might be described as assistants or carers. They are assigned to those who have retired or been forced to after a number of years, as well as the spouses of those who have died in service to the city, as a part of their pension and perform various household tasks while being trained in proper etiquette and the management of the household. While granting less overt skills than scribing, more successful graduates of the program find themselves with the skills necessary to act as servants in any number of households and, for those lucky enough to be assigned to one sympathetic to their circumstances, a formal recommendation.

This second group opens itself to a number of abuses in both directions - those serving are unsupervised, while simultaneously a single lie from or tragic accident involving those to whom they've been assigned could result in them being deemed a failure and sentenced to exile or even death, but it is nonetheless mostly functional, and a far kinder system to both parties than the many foreign systems in which corporal punishment or forced hard labor are commonplace and to be a widow or too old to work is almost synonymous with poverty. This fact has, however, has resulted in several waves of controversial books, pamphlets, and plays depicting 'forbidden' relationships emerging during such punishments, spanning the entire spectrum from touching stories of forbidden love to outright abusive. While each wave has brought calls to restrict such material, the strict rules surrounding freedom of trade have prevented doing so.

These form the basis of most criminal sentences within Freeport, but in any complex society there must be exceptions. The details of the fines meted out by the Merchant Association won't be discussed in any detail, as they apply to businesses and other organizations rather than individuals, but one area of import in more conventional crimes is the handling of madness or other mental incapacity. While in mild cases they may warrant only a slight lessening of punishment, or exile to the countryside for those able to function in less exciting circumstances who would otherwise be punished in other ways. For those totally incapable of living a normal life a kind of mental asylum system exists in the form of a handful of villages dedicated to that purpose. While their walls do prevent the citizens from leaving, significant measures are taken to allow those suffering within a semblance of ordinary life - with the nonviolent able to travel freely or even practice safer and less intensive crafts and the violent confined to homes as ordinary as can be achieved without posing a danger - that such quiet and ordinary circumstances may allow them the return of their faculties. Food and water are provided by the government of Freeport for this purpose, while activities are provided periodically by various temples as a form of charity. While rarely successful at curing the condition, Freeport prides itself on providing this most basic accomodation to those suffering from such a disease, theorized by foremost city scholars to originate from a disordering of the senses (as shown by the induction of madness through sensory deprivation) and therefore potentially curable through a mild, ordinary, and consistent environment.

"...plus the climbing fee, at nine-tenths the distance thanks to your little shortcut, so that should come out to..." The gruff, middle-aged fox carefully counted out a small pile of coins before scooping them into a pouch. "Two sovereigns, three crowns, and a half-laurel. Fine work."

Rafsalia let out a small groan of annoyance. "You can't dock me for shortcuts again, Silt. They're half the reason I get these jobs!"

Her boss raised an eyebrow. "You ran across three different rooftops."

"You never make a fuss when I do that by the Highport!"

"Because nobody in the High District is fussy enough to complain. You're lucky you didn't break any tiles, or you'd be losing a lot more."

"Ugh, fine, I get it," she huffed, tucking the small bag into one of the many hidden pockets of her pale grey duster. "Anything new come in while I was out, or am I good for the day?"

"Actually, I did have one other client arrive," he said, pretending not to notice how she swore under her breath. "i tried to gouge them into delaying until tomorrow given the distance and how late it's getting, but to be honest I don't think they noticed. Congratulations Rafsy, looks like you'll be taking home five times your usual rate."

Her pale amber eyes went wide at the news. With money like that she'd me most of the way to that new apartment she'd been eyeing. Well, okay, technically she probably could've moved in a few months ago, but now she'd be able to afford it and keep visiting that upscale tavern with the cute Witness bartender, but that was more or less unavoidable. It was like seven feet tall with this amazing floral face-paint that...

She quickly shook the thoughts from her head. "What is it, and where is it going?"

Mr. Silt gave a light chuckle. "I thought that might get your attention. The destination is is an unlicensed practitioner, operating out of a small shop anchored to the underside of Cutter's Folly, just south of Jackal's House of Small Comforts. I trust you're familiar with the area?"

She sputtered and coughed in shock at the question. "I- I mean- Not myself, of course, but I, um, I've heard... Um... Yes, sir."

Thankfully, Mr. Silt was, at this time, concerned exclusively with business. "Excellent. As for the package, it's some kind of magically important knicknack. I was hoping you could tell me a bit more." He withdrew a bundle a few inches tall from his drawer, placing it on his desk before gently unwrapping it.

It was a crystal - quartz, most likely - carved into a figurine roughly an inch tall in the shape of a hunched, robed figure holding a shepherd's crook. "I'm not getting anything off it, especially nothing to suggest a working," she began, expanding her senses and struggling to recall her magical education - she'd never quite had the focus to make a career of it, but being a middling practitioner still helped with any job. "Probably a focus if it's that expensive. The shape is an old symbol for death, prelapsarian or trying to look like it. The material has associations with clarity and focus... Do you know where it was found?"

Silt gave a curt nod. "Apparently it was found by a beachcomber earlier today. Unaffiliated, of course, or the rag-and-bone men would still have it. Takes them at least a week to get anything to market," he grumbled.

Her eyes widened as her suspicions were confirmed. "Lost at sea. Loss and two layers of death given focus. Sir, this is... This is curse work."

"I thought as much," he sighed, "but it's what we're being paid for. I hope you can better understand, now, the reasons for not angering potential customers." He quickly pulled the cloth back around the small idol. "And that you'll be extremely timely with today's delivery."

"Of course, sir. I won't let you down."

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It's difficult to describe the experience of a moving through the High District for a master of the art. One could write entire treatises on the urban movement techniques used in Freeport, and indeed several have, but mastery does not come from technique - it comes from understanding. To the newcomer, amateur, or infirm, the High District is terrifying. A web of safe ramps and nets surrounded by certain death. To the more experienced, it becomes instead exhilarating. Safe paths broaden with knowledge of handholds, areas with short drops, and the various surfaces not intended for traversal yet nonetheless able to support a person. With true mastery, though, all these things fall away into instinct. The master does not consider movement through the district, they simply move through it as one might walk down the street, the places of safety and obscure chains of swings and leaps as obvious as the cobbles forming a road.

All this is to say that, as Rafsalia fell, she did not panic. There was fear, of course, and quite a lot of indignation. Even if the curse did require "the vitality of one who's magic has awakened" that was no excuse for pushing such a valuable contractor over a railing, especially after they'd made their delivery in record time. But not panic. Panic was the last resort of fools, a path towards failure for those who lacked the understanding to move forwards. Instead, her paw reached out to hook a segment of rope and redirect her path, and as the digits bent too far with a sickening snap one of the charm bags in her pocket turned to dust. Some distant part of her mind wondered, through the adrenaline which mercifully delayed her pain, just how bad the injury would have been without its protection.

Another rope - this time the edge of a section of netting - another pop, and another charm lost. Her shoulder rather than fingers this time, probably dislocated, with a much greater change in angle bringing her crashing towards a section of ramp where she managed to pull into a roll, slamming into but thankfully not through the short railing. A burst of pain radiated through her side and her last charm was gone. Probably a rib. Before she could consider her injuries, though, a strangled scream from above brought a tight smile to her lips.

'A life was promised, but only a small part was taken. The working came for the rest.'

She was only two or three layers down. Even with her shoulder and paw hurt it wouldn't be that hard to walk back up, and he'd be in no condition to fight back. After all, practioner's shops were always full of valuable knicknacks, and nobody was less likely to call the guards than a murderer.

To organize the city and keep it functioning properly, Freeport is divided into a number of districts with distinct purposes and functions, which can be organized into a few distinct categories.

The first are those which may be considered segments of the city center, the dense urban core around which the rest gathers. It is composed of the Docks, the High District, the Temple District, the Canal District, and the Merchant Quarter.

The Docks and the area surrounding them are the city's beating heart. In addition to their namesake, a large and impressive agglomeration of dockworks capable of hosting anything from large trade ships to fishing dinghies and ferries across the channel, most of the district is taken up by a mixture of warehouses for goods and provisions and shops and accommodations for dockworkers, sailors, and those captains wishing to sleep in a real bed without straying too far from their ships. Farther north, near the Canal District, smaller, generally cleaner docks cater mostly to small canal boats and pleasure craft to serve a small cluster of high-end shops which use their proximity to showcase newly imported goods, ingredients, and performers, while to the south where it meets the High District and the city's edge are an overgrown mess of fishing piers with the large commercial dockworks mostly in-between.

The High District is in the unusual position of being both the city's greatest feat of engineering and it's largest slum. Nearly a century ago, inspired both by premature predictions of the dominance of flight and a percieved need to increase the city's density, a number of floating boulders, fragments, and small islands were acquired and transported at great expense to what was previously the poorer half of the Artisan's Quarter before the abolishment of the previous Quarter system. Once there they were anchored in place by a complex series of ropes and supports, creating a patchwork "artificial surface" on which new buildings could be constructed, it's height and extent carefully chosen to meet a nearby hill overlooking the city. In addition to allowing buildings to reach new heights, being anchored at both the top and the bottom, it also allowed a needed upgrade to the city's water system. While a network of aqueducts did exist to draw water from nearby mountain springs, it had been implemented when the city was far smaller, and as it expanded the slack had increasingly been taken up by a mess of rain collectors and wells of widely varied sanitation and quality. With the construction of the High District, several new aqueducts were laid from springs and clear streams in the hills along the top, before passing through vertical pipes made from lead or masonry housed inside buildings stretching from the surface to the islands above. Once at the bottom the pressure made distribution to the other districts relatively simple, although it also made leaks a recurring problem. This also provides a form of fire protection - fire stations at the top of each pipe are able to divery the flow of water from inside to outside the pipe, quickly dousing the building below and it's neighbors and slowing or halting the spread of any fires.

While a novel and innovative concept for a city district, the predicted massive uptick in flight failed to materialize, and most residents found the lack of natural light, frequent dampness, and need to travel to and from home via an often-precarious network of ladders, nets, stairs, and bridges undesirable, and the district soon developed into the overgrown slum it is today. The families that spearheaded and funded the project quickly found themselves on the verge of bankruptcy, and while the layer of floating stones are an iconic symbol of the city the district below them is mostly known for housing cutpurses, scams, disreputable practitioners, and the headquarters of 7 of the city's 8 brotherhoods of rag-and-bone men.

The Temple District, a thin central strip that touches every other district in at least one location, was created to solve a particular problem. Religion in Freeport is both highly polytheistic and highly syncretic - finding a god to devote oneself too is a highly personal choice which young citizens are experiencing to make as part of their passage into adulthood, and nearly every god worshipped anywhere in the world is understood to be real in some capacity. Together with the city's focus on international trade, this led to there being a truly enormous number of temples and shrines declared throughout the city, many with only a handful of worshippers, to the point it began to present a genuine problem in terms of land usage. As one's chosen God also frequently intersects with their chosen career, this was exacerbated by many businesses devoting substantial space to their gods and declaring themselves temples which also provided other services, often using the pretense of religious rituals to skirt regulations in the process. This culminated in a scandal in which a temple/smithy was found to have evaded taxes by accepting raw material as donations then distributing the payment as alms, avoiding any record of an official purchase. In response when the new District system was established, formal temples were restricted to a defined area, kept relatively small but close enough to all other districts to allow regular worship, and new restrictions on business conducted by temples were implemented.

Nowadays the Temple District, in addition to being filled with its namesake, also acts as a convenient pedestrian corridor, it's streets well-maintained in large part out of a desire to welcome in new worshippers, and a form of entertainment, as priests and wise men and women debate philosophy and theology both out of a pure desire to understand the universe and, perhaps more often, to attract small donations from the gathered crowds. It's halls also collectively represent one of the largest bodies of scribew dedicated to the preservation and duplication of texts on theology and philosophy, including natural philosophy, which provides a supplementary source of income as scholars pay a fee to peruse their works.

The Canal District sits a short ways north of the docks, and is in many ways a city within the city. It's unclear how exactly it was started, with canals dug into the shore or artificial islands anchored on the shallow seabed, but both have proliferated over the ages and today the distinction is difficult to draw precisely, leaving a district composed of clusters of building separated by water and connected by a mixture of footbridges and small canal boats. The lack of ordinary roads suitable for carts makes living there somewhat more expensive, as do the costs of maintaining a suitable living space while in such intimate contact with the sea, but this has only made the modestly sized district more attractive for wealthier citizens, who's work, most often paperwork or less space- and material-intensive forms of artisanry if not providing services to the other residents, can be placed apart from the constant hustle and bustle of the city's heart. It has also proven a common location for vacation homes and secondary residences of wealthy businessmen from the Merchant's Quarter, with the close proximity to the docks (alongside a personally owned small boat and a messenger and observer to crew it) allowing them to maintain a close eye on new economic developments even as they enjoy their quiet seaside townhomes.

Lastly, the Merchant Quarter makes a notable break from the other districts in terms of both naming scheme and scale, being the only remnant of the ancient Quarter system to survive the multiple waves of districting reforms. Taking up much of the city's north and east, if the Docks are the center of business with Freeport, the Merchant Quarter is the center of business within it. It contains the residences and offices of nearly every notable merchant or well-off artisan, as well as the city's most reputable shops and largest markets. It's scale makes it impossible for the entirety of the district to live up this image, of course - indeed, the presence of most of the city's major breweries and distilleries, along with various brothels and gaming houses attracted by the wealth of its residents, has led to several streets becoming known for their ill repute - but it maintains its place as the area people picture when they consider Freeport in general, and, in possibly the most direct measure of economic activity available, the area most aggressively fought over when it comes time for the city's rag-and-bone men to renew their contracts.

While these comprise all the official districts of Freeport, there are also a few areas which must be mentioned while laying outside the official bounds of the city itself. To the south, adjacent to the High District, lay an area of slums just beyond the city's walls which supply many of the day laborers and other assorted spare bodies on which the city depends. Further out, roughly a day's travel by cart or carriage, lay a ring of minor cities and towns known collectively as the interstitium, providing an interface with the rest of the nation at which goods from the countryside are processed in manners which add insufficient value to afford them a place in the city itself, and in which industries too noxious for the city such as tanning may take place. And, of course, one must not forget Freeport's sister-city of the same name across the channel, legally part of the city but not part of any properly defined district, which provides a vital connection to the mainland through the frequent ferries and internal cargo vessels passing between the two.

It is only through the interactions of all these elements, the many freeholds and plantations outside them, and the nations further beyond, that the Freeport System, as it is so often known, may be maintained, and the glorious city-state maintained for future generations.

One of the unique quirks of Witness as a species is the presence of distinct biological castes. While individualist, forming family units rather than larger eusocial collectives, a handful of specialized biological roles exist in a similar manner to that seen in ants and bees. These roles, along with the biological sex of the individual, appear during adolescence based on environmental factors in contrast to humanity's two-role system determined largely at birth. These castes are Guards, Runners, Consorts, Speakers, and Sleepers.

While the faceplates of Witness are naturally blank and without patterns, painting them is commonplace, the durable and resistant surface (and lack of molting during adulthood) allowing the use of materials such as natural lacquer that would normally pose a threat to softer, fleshier faces such as those possessed by mammals. The common face-paint styles common to each caste are noted, though by no means universal.

Guards represent a relatively small portion of the population, generally 2-10% of the population, and are large reproductive females, standing at ~7ft tall and possessing by far the greatest physical abilities of any caste. They traditionally act as the leaders and matriarchs of the traditional Witness family unit, and in times before modern civilization served to protect and guide the family through external threats. Common facial decorations, in addition to those related to one's personal trade which are common across castes, include martial accomplishments. In particular when the faceplate is injured in combat, either temporarily in the case of juvenile or adolescent instars or permanently for adults, a spiral or radial pattern emanating from the location of the injury is common, marking it as a badge of honor.

Runners, comprising ~10-40% of the population (dependent on environmental factors), are reproductive females of shorter stature, standing at roughly 4ft tall, comparable to the foxes that make up the bulk of Freeport's population. Traditionally their role was as assistants, hence the name, with the archetypal Witness "family business" consisting of a Guard and a number of Runners acting as her permanent apprentices and assistants. Common facial paintings are depictions of tools or accomplishments showing times they went "above and beyond," although geometric patterns chosen for their aesthetic characteristics are also commonplace. Traditionally, the decorations were chosen by a Runner's associated Guard, but the unregulated and decidedly non-traditional nature of Freeport has gradually eroded this custom. Additionally, Runners working in the service industry often sport "false faces" designed to resemble mammalian species. This is controversial among more traditionalist Witness but remains a common practice for economic reasons.

Consorts, comprising an extremely variable portion of the population (generally larger in times with abundant resources and lower stress), are the only reproductive male caste and are similar in stature to Runners. Traditionally their place was seen as "running the home" but available roles have broadened to some extent over time. They can be distinguished from Runners by their generally broader build, enlarged wing-cases, and thinner abdomen. Common facial decorations include family heraldry or symbols, although there has been some pushback against this in recent times, leading to a growing adoption of geometric patterns more associated with Runners.

When a Witness is born with significant magical talent, they near-universally develop into a Speaker as their latent abilities impact their normal development. Speakers are similar in stature to Guards, and are also reproductive females, but are weaker and more slender in build and possess a larger and more developed syrinx, both accommodating complex spellsong and allowing them to further project their voices. Being relatively uncommon, Speakers hold an unusual role within Witness society - traditionally they acted as leaders and priests, and so the expectation is for them to take whatever family they require. Common facial decorations include specific geometric patterns associated with leadership or power, as well as iconography associated with realms they have learned the associated song for.

Sleepers, non-reproductive males standing at roughly 5-6ft in stature with an extremely broad build, hold an unusual role in Witness society. They are near-universally sterile, and possess both a slow metabolism and an unusually long lifespan. Historically they acted as a sort of collective memory - a dedicated repository of oral tradition - and are extremely rare with only one or two developing per thousand Witness. As such there is little established precedent on common facial decoration or areas of knowledge - Sleepers are expected to take decorations based on the knowledge they most readily accrue, and are to this day raised and cared for communally, outside of any individual family.

With all this in mind, the traditional Witness family unit is as follows. 1-2 Guards acting as the leaders and matriarchs, 2-4 Runners acting as their direct assistants, and 5-20 Consorts performing household labor and assorted low-level tasks and crafts. With increasing urbanization, however, this structure has loosened and dissolved, and alternative arrangements are common. In particular, families without Guards have become a trend in wealthier districts, often seen as a rejection of traditional family hierarchies, and in reaction families comprised of exclusively Guards and Consorts have emerged, both out of convenience and as a way to deride the former arrangement and Runners more broadly as a superfluous element. Through all this Speakers and Sleepers, existing outside of traditional roles (and with the former maintaining a near-monopoly on magical talent), have maintained their roles with minimal change.