u/goop_lizard

"By far the best way to ensure peace with your neighbors is to make pursuing war far more costly than not. This is, as it turns out, shockingly easy. Good soldiers are major investments - quality armor and weapons, years of training, a large and often meat-heavy diet purely to create the proper physique, and the training or hiring of countless support personnel. What, then, do such fine soldiers do when war comes? They die, often and badly, if not by enemy blades than by camp fever or a dozen other causes. And for what? At best some land, worthless without those to properly work it, and some raw resources. RAW resources - definitionally the least valuable, least useful form! It's only when the foundries and artisans get their paws on them that you actually get something worthwhile, and even then it's scarcely worth wasting fine steel. Only fools and zealots wage war, and yet the majority of other powers regularly cede control to such madmen!"

~ Thoughts On the Generation of Mutual Profit by Pothos, rant continues for several more pages

Deep within the narrow winding stone alleys that form the floor of the High District, a claw rasps gently against a wooden door, rousing Weave-Drinker[1] from her torpor. It was not sleep, not as the soft-bodied races experienced it, and was not strictly necessary (although certainly rejuvenating), but she nonetheless found herself drawing to it more with age. The vibrance and clamor of the city was intriguing, yes, but at a certain point it was also exhausting and, in its own way, predictable. Rising from her chair to get the door, she hoped it would prove a welcome distraction.

Standing outside was one of her bonded Runners, Wax-Wind[2], claws folded adorably behind her back as she almost shook with anticipation, waiting to deliver her message.

"I take it you've learned something of significant interest?" Weave-Drinker buzzed softly.

"Yes, ma'am. There's been some odd activity in the temple district."

"The temple district?" A trill rose from her syrinx unbidden. This would be interesting indeed. "It's been decades since the old priests did anything but bicker. I was worried I'd be dead before anything else approaching that delightful storm god fiasco."

The runner fidgeted a bit uncomfortably. "Er, well, not with the priests exactly, or at least not the old ones..."

"Spit it out then. I won't bite."

"Yes, ma'am! The old Ayethan fox church has had some odd rumors about it for a few months now, and I just got news of why. Jackal still owed me a favor from the wooden spoon thing, and his aunt works at one of the big temples, and she said that they've been expanding a bunch lately and selling more stuff, only churchy stuff because of the laws but way more than usual, and she says a lot of it seems kinda weird or scammy, so then I went to ask some of my regular folks around there and they said a new fox set up shop lately around that area but she won't show her face or paws or anything which means she's probably real distinctive and then I remembered the Ayethans got that one priest from down south with the grey fur, so I'm thinking she's probably in the business now."

As inefficient as it was, there was something to be said for the way mammals had to stop speaking to breathe. Still, that was interesting. Checking it against the last few weeks of reports from her family, that did seem likely, and lot of details had come in before, alone and sufficiently interspersed with other news to conceal their significance. A new broker associated with a church, using it to conceal profits. The fox in question had also apparently formed connections with a courier in the area, which now made much more sense...

The identity of a secretive new member of the business, with potentially severe consequences, synthesized independently of any of the major networks. A decidedly valuable piece of information, if difficult to sell without running afoul of any unwritten rules. Like most industries in Freeport, information brokers were forced to strike a careful balance between vicious competition and looking out for their own. Still, even if it was off-limits for regular clientele, she could think of at least two dozen wealthy customers who would be extremely interested.

"Excellent work. Take two laurels from the chest for your next shopping trip and wait in my quarters. I have a few letters to write."

[1] In Witness-tongue, the full translation would be "she[speaker] who drinks the hidden webs"

[2] "she[runner, bonded] who molds the wax-soft gales"

CW: Implied suicide, scattered stream-of-consciousness

Cold water pushes between the reeds. Too slow to call a wave. Too short to be a tide. An old fox pushes her toes into the frigid muck, feeling the icy chill lap at her ankles.

Not old in years, but years didn't matter. It was something she'd known since she was young in both senses. One of the only things she still knew. Some folks went for decades without aging a day. Her father'd been like that, once. Smiles and wonder right up until the end. Never let anything get to him. Never really learned anything, neither - not proper lessons anyway. Towards the end he could tie a net two-dozen ways with his eyes closed, but he'd still escaped learning the things about foxes she'd had to start learning as soon as she could walk.

Sometimes she thought the two were related. You didn't need to grow up if you had enough talent. Everyone just let you do what you were good at, and if they laughed or made fun they kept it well out of sight, hidden in all the spots it couldn't make you less useful. She was distracting herself again. No use dragging things out before they'd got started.

The stick sank deep into the winter muck, pulled the raft back two feet for every three she pushed. It'd be a while before she got too deep to swim back. The black water was quiet and still as a mirror before she'd started moving. A whole upside-down world, close enough to touch. Now each push sent shockwaves rippling through it, ripples blurring flesh and reed and sky. It brought to mind a fighting show she'd seen as a kit. Some travelling troop where the owner knew the practice, made the light ripple and bend with each hit as acrobats in painted masks through themselves across the square in response to pulled punches. At the time it was the funniest thing in the world.

A tear rose to her eyes as she realized what happened next, a moment too late to stop the rest of the memory. That damn smile. Sard had seemed such a good friend at the time. Had for years. It was amazing how fast things could fall apart. Still took long enough to feel like a new world instead of an event. Too slow to call a wave. Too short to call a tide.

Tears came steadily now, a mercy in a way. She couldn't remember the last time she had the energy to cry. The shouts and cries still rang in her ears when the pole struck a stone. She looked up at the shore. How long had she been pushing for? Long enough, she hoped. Her arms were getting sore. Still, no use in half-measures. It wasn't like her arms were her - not really. Not like people always said. Lose one and she'd still be the same old fox. Same for her legs. Her face. Maybe everything. Preachers came through now and then, said she was all bound up in something called a soul. That it stuck around forever, whether you could see it or not. She hoped they were wrong. That something solid, in her heart or head or blood, cause it had to be something you really couldn't live without, was all there was. That at the end of the day everyone got a break.

Wasn't long before the water got too deep for the pole, and she tossed it aside. She'd carried enough dead weight. She stared down at the distorted stranger in the dark water, slowly rising and falling.

Too slow to call a wave.

Too short to be a tide.

As is only inevitable for a state of its age and economic status, Freeport has had many currencies throughout the ages. While tracking down each and every piece minted from the days of the founding is beyond even the most committed numismatists, and indeed many have tried, from these scattered coinages a number of distinct patterns and eras have emerged, which may be considered as the stages leading to the current system of currencies.

Antiquity

The oldest coins, found nowadays exclusively in cabinets of curiosities and occasional ruins lost beneath the mud, are curious in their construction. While possessing no special properties inherent to them, being made from an alloy of gold, silver, and copper, the potency of ancient magics (or at least equipment made using them) is obvious in their construction - the best-preserved specimens show a fineness and precision to their features which is difficult to achieve even today, while their alloy composition is remarkably consistent and precise, to the point where several such coins have been destroyed by assay-houses as an expensive but reliable way of calibrating their methods.

While markings from this era vary widely, and modern scholars say some such specimens predate the City's founding, by far the most common specific coin (and the oldest widely agreed to be a product of Freeport) is known as the Candle for its markings, the original name having been lost. On one side, as the name would suggest, is a lit candle, while the other bears a balance scale weighing a pile of powder or other conical object against a spiral object believed, from its appearance in other carvings of the era, to be derived from a shepherd's crook, with the images on both sides growing increasing stylized in later specimens. While the crook is known to symbolize death or sudden change, the meanings of the other elements are unknown.

Several coins produced in simpler or less precise alloys, and with progressively cruder designs, are also known, but with little consistency. As magic, and/or residual equipment depending on the exact order of events, declined, creating replacement currency which would be as widely accepted became a struggle. This long transitional era also saw extensive recasting of ancient coinage, a significant influx of foreign currencies, and several debasement crises. This was also an era of unstable and inconsistent governance, ended by the creation of the Steering Council and, a short time later, Merchant Association roughly eight centuries ago.

The Gold Era

The first, and by far longest-lasting, centralized currency adopted by Freeport was the Gold Laurel. A relatively small coin with a laurel branch on one side and a stylized laurel flower on the other, it was a relatively small coin useful for day-to-day transactions with iconography chosen to be visually pleasant without being tied to any particular political faction, movement, or popular deity, the laurel itself having only been introduced to the island a few decades prior. This choice of a symbol without prior association proved highly impactful, with the stylized pentagonal flower becoming a predominant symbol of money and wealth, to the point where even today a pentagon is used to denote the basic unit of currency in ledgers.

While the gold laurel proved extremely durable, larger denominations used for significant transactions changed much more often and were more prone to scandals, especially since, while city law strictly forbade the production of laurels and their equivalents by any other than the official mint, the creation of coins, tokens, and bars denoting larger amounts of currency could not be effectively restricted, as during the previous currency crises several major companies had adopted their own internal units of gold and silver to protect themselves from debasement and maintain consistent internal accounts. For this reason, along with large denominations being both more attractive for fraud and less common and therefore more easily replaced, during this long era there were multiple denominations, produced at different times by both private trading companies and the Freeport Minting Association, worth 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 10, 12, 16, 18, 20, 25, 30, 32, 50, 60, 64, 100, 128, 144, and in at least one case 500 laurels. As those numbers suggest, there was significant division at the time between denominating currency in multiples and clean fractions of 10 (favored by several major trading companies), 6 (favored by local manufactories and artisans), and powers of two (favored by the reformist movement which held control of the Steering Council at the time).

This is also the era in which bars, previously only used internally by major trading companies, came to be used as a standard form of currency for large denominations. Long and thin in shape, with a small hole at one end for a string, most would describe them as strips rather than conventional ingots, but they allow larger quantities of metal to be packed tightly and, with easily measured dimensions, they proved extremely quick to de-facto standardize. The few largest merchant associations quickly settled on a standard thickness and width, and small jigs to measure length (and, accordingly, value) swiftly emerged, with bars not fitting the standard sizes trading at a steep enough discount it was often cheaper to have them recast than actually spend them.

In time, however, as the economy of both Freeport and the world expanded and the domestic mines were exhausted, the supply of gold became a serious constraint. While ordnances and coordinated action by the Council and Association were able to prevent the destructive hoarding of wealth which normally defines such scenarios, a breaking point was reached roughly three centuries ago when a severe outbreak of typhus caused a steep reduction in trade and the evacuation of many wealthy merchants, cutting off the imports of gold that had sustained supplies while also physically removing large quantities. The situation was especially severe among the lower classes, as the gold laurel became too valuable to be practical for day-to-day use and a number of informal "barter standards" took hold. By the time the outbreak was dealt with a few years later it was too late for the currency crisis, and as emergency measures were slowly lifted the need for a new currency made from more readily available metals came to the forefront.

The Silver Era

The switch to silver happened rapidly, at least for ordinary transactions, as the supplies of gold were tight enough that the poorer citizens who did have gold coins certainly weren't going to spend them. The silver laurel, larger and thicker than its gold predecessor to maintain a useful value but still relatively small, would form the new basis of the monetary system, with the coins sitting above it also given a standardized form. A step above the laurel was to sit the crown, a symbol which had become a relatively neutral signifier of authority without much real-world political implication after countless centuries without any form of nobility. Much like the laurel flower before it, although to a much lesser extent, this would lead to the crown becoming commonly seen a symbol of wealth in addition to, and sometimes in place of, hereditary rule, leading to both bewilderment by citizens of monarchies seeing the signs of Freeport's various markets and several minor diplomatic incidents involving young and inexperienced Freeport merchants under the impression that a king is broadly equivalent to the wealthiest and most powerful trading companies.

Even with silver forming the basis for day-to-day currency, it was known that gold supplies would return to a semblance of normalcy, and that many foreign merchants preferred or even exclusively carried gold, and so as a compromise the largest denomination would be struck from the metal, with no fixed rate of exchange. Indeed, to this day, no official government offices will exchange gold for silver, with the risks of such activity being foisted entirely onto private money-changers. This coin, the sovereign, bears on one side the image of a scale weighing a scroll against a sword, and on the other a five-fold spiral pattern meant to evoke both the now-venerable laurel flower and the geometric patterns common in Witness face-paint.

Modern Era

While the currencies mentioned above remain dominant for trade within the city, the last several decades have seen substantial advancement in both the ways they're used and the ways outside traders interact with them.

On the former front, the excessive bulk of metal coinage for large deposits has often led to in-kind payments (typically rare dyes, fabrica, or important spices due to their high value-to-weight ratio and relative fungibility) being used for the largest trades, but with recent advancements allowing a low-power working to be imbued into a slip of paper in such a way that it's method of creation cannot be determined from the distinctive signature (at least not without what the foremost scholars assure would be several decades of calculations), and which can be readily applied at scale due to having no significant effect other than it's distinctive signature, magically-assured paper deposit slips issued by prominent vaults have become the dominant method. While still out of reach of the lowest classes, a modified version of the this technique instead imbues the magic into the plates of a printing press (of the ordinary style - not one of the rare imported movable-type contraptions) while still leaving a distinctive, if somewhat less complex, imprint has reduced the fees for such services to the point where middle-class customers have begun requesting several such slips at a time in standardized denominations to ease the burden of carrying their shopping budgets.

On the latter side, an unusual system has developed for ship captains seeking to buy and sell common, relatively fungible goods as quickly and easily as possible in the form of "ledger-market houses" which double as warehouses and trading posts. If one is carrying any of the myriad bulk goods that flow through Freeport with a significant enough frequency, they can unload into such a facility and, after a brief inspection, receive credit in the house's ledgers without bothering to line up a particular buyer. From there they may "cash out," as it were, and leave with a hold full of gold and silver, or as is more often the case spend this credit on new goods from the same or (after carrying over the proper documents) any of the other such houses that line the port. This has vastly reduced the time needed for trade, to the point where stays in the city are often determined by the need for shore leave in such a vibrant city to maintain morale rather than the time needed to negotiate trades, which has in turn led to trading companies with multiple ships shuffling crews between them on a staggered schedule - each ship dropping off its crew and leaving with a new one while they wait to be picked up a few days to weeks later, dependent on the length of the preceding journey. There has also been a growing phenomena of speculators utilizing the houses without ever crewing a ship, using their own warehouses to bet against changes in price, and a few of the more enterprising ledger-market houses have even begun offering contracts for fixed quantities of these goods at a future date, securing guaranteed returns for themselves while allowing others to gamble on fluctuations in price.

"...but by far the most important of the principles I have observed thus far is the management of disorder. When fighting in tight and compartmentalized environments, often without light or steady ground to stand on, the victor is the party whose members are able to retain the status of soldiers rather than that of panicked animals. It is in exploiting this gap that the most elite forces of Freeport seem to have specialized."

~A Hundred Lands, A Hundred Wars - Travelogue of Volin the Wanderer

Canoes glide smoothly under a moonless night sky. Their oars move slowly and intentionally, rotating to glide through or catch the black waters without ever breaking the surface. Inside their occupants wait, breath even and controlled. They carry sharp steel and wear brigandine vests, the pommels and rivets painted a dark grey to deny any glint or reflection. At 50 yards from their prey, the oars are set down, grooves in their shafts catching on special slots in the gunwales to keep them properly aligned, and the practitioner in each vessel initiates their third working of the night. The first was placed before the operation began, sharpening the eyes of the soldiers in the absence of light. The second when the boats launched, scrambling detection by enemy mages - they would know some kind of magic was nearby, but not where or how intense. This last working would interfere with attention and memory. Nowhere near invisibility, but it would make them hard to pay active attention to, lowering their importance relative to the countless distractions which would surely emerge.

Pirates which dared to operate in Freeport waters usually had the funding for foreign mages and well-trained watchmen. There was no such thing as being too careful. Fortunately, in this case their precautions proved enough, and soon grapples were tossed over the large ship's edge. It was an older design, without prominent castles, so as soon as paws hit the deck the operation would be as good as over.

The ship was primarily active outside Freeport's waters, along with every other pirate vessel that wasn't actively suicidal, but it's sightings and their relative signs, particularly when considered with respect to reported battle damage and repair timelines, suggested it was using one of the many small, largely nameless and uninhabited islands near the strait as a base of operations.

The process of narrowing down which one, exactly, was slow and laborious, but two months into the search they had gotten a lucky break. The scion of a wealthy merchant had been blown off course while using their personal trimaran, an odd hybrid of raft and canoe they had become enamored with following a trading voyage south, and spotted an unusual vessel entering a secluded cove in one such island. Later covert investigations confirmed it's identity, and so a team had been dispatched to resolve the problem.

As soon as the small boats were alongside the pirate vessel, two dozen hooks sailed up and over the gunwales, synchronized as if by some invisible countdown. Less than a minute layer they were on the deck, and the alarm bells finally went up. The boarding party darted across the deck like nighthawks swarming at dusk, and it was only once all three guards has been dispatched that they reconvened, forming up around the ladders leading below the deck. From here the crew would have all been roused and readied and there were two ways it could go. Either they would force the entrance, climbing into prepared killing-grounds, or they would wait, attempting to force a slow and grinding clearing of the ship room by room.

Tragically, though not unexpectedly, they chose the latter. As confirmation is granted by the sergeant-militant[1] the boarding party splinters, one pair readying a signal for the large ship which would soon emerge to take on prisoners in the form of several arrows with flammable mixtures in place of sharpened tips. The rest adopt breaching formation and count down to their assault on the lower decks. Proper synchronization is important, fighting on enemy ground against a prepared opponent, so the only way the operation can be completed with some semblance of safety is by causing the enemy to panic as rapidly as possible.

Even with all the preparations that can be managed, the first to enter would die in ambush if they climbed down. Instead, they fall, rolling at the bottom. Some will still be injured. At each hatch, a series of simultaneous cries go up as pirate daggers and shortspears[2] stabbed at nothing. With practiced efficiency the first wave rise to hack at their ambushers as the second descend, and in the blinding darkness the pirates soon find themselves unable to tell which direction the attack is coming from. The smart ones retreat and regroup deeper in the vessel, but the foolish ones panic. In other waters some might surrender, but here all know well that going down fighting promises a quicker, cleaner, and less certain death.

As the entryways are cleared, the slow process of emptying the ship room by room begins, ensuring all pirates are captured if possible and killed if not. The sergeant-militant descends with the last wave, moving between the various groups to monitor for situations that may need her expertise. There are mercifully few, at least until the Captain's quarters.

The pirate captain - a human with a pale mane by the looks of it, although she couldn't say more given how similar they looked without proper fur - had barricaded themselves in their quarters and was demanding an honor-duel for control of the ship. Annoying, and demonstrating an abysmal understanding of who exactly they were dealing with - perhaps in the confusion they still believed it was a rival pirate captain looking to expand - but such rituals were not unheard of. Breaking in and assaulting the room with such a prepared opponent would pose an unacceptable risk, and so she accepted and shooed her soldiers away to make clear she would enter alone.

The pirate sneered as she moved into the richly decorated room, moving back and gesturing towards a spot in front of the doorway. "Take your place, fox. I haven't got all night." If there was any recognition of her uniform, it was well-hidden.

She did as asked, slowly and calmly, before drawing her sword and dagger and falling into her typical stance for dealing with larger opponents. Left leg forward, right half-crouched. Backsword pointed forward in her right hand, elbow close to her side, and parrying dagger more forward but less committed in her left. At this, the pirate raised an eyebrow.

"A modification of one of the eastern guards? I didn't take you for a fencer."

She smiled as she began to slowly circle, silently giving thanks as they did the same. "Fencing is the tame sport taught to noble children. I was trained to kill, quickly and efficiently."

They actually laughed at that. "Quite right, quite right. Many a talented fencer has lost their lives to that distinction."

'Keep talking, you bastard. Just a few more steps.'

"Still, I think you may have met your match in this case. I've been dueling with the best since-" and then they stepped in front of the doorway, the slow circling having switched their positions, and a rope slipped over their head and around their neck. She sighed as she sheathed her weapons.

"Get it tied up and bagged, ship should be here any minute. I'm gonna do one last sweep."

Within the week, 38 pirates would be convicted and executed by keel-hauling until dead.

[1] - A rank within Freeport's defense forces roughly equivalent to a field officer but responsible for a much smaller body of soldiers, common in elite units and small operations. Named to distinguish the rank from sergeant-at-arms, used for the leader of a security detail.

[2] - The Northern-style shortspear, sometimes described as a long-handled dagger, is a common boarding and ambush weapon with a wooden haft 2-3 feet in length and a blade of 10-16 inches. While less effective in open combat than a good sword, it is cheaper and more versatile as a close-quarters stabbing implement.

Rime had always had trouble coming to terms with the fact she wasn't happy. This wasn't exactly a realization, she thought, placing the newly cleaned figure back in its alter, but it had proven an inescapable theme of her life. 

Her parents had had it much worse, growing up in some primitive Ayethan village before finding their way aboard a merchant ship, even after they'd arrived in the city it had been years before they could hold a conversation. Even at the end of their lives, she'd still had to follow along as a translator for any kind of complicated or serious business. They'd been laborers for a few years before opening a small kitchen - the city was always hungry for new soups to break up the monotony of the working class diet, and a few recipes from back home had proven easy enough to adapt - but they never complained. If anything, the city never stopped exciting them. So many wonders available at one's fingertips, a constant flow of new people to meet. 

She should've been even happier. With a strong grasp of both languages and what she'd been taught of her parents faith it was easy to get a job at one of the city's "authentic" "Ayethan" churches as a "priestess." The real feral "church's" blending of familial, communal, and secular power wasn't something that concerned the modern urban fox and she wasn't much of a believer anyway. 

It wasn't a bad job, by any means. The pay was decent, she'd been well-trained in letters and numbers, and it wasn't like there was a lot for her to actually do besides stand around and look like herself. Still, that was part of the problem. People saw the grey fur, the wide eyes, the curled tails and suddenly their only thoughts were pity and the admiration normally reserved for a particularly well-behaved cat. With her official robes and trinkets all that went away, but it still wasn't replaced by the reactions reserved for real people. Instead it gave way to respect, but the respect held for a symbol, and not a living one. A symbol of the imagined past, as if people she hardly knew spending gods-knew-how-long as domestic slaves and that much longer in a far-away village made her any more authentic. 

Two escapes, hundreds of years, and thousands of miles and still a fucking pet.

Suddenly the bitter reverie was broken by what sounded like claws scrabbling for purchase on the slate roof, followed immediately by a thump outside the window and a short yelp. 

The mystery was solved a few moments later when a short fox in a pale grey duster tumbling through said window, apologizing profusely the whole way. 

"Sorry! Sorry! I just..." The strange new fox froze for a few seconds, eyes wide with an odd, stunned expression. Rime, for her part, was too surprised by everything else that had happened to do more than stare back. They stayed like this for a few moments, wide eyes locked to eachother's, until they heard shouting in distance. The strange interloper let out a sharp squeak and began frantically looking around before turning back to Rime with a pleading look. 

"You have to hide me!"

She'd always been one to stay out of things, and this stranger was more suspicious than most, but for some reason she couldn't explain her response was automatic, pulling open a storage closet and shoving the impromptu guest inside just in time for heavy fists to knock on the temple doors. Shoving the closet shut, she scurried over to the door and opened it to see a gruff old fox and a hooded Witness - a runner, by her stature - holding a paper which was promptly shoved in her face with a sketch of the strange fox she'd just hidden. 

"Have you seen this individual?" The fox barked. 

"She was seen to have fallen from the rooftops in this area," the Witness continued, voice echoed and buzzing, "but not to have left." At that last remark, the fox pulled his duster open slightly to reveal a leather sap hanging from his vest. 

"I heard some noises on the roof earlier, but no guests," she replied, the words tumbling from her mouth before she could think. "The temple must be properly cleaned and purified for the evening service. Nobody can enter without the proper education."

The two strangers looked her up and down, seeming to stare straight through her, until the fox gave a short grunt and turned around, mumbling to himself as he gestured for his companion to follow. "Just another superstitious provincial. She's gotta be somewhere in this block."

As soon as the door shut Rime's composure shattered and she was filled with a nervous energy. She raised one shaking paw to her face, as if to check that she was still real, and was shocked to find that she was smiling.

While known first and foremost as a city of trade, this trade is in large part maintained by the many talented artisans which call it home. Without the many goods and services provided by the city, the lack of tariffs would mean very little value entering the city itself beyond payment for warehouse space and providing services to passing sailors, and at the same time without access to a constant flow of goods and materials from far away places, as well as frequent exposure to foreign craftsmen and expertise, the local artisans and tradesfoxes would be far more limited.

To help ensure this continued standard of quality, and maintain a semblance of order and regulation in a city defined by freedom of commerce, the systems of apprenticeships and ranks used by the various trades is more complex than seen elsewhere. Notably, there are no mandatory guilds, and membership in the associations which manages these ranks is not mandatory to practice each craft itself (barring certain exceptions, mostly related to vital infrastructure). Enforcement is rather achieved socially, as anyone wanting something legal to produce and possessing the means to do so is going to choose to patronize an association-certified business for the assured quality and ease of recourse for fraud or poor craftsmanship that certification brings.

These smaller associations themselves are also the bodies which comprise Freeport's broader Merchant Association, the branch of government concerned with setting quality standards and product definitions for goods and services sold in the city as a whole. The broad nature of the association also means that the apprenticeship and rank system outlined below has penetrated effectively every industry, even those which would conventionally do away with such things or utilize much simpler structures, in the name of consistency.

Lastly before we begin, a note on the names of the titles given. They utilize generic terms such as Tradesfox, and indeed this is how official regulations are written, but individual associations may use a separate terms for the same ranks internally so long as they are clearly specified. Examples would be terms such as potter, tailor, or, for merchant vessels owned within the city, seafox. The presence of "fox" in these terms has also drawn some controversy among newcomers to the city and those outside it, but Witness (who, in large part due to strong shared support systems and a history of being valued as bureaucrats, tend to occupy higher and more stable social positions than the average fox) mostly view the term with amusement, while other species within the city lack the numbers to meaningfully agitate for change.

First are the ordinary ranks, which correspond well with those of many foreign guild systems, albeit at a somewhat higher level of granularity.

The lowest are lay apprentices, which occupy roles similar to day laborers but with more consistent employment and a greater degree of security. They are not directly trained in their ostensible trade, but instead are either in the process of being evaluated for a true apprenticeship or, more often, have been deemed suitable apprentices and are waiting for an apprentice above them to graduate, with the role acting as a sort of waiting list. The most notable businesses, led by accomplished masters, often have large numbers of promising lay apprentices who see spending a few years doing manual labor and observing how the business is run well worth the wait to join such a prestigious endeavor.

Above them are ordinary apprentices who assist more directly while being trained in their craft. There are no fixed lengths for apprenticeships, instead each association has a standard set of criteria which apprentices must meet to graduate. Most associations offer centralized tests once every 1-4 years but anyone who has achieved the rank of Master is allowed to perform them, so these mostly exist to serve the apprentices of independent Tradesfoxes, as is common in industries dominated by sole proprieterships.

The rank of Tradesfox is the lowest to allow independent businesses to utilize the marks and symbols of their association, and the lowest rank to be capitalized in formal use. Roughly equivalent to the rank of journeyman, it demonstrates competence in all basic skills of the craft, and is prestigious enough for one to make a decent living while also being attainable enough that the especially talented and motivated (when selected for such an endeavor by the appropriate sponsors) can become Tradesfoxes in several distinct associations to act as liaisons or consultants, or to handle particularly complex projects.

One step higher, and the highest that can be achieved through a standardized process, the exact qualifications required vary but generally the rank of Master is awarded to those who have achieved mastery of all basic skills within their craft, basic competency in all common specializations, and further mastery of at least one. Unlike Tradesfox there is generally no standardized set of tests, rather a panel of those who have already achieved the rank each give the prospective Master a challenge they must complete. For this reason acquiring the rank can be much more dependent on internal politics than those below it, especially in smaller trades where only a handful of Masters exist at any given time. This has led to the rare but curious phenomenon of "village masters" where those who achieve (or believe they have achieved) the skills of a Master but are shut out of further promotion for whatever reason will leave the city to work in small villages and settlements under a false name and without claiming association membership in the hopes that what they produce will trickle back and, being of such stunning quality for an unknown rural hermit (and drawing on legends and tales of similar hermit-savants) allow them to be recognized as Honorary Masters after many years. This process is slow and even more rare, but does have precedent as a last resort for those totally shut out of internal politics, and does much to feed the tales it draws on.

Next are those ranks related to what might be termed early research organizations. Great attention is paid to not just the crafts themselves but also their furthering and the preservation of knowledge, and so wealthy investors, retired Masters, and even associations themselves will often sponsor workshops dedicated not to production but to the development of new methods and techniques. These organizations have their own hierarchical ranks, corresponding roughly to those above.

At the bottom is the Apprentice to The Knowledge, those in training to join such an organization. Generally this entails scribework, extensive study, and providing assistance to experiments. While similar to the title of Apprentice, they are distinct, and in fact most who undertake this role already hold the rank of Tradesfox.

Once they pass a rigorous written examination, focused on the effects of various modifications of the normal process, they are then promoted directly to Master of the Knowledge. The reason for an equivalent of Tradesfox being skipped is simple - to use the example of glassmaking, a Glassmaker must demonstrate only that they can produce and shape various forms of glass competently. A Master Glassmaker of the Knowledge must be familiar not only with that process, but also with the particular function of all common glass additives, the proportions in which they are typically added, and the effects of adjusting those proportions. This more then entitles one to call themselves a Master, but it is also the bare minimum required to perform useful research, and so anyone working in research with less knowledge than this is relegated to the role of an apprentice.

Next, and overlapping substantially with the prior categories, are those ranks awarded by associations for special achievement, which may be covered somewhat more briefly.

Tradesfox First Class is by far the most common awarded rank, granted to Tradesfoxes who have handled particular situations with conduct befitting of one above their station. Common reasons include successfully resolving problems or completing projects far outside their normal duties or making useful discoveries, but it's not unheard of for someone to be nominated for years of dedicated and high-quality work even without any singular great achievements.

Standing in stark contrast is the rank of Grandmaster of the Knowledge, which is so rare that many trades do not possess a living example. It signifies a Master of the Knowledge who's contribution to the art is so significant it has a substantial impact on the field as a whole, often being added to standard exams for lower ranks over the next few years. A somewhat recent example is Grandmaster Sedge of the Freeport Glassmaker's Association, who developed a method of grinding clear glass into usable lenses for magnifying small objects and improving some kinds of poor vision. The use of magnifiers has proved so popular among other trades, enabling much closer analysis and better precision, that a separate association of lensmakers came about within the decade and receives significant funding from other associations to ensure it is able to maintain the highest quality standards and continue improving the design.

Lastly, some attention must be given to the title of Seeker, which is often worn proudly within the city but kept secret outside it due to its association with industrial espionage. Officially, Seekers are used as a tool for peacefully exchanging knowledge, with Tradesfoxes being sponsored to spend some years abroad working with foreign artisans, learning their methods while teaching those common in Freeport. In practice, many Seekers will position themselves as one of the many ordinary Tradesfoxes seeking long-term employment abroad where their chosen field is less crowded, learn everything they can over the course of a few years, and quietly disappear back to the city.

The environment bordering the city of Freeport to both the north and the south, and originally taking up what would become the city itself, is filled with unique flora and fauna. The barrier islands a short distance from the coast block waves and most storm surges, while warm currents from the south mix with frigid nutrient-rich waters from the north in the strait outside, and countless smaller fish able to tolerate the waters, made more brackish by their partial containment and dozens of streams coming down from the hills, shelter from less tolerant ocean-going predators. This has made the narrow flat band between the stony hills and the sea into a rich marshland, smoothly blending from small stands of trees to dense reeds to seaweed, occasionally radiating spikes into the body of the island where rivers have eroded the hills into an inlet or pushing out where shallow reedy deltas have formed.

Among the most important species in this ecosystem are the reeds themselves, mostly a species known as rafsalia or the Freeport saltreed which forms thin, hollow tubes with narrow leaves standing out from the sides in countless pairs. It spreads through networks of runners sitting in the top layers of silt, and as the name suggests it's lower leaves are often encrusted in small crystals of salt, a way of expelling what salt can't be filtered by its robust root system. In the spring, the tips of the reeds erupt in dense clusters of tiny flowers, seeming to paint the shoreline in bands of pale white before giving way to fluffy clusters of reddish seeds that drift and hopefully settle in the mud just above the high tide line. The purpose of the red coloration is unknown, but the seeds have long been mixed with water and ground into a fine paste to produce a deep red dye that, while it fades and washes out of cloth too easily to use (despite easily staining skin and fur), is entirely edible with little flavor, making red a common color for sweets during the midsummer and late fall. These two seasons are possible because, unlike most other plants, the saltreed goes through two distinct blooms, taking advantage of the brief and mild winters of its home to spread as aggressively as possible. Indeed, in places overseas with a similar environment (very shallow brackish water with minimal waves) it has quickly established itself and prove possible to extirpate only by digging up the dense root-balls that serve as centers for the networks of runners, in addition to totally destroying the surface plants.

These root balls, often sitting only partially buried in the muddy waters of the coast, serve as food for the half-banded pipefish which uses its elongated mouthparts and rasp-like tongue to burrow through the fibrous outer layers and attack the starchy core. Largely unrelated to broader pipefish, it's named for the unevenly spaced deep brown stripes which only wrap halfway around its cylindrical tan body to mimic the shadows of the reeds falling on the seafloor. The deep holes they bore while feeding double as temporary burrows, and after mating female half-banded pipefish will bore a hole all the way through a root ball, along the axis of the tides for maximum water flow, in which to lay her eggs.

Preying on the pipefish, alongside juveniles of the many ocean-going fish which choose to lay their eggs in the relative safety of the reeds, is the Freeport Water Shrew (actually more closely related to squirrels), a small mammal occupying a niche normally filled by the smallest herons. Named for it's elongated snout full of needle-like teeth, it clings to bundles of reeds with all four limbs and extends it's long neck to search for and strike small fish in the shallows. While it's body is a simple countershaded pale brown, it possesses thin vertical stripes along its throat and eyes directly on the side of its head, allowing it to camouflage itself similarly to a bittern by pointing its head straight into the air as high as possible and facing its neck towards the potential threat, blending in with the vertical reeds. Somewhat amusingly, this danger response does not depend on whether it is actually in a stand of reeds, so on the rare occasion one wanders too close to the city it will often freeze and stand up tall when approached, even in the middle of a path or square.

The primary threats the water shrew hides from, and the dominant predators of the environment, are both technically forms of dragon, albeit heavily derived compared to the images the word conjures. The smaller, and one of the few marsh-dwelling species to establish a strong presence in the city itself, is the Lesser Marsh Wyvern. Standing at roughly 12-18 inches tall and weighing 3-4 pounds, it's name is doubly incorrect - not only is it not a true wyvern, as it possesses two small forelimbs used for holding food while eating, there is also no record of any other species of Marsh Wyvern for it to be compared to. It is a matter of some historical debate where, exactly, the lesser portion of the name came from, but when asked most locals give some variation of "well look at the thing." Ecologically they fill a niche similar to seagulls, catching fish and shellfish and supplementing their diet by scavenging, and much like seagulls their opportunism and willingness to scavenge have made them prolific urban pests, often terrorizing both fishing boats and anyone not keeping a close eye on their meal while outdoors. Despite this they are highly intelligent, and it is considered back luck to harm them, as when fed intentionally they can be fiercely protective and relatively easy to train. One of the secrets local fishing crews hold over foreign ones is placing a small portion of their catch on a distinctively marked offering table when a particular flock of wyverns draws near - favoring a reliable meal, and not wanting to share with others, they'll dutifully fight off other flocks and avoid taking from the main catch, and will quickly learn the appearance and schedule of their chosen fishing boat and join it as soon as it leaves dock. This strategy, however, does not come without downsides, as forgetting to give the proper offering will quickly make the flock turn aggressive.

Much larger, and preying on not just fish and small mammals but even large game and foxes that happen to wander in front of it, the snapwyrm is among the least draconic animals to bear the dragon name. Spending its entire life in the water, its hindlimbs have entirely disappeared while its forelimbs have developed into flippers, its wings have shortened, thickened, and merged with the body along much of their length to appear almost like a ray attached to the top of the wyrm, and its tail has become a powerful vertical blade. They lurk at the waters edge, mottled "wings" (properly termed a mantle) acting like a camouflage net to obscure their shape and presence, with only their nostrils barely peeking above the water. When prey walks in front of them, their powerful tails allow great bursts of speed, leaping suddenly out of the water as their neck extends to strike. While this is by far their most common hunting strategy, they are also competent and efficient swimmers, and have been known to not only hunt in the waters along the island's coast but even enter the open ocean when food is scarce, although they still need to return to the marsh to lay their eggs. They are fiercely protective of their young, who after hatching will crowd under their mother's mantle until they're old enough to survive on their own. Like their distant aerial cousins snapwyrms are surprisingly intelligent, displaying complex group hunting strategies in which they use vocalizations to lure large prey into areas where multiple can attack at once or herd fish into shallow inlets, as well as learning to avoid settlements where they're likely to be hunted by foxes out of fear. For this reason attacks are very rare, mostly involving inexperienced groups in isolated areas.

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.