I had some time to put a bit of our mish mash of notes together with a bit of what the FHCO's have been learning in PS (they can PS at home, as they have it), so here is just a morsel of what I think will become consumed by the FHCO's PDF for Snapgallows. Introducing Gimphor Lope, Vanner. oh, and a bit of Threeways and Nab....
Gimphor Lope be a Vanner by trade, one who carries goods across Thrubmorton Fen strapped to his back in a Vanner's pack, from Thrub in the North, through Threeways, and on Southing to Fort Braven.
Vanners are a hardy lot, in general, as passage on foot in Thrubmorton Fen is deadly at best, and down right carnivorous at worst. Most have some degree of skill with simple weapons for defense, any vanner who can not swing a short sword or heft a buckler will likely as not never make a second trip: but their best defense is in numbers, they band together in large caravans as far along their route as possible, only traveling in small groups or singly to the more remote destinations. The speed at which they can travel whilst tumping a heavy load is well known, and has saved the life of many a vanner.
“Legs like trees, and nearly half as smart.” is a common jibe at the vanners expense, paying respect to their physical prowess while demeaning the seeming stupidity of any man who would repeatedly traverse the most dangerous routes in Thrubmorton Fen for a pittance, which he can only collect if he returns to the original consignor with a chit, perhaps years later.
The majority of vanner routes follow the high ground, well away from the lowland fens and river bottoms, home to a wide variety of Fennish nasties, some of which prey on vanners for their cargo, and others which find the flesh of a fit vanner a right tasty morsel.
Most all are employed, as needed, by members of the Caravaner's Guild, signing on to “tump” a load of cargo from the Guild Marshaling Yard to it's destination, where ever that may be, and then signing on again to tump a load back, if possible, as “an empty pack is twice as heavy as a full one”, vanners say.
Guild rules require individual vanners to sign a bond, known as “Pledging the Hand”for each load they carry. Tradition holds that in the early days any vanner who failed to deliver his full consignment or returned without a chit for his load, lost a hand, and any vanner who failed to return at all, doomed whomever he had pledged as his bond, to the same fate. The Caravaner's Guild soon discovered that a lack of “handed” vanners, or kin willing to be bonded, cut into their profits, so it began accepting coin or property as bond, equal to the value of the goods at it's delivery destination, or twice that if rare.
This new policy quickly put coin back in their satches, as only the most experienced and skilled vanners could afford to Pledge the Hand for valuable cargo and receive the higher pay, needless to say most of those had two hands, as did their children, and were easily recognized.
It is said that in some of the less seemly parts of Thrubmorton Fen one can still stumble upon claves in which two hands is an oddity.
Vanners are easily identified by their Vanner's Cap, a brimless cloth hat blazoned on top with their Vanner's number,unique to each Vanner, and their sigil,which is passed down through family lines , the cap is also stitched profusely about the sides with the Rambling Man's Prayer, for luck and godly intervention on the routes.
“Ooick, though I tump through the valleys and fens of the eaters of death, I will fear naught of scaled evil : for thou are with me; thy shadow and thy roar, they comfort me.” Rambling Man's Prayer, verse 1
Gimphor tumped for a variety of Guild members for much of his life, keeping both hands, and earning the trust of all who employed him. After a frightful experience on the Black Holler trail Gimphor resigned his independent vanners cap and took up with Nab, the proprietor of the ThreeWays Inn, situated in Threeways, West Fentor, Thrubmorton Fens, as Nab's head vanner, due to the fact that the guards Nab employed out of Snapgallows tended to make off with more than the Fennish nasties.
Nab's inn is renowned for its fine drink, tasty platters, well stocked leaf room and comfortable accommodations.
It sets in the middle of the junction for the roads connecting points east of West Wickham, west of Fort Roundtop, and south of Snapgallows.
Gimphor is well versed in the trails and tracks of West Fentor, and often looking for reliable guards, carters and vanners, only the two handed need apply.
Nab suffers from the old malady common to many who keep an Inn and Topboard, a wealth of information and few guests or customers worth sharing it with. Nabs three large sons keep the peace beyond the topboard of the Inn, and act as guards for Gimphor and Nab's caravans when needed.
Gimphor sees a Stumbler
Threeways Inn, Threeways, West Fentor, Thrubmorton Fen, Ansium
“And oim telling ye I did” the stocky vanner spat back, Gimphor by proper calling, Gimp to most due to his odd gate, “It were two of 'em, stumbling up Black Holler trail, and they was dead.”
“Dead don't stumble, Gimp, they shuffle.” shouted a sotted voice from the back of the common room to a chorus of loud laughs and hoots.
“Shuffled then, ya idget,” Gimphor retorted, “makes now nevermind to me”...
“OR TO THEM” yelled another voice, followed by a loud belch and an even louder thud, as his head hit the topboard in front of him, witless. This drew even louder guffaws from the drunken caravaners and carters who had taken shelter from the cold drizzle that had plagued their footsteps for two days of travel. The unconscious man soon lost his satch and one shoe to the greedy hands of his fellows.
“Your a roight lot of fools you are” Gimphor hissed, heard only by those who stood near, “ I done saw two corpses, I did, and they was dead as old man Keel, stum,,,SHUFFLING, off toward Snapgallow, and I for one ain't following in THEM steps.”
Gimphor thunked his empty clay cup down on the topboard, drawing a stern look from the keep who stood behind it, “nother tatershine here, keep,” Gimphor said sheepishly, it would not be good to break a cup and find himself rousted out the door into the rain, what with stumbling, or shuffling, corpses about.
Gimphor pulled a large, outland silver piece from his pocket, cupped it in his palm, and slid it across to Tab's bony hand unnoticed, instantly returning to the good graces of Tab, the keep. “This be for a room above, if ye have one spare, and as much drink as it will get me til I can catch a van going North.”
Tab quickly slid the outland coin from the topboard and judged its heft, fine silver it were, and near the full width of his palm, certainly worth more than any room in the place and twice the drink this old vanner could drink in a season, or two.
continued
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