Merchants & Tradesmen: Whispers in Every Coin Purse
Not all power in Ravenbreath is carried on blades. Some slips between ledgers, smiles, and silk-gloved hands. The merchants and tradesmen are the lifeblood of every village, city, and caravan trail—carrying goods, rumors, favors, and sometimes vengeance. Beneath their cheerful greetings lie sharp instincts and sharper deals. From spice-sellers with poison in their pockets to courtesans who collect secrets like perfume bottles, these figures shape the realm more subtly—and more thoroughly—than kings.
They owe no banners and bear no crests, but their reach is long. A baker may carry word of rebellion folded in his crusts. A jeweler may forge more than rings. And a traveling woman with a smile like firelight might know who’s lying before they speak.
He leans forward, voice lowered. "That dagger? Took it off a bandit who thought me an easy mark. Poor lad never expected a merchant with bite." He chuckles, tossing the blade in the air, catching it without flinching. "Now—how much is survival worth to you today?"
She popped the cork with her teeth and took a swig before offering the bottle.
"Mead’s a little flat," she said, licking foam from her lip, "but it pairs well with fire-roasted flatstone pie and reckless decisions."
Her eyes sparkled as she nudged a bubbling vial toward you. "Try this. Won’t kill you. Probably. If it does—dibs on your boots."
She leaned across the table, cleavage framed like bait, voice a velvet drawl. "Information’s like silk, sweetheart—meant to be stroked, not yanked." She plucked a gold coin from your fingers without asking, twirling it between painted nails. "Ask the right question, I’ll give you a moan."
"Ask the wrong one…" Her smile sharpened. "And I’ll still make you beg."
They don’t carry swords. They carry favors—sharper, quieter, deadlier.
