Age of Worms
Nearly two years ago, unknown assassins poisoned the Duke of Daggerford, Pwyll “Greatshout” Daggerford; his sister, Lady Bronwyn; and his bastard brother, Lord Llewellyn Longhand, leaving the duchy without an heir.
The perpetrator(s) were never caught. Soon thereafter, the Town Council met and elected Lanod Ondabar (Neff) of Irieabor, the little-known brother of the well-respected Delfen “Yellowknife” Ondabar, as governor-mayor.
Rumors suggest that the Town Council settled on Lanod Ondabar as a compromise candidate and lesser evil in lieu of Balabar Smenk.
As governor-mayor, Lanod quickly appointed his old adventuring companion, Cubbin, as sheriff and began selling political favors from the former duke’s castle to the highest bidder. In less than 24 months, the once-proud town of Daggerford has become synonymous with vice and exploitation, to the frustration of Sherlen Spearslayer. Long-established businesses have been sold, their owners forced out by “new investors” allied with Lanod and Cubbin.
Daggerford is a small mining town where desperate folk toil in lightless depths for a pittance while corrupt mine managers live in relative largesse, ruthlessly scheming to undermine one another and protect their piece of the action. Most residents of Daggerford can be categorized into two groups: those with nowhere else to turn and those who have come to exploit them.
A garrison of sixty militia soldiers stands ready to defend the mines from bandits and rogue lizardfolk from the southern swamps. Rival cults share the same flock of potential converts only because the timing is not yet right for outright warfare. They muster their forces for the coming battle. Things are not safe in Daggerford, and a right-thinking person would have every reason to want to get out of town as soon as possible.
All residents of Daggerford share one common goal—escaping to a better life once certain financial obligations have been met.
Daggerford nestles in the rocky crags of the Cairn Hills, three days east of Waterdeep to which it is subject. Iron and silver from Daggerford’s mines fuel the capital’s markets and support its soldiers and nobles with the raw materials necessary for weapons and finery. This trade draws hundreds of skilled and unskilled laborers and artisans, all hoping to strike it rich. In ages past, Daggerford boasted an export more valuable than metal in the form of treasure liberated from the numerous tombs and burial cairns crowding the hills around the town. These remnants of a half-dozen long-dead cultures commanded scandalous prices from Waterdeep elite, whose insatiable covetousness triggered a boom in the local economy. Those days are long gone, though. According to the locals, the last cairn in the region coughed up its treasures decades ago, and few locals pay much mind to stories of yet-undiscovered tombs and unplundered burial cairns. These days, only a handful of treasure seekers visit the town, and few return to Waterdeep with anything more valuable than a wall rubbing or an ancient tool fragment.
In the hills surrounding the town, hundreds of laborers spend weeks at a time underground, breathing recycled air pumped in via systems worth ten times their combined annual salary. The miners are the chattel of Daggerford, its seething, tainted blood. But they are also Daggerford’s foundation, their weekly pay cycling back into the community via a gaggle of gambling dens, bordellos, ale halls, and temples. Because work in the mines is so demanding and dangerous, most folk come to Daggerford because they have nowhere else to turn, seeking an honest trade of hard labor for subsistence-level pay simply because the system has allowed them no other option. Many are foreigners displaced from native lands by war or famine. Work in a Daggerford mine is the last honest step before utter destitution or crimes of desperation. For some, it is the first step in the opposite direction: a careful work assignment to ease the burden on debtor-filled prisons, one last chance to make it in civil society.
Despite its squalor, Daggerford is crucial to Waterdeep’s economy. The city’s directors thus take a keen interest in local affairs, noting the rise and fall of the managers who run Daggerford’s mines in trust for the government. The city’s chief man in the region is Governor-Mayor Lanod Neff), a lecherous philanderer eager to solidify his power and keep the mine managers in line. Neff exerts his capricious will via the agency of the grandiloquent Sheriff Cubbin, a man so renowned for corruption that many citizens assumed the announcement of his commission was a joke until he started arresting people.
The alliance between the governor-mayor and his pocket police might not be enough to cow Daggerford’s powerful mine managers, but Lanod Neff holds a subtle advantage thanks to the presence of his distinguished brother, the scrupulous Allustan, a wizard from Waterdeep who retired to Daggerford five years ago. None dare move against Neff so long as Allustan is around.
Instead of scheming against the government, Daggerford’s six mine managers plot endlessly against one another, desperate to claim a weakened enemy’s assets while at the same time protecting their own. While they are not nobles, the mine managers exist in a strata above normal society. They consider themselves far above their employees, many of whom are indentured or effectively enslaved as part of a criminal sentence. The miners’ loyalty tends to map directly to the working conditions, pay, and respect offered to the miners by their wealthy masters.