Founders of the Delves

Comparatively little is known about the history of the Sarcophan Delves; the people are much more focused on their present and their future than their past.

Introduction

During the Autumn Equinox 385YE, the Minister of Historical Research Vaclav Mladenovich Kosti instructed Marko Siwarsbairn of the Department of Historical Research to look into the founders of the Sarcophan Delves. It involved a trip to the Delves, and numerous meetings with what amounts to the cream of Sarcophan historical scholarship.

First some comments

Even with the assistance of a Bedelaar Huisbaas, it is challenging for this department to conduct research into figures from the distant past of another country on a different continent, months away. Much of the time over the last few months I have spent on this report was actually spent corresponding with my counterparts (such as they are) in the Delves: I only had a few short weeks actually there before I had to return. If I were to make a recommendation it would be that any future historical research of this nature on distant foreign nations will ideally be conducted using multiple seasons of work from researchers: I believe the current situation is not tenable. Or we could pay some of their researchers to declare a report for us; although obviously I have some doubts about their rigor.

Despite this, I, Marko Siwarsbairn, am not new to adventure, nor to rooting around in forgotten tombs for the secrets of the figures of ages past. As such, I am proud to present this report.

The Names of the Founders

Though the founders of the Delves almost certainly had actual personal names once, they are lost to history. What the tales and records of the Beggar-Kings do record, however, are certain sobriquets by which each was known: specifically, each is associated with an animal, in all cases a beast that consumes dead flesh. There are thirteen in all: The Crow, The Hyena, The Pig, The Coyote, The Rat, The Maggot, The Vulture, The Lijkkever ("Corpse-Beetle”), The Jackal, The Raven, The Bear, The Leech, and The Buidelrat (“Pouch-rat”).

Except possibly for the Lijkkever and the Buidelrat, these creatures are apparently all known to some degree in the Empire, albeit not by me personally. That said, some of the imagery associated with these names is a little different to what we envision when Imperials think of them. For example, the Bear of Sarcophan is a smaller, leaner creature than one might chance upon in the forests of Wintermark, Varushka, or Dawn - although no less dangerous. The Pig is perhaps closer in conception to a boar - a cunning, bristly creature with vicious tusks it uses to dig in the mud and defend itself with equal vigor. In each case they are as much symbols of the House that receives their portion of the Tomb Banquet as actual creatures, obviously.

A House is something akin to a League guild or camorra. Not quite a family - they often contain multiple families - yet not truly a company or business venture. Without wishing to prejudice the reader, I would say there is almost something of the Vyig in the complex web of loyalties that form a House. They will normally have multiple lesser houses who assist them in their work, but there is a clear primary House in almost all cases, the holders of a portion of the tomb-banquet, the ancient fortune of the Umshallans which is the foundation of their wealth.

While each House has a certain area of interest for which they are best known, it would be a mistake to assume they are mono-focused. All the great Houses with a seat at the Tomb Banquet are invested in shipping, for example. All of them have their fingers in multiple pies, as a Marcher might say. Yet in each case they have a traditional area of expertise or domination which they jealously guard from their peers. One local wit described their relationships as being like a large unruly family sitting down to eat a meal - fighting over the best cuts of meat and jabbing each other with forks from time to time when a fellow diner tries to steal a morsel from their plate... while themselves always alert for the chance to spear something from their neighbours' platters and gobble it down.

A Singular Lack Of Interest

As I think has been mentioned by previous academics, the history of the Delves and their founders is one they themselves are almost singularly uninterested in. It is simple fact that since the original founding, many exiles and immigrants have made their home in the Tomb-Cities. Even some of the current Bedelaar Huisbaas, though they derive their power from a portion of the “tomb-banquet” of riches claimed by the original founders, are not of the original families that sat at the great table. Rather, some families, as a smaller association, have over time risen up and consumed a greater house (metaphorically speaking, I think, though one can never be entirely sure with the Delves as their sense of humour is notoriously dry). When this happens they add its portion of the tomb-banquet to their own wealth. As such, the idea that they might venerate the founders is a little peculiar to the inhabitants of the Delves: to many, they are simply names that inhabit old tales of little true worth, that have nothing to do with the cutthroat world of survival and the fight to build personal fortunes that typifies their lives.

Nevertheless, I have been able to gather some stories about these founders, and the Houses they represent.

The Crow

The Crow is a figure of terror in some tales told to Sarcophan children, said to have been an individual who killed other humans out of a deep love for the act. The portion of the tomb-banquet they claimed, and that their family still hold, was in the main a collection of weapons of murder — knives, primarily, though not exclusively — ornately inlaid with gold, ivory, ebony, and jewels. The Bedelaar Huisbaas who carry the bounty of the Crow are seldom seen in public without one of these priceless weapons, whose jewels alone are worth more money than I would see in half a decade.

Bedelaar Huisbaas Annike, who serves as the Sarcophan Delves primary ambassador to foreign nations, is the current matriarch of the Crow. The Tower of Crows, which is essentially the "foreign ministry" of the Delves seems to be part of the Tomb Banquet for the House. It's interesting to speculate how a House whose founder is most remembered as a cut-throat ended up representing the Delves to other great nations.

The Hyena

The Hyena’s house claimed precious metals, mainly, of many different types. It is said of the Hyena and their followers that they left no stone faced and no surface gilded when they reached Sarcophan. The city is full of buildings that obviously once had some kind of frontispiece, and is said that in ancient times these were made from the rarest metals - mithril edged with weltsilver and orichalcum being one of the more common types.

“Everyone knows” that the Hyena’s people made a specialty of harvesting these riches, and it is certainly true that the House of the Hyena to this day is the premier dealer in precious metals of all kinds - although not particularly a House of miners. Unsurprising perhaps given that the land around Sarcophan is a great swampy marsh, the kind that both made me nostalgic for Kallavesa, and filled me with trepidation for its sheer size and wildness. Today the House of the Hyena excel at importing and exporting metals from across the Known World, and from the other nations of the southern continent.

The Pig

The Pig was said to have been an enterprising harvester of the riches of the Umshallan city, who looked where others would not. This is a euphemism for the following: a dead city still has its ancient and rotting latrine-pits. While others busied themselves looting the tombs themselves, the Pig led their band to dig through the ancient shit-piles, hunting for treasures. In this way they made themselves rich beyond imagining, and claimed a seat at the table. The original House of the Pig was long-ago supplanted by one of their subsidiaries, who was later supplanted in term: the one that now remains still corners the market in waste disposal and management within the city, and in providing vital materials for working with leather. If you lose a precious item when visiting a communal latrine, the House of the Pig will retrieve it for you: for a price. I talked to a Leaguer familiar with the city who testified to having paid a small fortune for a vital ring to be retrieved from the filth into which it had fallen.

The Coyote

The House of the Coyote deals in silverware and other table-goods. They are responsible for apportioning the monthly feast of the Bedelaars with cutlery, plates, bowls, all such objects, and a failure to do this - because they have pawned or melted down slightly too much of their own portion of the tomb-banquet, for instance - has in the past been grounds for a lesser association to replace the previous House, rising up and taking control. They are for this reason generally regarded as a weaker house, and this extends to tales of their founder, who - predictably - was said to have focused on raiding the dining-halls of the old city, rather than the more lucrative tombs themselves. “To think like the coyote” is a Sarcophan idiom that means something like “to go for the obvious wealth, without thinking about possible greater future returns”.

The Rat

The Rat themselves is, relatively, fondly remembered by the people of the Delves as a benevolent soul who gave deeply of their treasures, not just to their followers but to those that accompanied the great houses in their scavenging, the common-folk. Of course, it was the diminishing of their fortune through this prosperous sharing of the fruits of their labour, carried on by the leaders of the House of the Rat that followed them, that led to their descent from power and influence - and, with the portion of the tomb-banquet diminished, they were not replaced.

The House of the Rat no longer exists, and the remains of its portion of the tomb-banquet was long ago melted down, and now forms the basis of the coinage of the Delves (as, in turn, it was said to be taken in the main from coinage found in the Umshallan tombs). As such, the Rat-Seat is the seat at the monthly banquet apportioned by lottery, whose entry is open to any citizen who holds a single coin.

The Maggot

To a man of the Mark such as myself, I find the idea of anyone celebrating a person called The Maggot quite distasteful, and yet this is exactly what is represented by the House of the Maggot. Their nickname is the House of Second-Pickings, for it is said that their founder, the Maggot, made their wealth by picking over tombs after the other founders had finished their raiding, for fragments of wealth left behind. In this way they amassed a fortune of their own, no less than that of their peers. The House of the Maggot are to this day the premier dealers in pre-owned and pawned goods in the Delves. If someone passes on buying your goods, you can always find a buyer in the Maggot, though perhaps not for the price you were hoping for. The Maggot themselves was said to be “of good humour” - if this is so, it is not true of their inheritors, who humourlessly sold me some new boots at an extortionate mark-up after my previous ones were ruined in a mishap with an unexpectedly deep and noxious puddle.

The Vulture

The House of the Vulture bases its wealth on the soft fineries and tapestries its founder, the Vulture, took from the tombs of the Umshallans. It seems the other raiding-groups that constituted the Sarcophan at this time had little interest in the garment-trade, whereas the Vulture, insightfully, saw that even dull fabrics have a use, and even when the jewels have been removed from a gown, the gown itself may be made of soft, delicate fabrics that with work, cut up and incorporated into other objects, can turn a greater profit than many jewels. Anyone who is anyone in the Delves is likely wearing at least one item sold by the House of the Vulture: to be outfitted in an entire garb composed of their goods is to declare yourself among the truly wealthy.

The Lijkkever

The Lijkkever is a small beetle that buries into the corpses of dead animals and humans, and consumes their flesh from the inside out; I've heard of similar creatures in the Mallum but they seem to be of a different kind to those found in Sarcophan who are treated with a peculiar affection in some quarters. They are seen as industrious, single-minded (in a good way), and with an almost unstoppable will to get what they want - to burrow into corpses. There is a superstition that the spirits of paupers, those too poor to achieve a place in the Houses of Silence, are consumed along with their flesh by the Lijkkever and that they "live on" within the swarm, causing some to treat these disgusting little creatures with a peculiar sort of affection in the poorest parts of the city. The Sarcophan can be a truly odd people.

The Lijkkever themself was a shrewd founder who saw that those who had come to the ancient Umshallan ruins seeking treasure often required assistance with loading, carrying, and all manner of logistical tasks. So it was that they set themselves up as the premier providers of such services, and built their portion of the tomb-banquet from the profits they made. The stevedores of the Sarcophan docks (while they often work for lesser houses and other associations) are almost all ultimately in allegiance to the House of the Lijkkever. (In practice, much of the hard labour is of course done by ongelukkig, but there is still much of the work that must be done by a thinking being.)

The Jackal

The House of the Jackal are, bar none, the masters of the jewel-trade in the Delves, and as you might guess their founder, the Jackal, formed their fortune from the efficient valuation of the jewels of the Umshallan bounty. It is not that they took every jewel - in no case was a House’s tomb-bounty exclusively any one thing, whatever they are most known for - but it was said of the Jackal that they could identify the value of a jewel intuitively, simply by feeling its weight and glancing at it. Any flaws and imperfections were clear to them, with no further examination required. This is a fanciful tale, but it is true that the House is said to possess secrets of jewel appraisal none other possess, and were one wanting to evaluate the worth of a precious stone of any kind, there are perhaps none better qualified.

They have survived multiple attempts to supplant them, over the years - each time, they have fought off hostile takeovers and are said to have been stronger for it. The good sense and strong character of the original Jackal is one of the founder’s tales that is more widely known amongst the general citizenry - to call someone a “jakhal”, the Sarcophan word, is a term of endearment. The closest approximation into Imperial I can find is “cheeky fucker”, though I fear this does not do it justice.

The Bear

The House of the Bear are famous for - in contrast to many of the other houses - not having a particular niche that they made their own. Instead, by force of arms they took a great portion of riches from across the city, into every tomb: the Bear and their forces, probably something approximating an actual army in Imperial terms, preferred to act first, with swiftness and strength, and take what was easiest to gather. This emphasis on martial strength did not endear them to the other Houses, and they were the first of the original Houses to be supplanted by a lesser rival, before even the Bear themselves had been dead half a decade. This lesser rival — who of course is nowadays the contemporary House of the Bear — was tacitly supported by the other houses in this matter, with the implicit deal being that they could keep their new strength… as long as they didn’t throw it around. Since that time, the House of the Bear has kept the peace amongst the houses: when the Bloedzuigers need to hire muscle to enforce the traditions of the city, which is rare, they will often turn to the House of the Bear.

The Leech

The Sarcophan word for Leech, Bloedzuiger, is associated with what suffices for their priesthood: if there are any remnants of the “true” House of the Leech, it must lie within their ranks, but they care little to talk to outsiders about their role upholding the city’s traditions. The monthly auction to the empty seat of the Leech is administered by the bloedzuigers, of course. There was an original Leech, but again I can find nobody willing to talk to me of them: indeed, trying to broach the subject at all hushed many contacts who had otherwise been quite forthcoming with tales. I gather they lived and died, but all else is the subject of social taboo.

The Buidelrat

A pouch-rat is an animal found in Sarcophan, which is quite peculiar to my eyes. They are around the size of a house cat, and have a pouch in which they carry their litters of young, until they are too large to do so, in which case they carry them upon their back. It is not uncommon, on the streets of Sarcophan, to see wild pouch-rats, bearing their litters on their back, skitting from place to place. They love to eat the contents of waste bins, especially scraps of food, and so they especially thrive around the banquet-halls of the city. The House of the Pouch-Rat themselves are dealers in drugs, herbals, preparations of all kinds, and the original Pouch-Rat was something similar. They took from the Umshallan tombs their ancient preparations, and extended their already fairly developed alchemical understanding. It’s rare that a narcotic comes from the Delves without having been in the hands (or perhaps “paws”) of someone who works for the House of the Pouch-Rat or a subsidiary guild.

The Raven

I have saved the House of the Raven for last, for theirs is the seat of death, famously left empty at the tables of the Bedelaar Huisbaas. I recount their tale as it was told to me.

The bounty of the tombs belonging to the Raven was the bodies of the Umshallans themselves, from which they performed zielweven, soul-weaving, creating the first ongelukkig, the animated corpses that form the backbone even now of the Sarcophan labour force. It is said that they raised enough corpses from the Umshallans that it formed at least two armies on their own, and much of the hard labour of the tomb-picking, conducted by the other houses, was done by the Raven’s forces. Even the army of the Bear could not stand against them. The Raven was, in Imperial parlance, clearly an exceptional magician, yet they were also possessed of what I do not hesitate to call great Ambition. Unlike the other founders, their fellows who they had led to the ancient city at the mouth of the river, they were not content to remain.

The Sarcophan people, before they came to the rivermouth, were itinerant raiders, and the Raven advocated that they return to this way of being (after a period of some decades where the founders had had time to get used to the comforts of city living, and settled life). They had a vision of sweeping across the continent, raising armies of the dead as they went, an unstoppable juggernaut that would take all the wealth there was in the whole world, perhaps, and make it their own - the Great Houses at the head. Monstrous? Yes. A terrifying thought. Yet one cannot deny its ambition.

Thankfully, we do not live in the world where this came to pass. At one of the great banquets - already a Sarcophan tradition - one month after the Raven had presented this plan to their fellows, their plans were comprehensively, and sharply, rejected. Seeing no alternative, a night of knives began - armed by the Crow and backed by the Bear, naturally - the Raven, and their living supporters, were slaughtered. Directionless, their ongelukkig began to slowly decay, no longer a palpable threat. Yet, of course, they were still needed as a labour force. There were still some members of the House of the Raven who had sided with the other houses, generally those less learned in the arts of the zielenwever: but they knew enough to arrest the damage. They were permitted to form their own guilds, which still exist to this day under a variety of names; the guilds of the zielenwever, and the other magician-guilds of the Delves, are certainly learned and powerful. The Great Houses make sure, however, that they are not too powerful: and, in any case, the modern art of the zielenwever is closer to that of the Urizeni ushabti, with little practical use for war.

Of the Raven themselves, it is said that the other founders mourned their fellow, who they had loved even as they could not bear what they had proposed. So it was that, as a mark of respect to their fallen comrade, they carefully prepared and ate their corpse, and prepared for them a well-apportioned tomb, so that they might at least fulfil their ambitions of great wealth in the houses of silence. To invoke the Raven to this day is to invoke death itself - yet I did find Sarcophani happy to tell me this story. It is no secret shame to them: the most ambitious of their founders, the one closest to what we might recognise as a virtuous leader: yes, they killed and ate him, for they are content with what they have, and the lives they lead.

Interestingly, there is some disagreement among the Sacrophan scholars I spoke with about the exact events of the Raven's fall. Not the long-knives and treachery, but the nature of what exactly it was the House raised from the charnel houses of the Delves. While the common tale is that the Raven used zielweven on the preserved bodies of the long dead, that theory is not universally accepted. My contacts refused to go into detail, but they staunchly believe it impossible that the armies of labourers were ongelukkig. Rather they maintain that it was "simple" Winter magic, used to raise possessing spirits that motivated the dead to move and serve the Raven' agenda. Something more akin to the horror that is Quickening Cold Meat than the precise and chilly, apparently herb-based, transformation of the recently dead into the ongelukkig. Especially given that the ongelukkig apparently make terrible warriors. Most Sarcophan would laugh at the idea that one could conquer anything with these slow moving, slow-witted creatures.

Likely we will never know; but I think the important element of this tale is not the provenance of the Raven's armies but the response of the progenitors of the nation. When faced with the opportunity to conquer by force of arms, they rejected it comprehensively.

Conclusion

I will leave it to those that receive this report to decide the virtue of those described within it. For my part I have had my fill of the Delves, and long to see the fair lands of the Mark once again. It is hot, and sickly - the river is not good for one’s health - and I can see why so many of the folk that prosper here enjoy the constitution and fortitude offered by the marks of Winter and Spring.