Town

A country town, progressing from its core village towards the accumulation of larger, abutting structures; soon after will come the need for security and a town wall

Towns are the natural evolution of settlements and villages, growing outward and clustering together as necessity dictates. At first, these clusters form for protection, a response to the dangers of the open land, where an isolated village or farmstead is vulnerable to raiders, wild beasts, and the lawlessness that lurks beyond civilization. Over time, as the numbers swell and the people harden their resolve, fortifications rise, marking the town’s first true transformation—from a loosely gathered habitation into a place of permanent security, where wooden palisades or stone walls provide a sense of refuge against the chaos outside.

With this security comes economic ambition. Once safety is assured, trade expands, and wealth accumulates. The marketplace grows busier, drawing people from the surrounding countryside, and as goods flow in from caravans and ships, new industries emerge. Unlike in the village, where every day is dictated by the cycles of the seasons, life in the town has its own pulse. The land no longer rules those who dwell here; instead, the people of the town remake the land’s bounty into something new. This is where craftsmen work with materials hauled from distant quarries and mines, where merchants set up stalls and shops, where the first traces of a regulated economy take root.

Townspeople experience a life separate from the soil, a world where shelter is permanent, where faith and governance stand as pillars of continuity, and where coin replaces barter in the rhythm of daily exchange. The coming and going of strangers, the endless hubbub of the market, and the constant pursuit of comfort, art, and knowledge set the town apart from the village, where every sunrise brings monotony rather than opportunity. In the town, change is expected. News travels faster, bringing rumors of war, politics, and far-off lands. The roads that lead in and out are busier, marking the town as a point on the growing web of trade, a stepping stone between the great cities and the rural lands that still cling to the past.

Yet a town is not a city. Its ambitions are still rooted in commerce, in the exchange of goods rather than the abstract pursuits of wealth that define true urban centers. The market is its heartbeat, the granaries and warehouses its organs, but true industry and cultural enlightenment remain beyond its reach. A town is a place of business, storage, and transit, but it does not yet concern itself with finance, heritage, or learning. Unlike the city, which builds for the sake of posterity, the town builds for immediacy—it is concerned with securing trade, taxation, and daily survival, not yet with wisdom, refinement, or grandeur.

The Growth of Towns

Up until the Norse invasions, the monastery was the most reliable haven in an unsettled world. Villagers lived in its shadow, relying on charity and protection, while the monks controlled communication between regional lords, carried news from distant lands, and provided small markets for the sale of surplus grain and livestock. Within their walls, bookbinding, glassmaking, and artistry flourished—skills that rarely spread to the peasantry, who remained isolated from monastic life and its innovations.

The rise of markets changed this balance. Markets, at first tied to monasteries and feudal lords, grew into self-sustaining hubs of commerce, where traders congregated, goods were exchanged, and coinage began to displace barter. Those with market privileges, often granted by ecclesiastical authorities or noble patrons, became gatekeepers of trade, able to mint money and levy taxes on those who sought to sell within their domains. Villages that possessed a "market cross"—a designated meeting ground for commerce—became magnets for trade, drawing itinerant merchants, craftsmen, and laborers. Over time, these market villages absorbed outlying hamlets, becoming the nuclei of the first true towns.

As trade intensified, walls were raised to secure these burgeoning centers, enclosing homes, orchards, vineyards and water sources from the uncertainties of the countryside. In these walled towns, producers formed the overwhelming majority, making up nearly 80% of the population. The remainder consisted of those who owned land or buildings, taking cash rent from the working class in exchange for property rights. By the 14th century, with rare exceptions, the monastic hold over urban life had waned, giving way to feudal lords and noble patrons, who saw in towns a means to raise taxes for equipping armies and outfitting fleets. The town, once a mere outgrowth of monastic charity and feudal oversight, had become a distinct economic and political force, bridging the divide between rural dependency and true urban civilisation.

Conducting the Town Game

Approaching the town, the players are met with the first signs of commerce and industry long before they reach the walls. Outside, imported goods are stacked in open-air depots, waiting for purchase or processing. Wooden pens hold livestock, while carts and wagons, unhitched and unloaded, stand in neat rows, their drivers bargaining or awaiting inspection. The goods here are largely durable materials—lumber, stone, thatch, gravel, ore, manure — anything that can withstand exposure to the elements without need for shelter.

On either side of the bustling road, a roadhouse sprawls, each a low, broad tavern and inn, well-worn by travelers who linger before venturing into town. These establishments serve those who lack the coin or cause to lodge within the walls, providing food, drink, and news of the surrounding region to those passing through.

The town gate stands open, welcoming but guarded, with a nominal entry fee — just one or two copper pieces — low enough to encourage peasants and peddlers to bring their raw materials inside. Despite this, the number of daily entrants is relatively small, perhaps fifty or sixty in a day. The town is large enough to support commerce but not so vast that unwanted elements can lurk undetected. At night, those without shelter or purpose are dealt with swiftly; the brute squads of the town watch roam the streets, beating and expelling the destitute and unruly, ensuring that lawlessness does not take hold within the walls.

Inside, the town’s accommodations are limited. There may be only one inn, catering exclusively to merchants and dignitaries, and its prices are steep—far higher than those of the roadhouses outside the walls. Lodging within the town is not meant for casual travelers but for those with serious business and wealth. Crime is rare, not due to a lack of vice or conflict, but because money flows steadily into the hands of those who govern. The town is constantly expanding, with burnt-out buildings swiftly cleared and new construction rising everywhere. What violence occurs is political rather than random—grudges among rival factions, not lawless chaos. Vice is regulated, taxed, and confined, assigned to specific lanes and quarters, ensuring that it serves the town’s economy rather than disrupting it.

The people of the town are friendly and accommodating, especially when there is coin to be made. A stranger with money and purpose will find welcoming hands and eager vendors. But as twilight falls, they will be warned—those who have no business here should leave before dark. The town is safe for those who belong — for those who can pay—but for drifters, outsiders, and the unwelcome, nightfall is best met outside the walls. Those who settle with wealth will find an easy place in the town’s structure, but those without means will find themselves quickly discarded.

Adventuring in Towns

These campaign events do not follow the typical tropes of rescuing farmers or chasing down raiding parties in the countryside. The town’s inhabitants do not concern themselves with bandits, as they themselves do not transport goods. Caravans and merchant fleets belong to others—middlemen, haulers, and foreign agents—who take the risks, bribe the guards, and suffer the losses. The townspeople only buy and sell, watching the shifting tide of commerce without investing in the dangers that surround it. Infestations of monsters in the hills, raiders who terrorize distant villages, the struggles of peasants and travelers—these things exist outside the walls and are therefore not their concern.

What is their concern is the steady flow of raw goods, and they will pay well for whatever is brought to them. If a caravan arrives intact, if a ship unloads its cargo at the docks, the merchants will readily buy it up—and whatever they cannot use, they will sell elsewhere for a profit. To them, it does not matter where the goods came from, nor what dangers had to be braved to obtain them. If precious metals, rare spices, gemstones, exotic silks, incense, or luxury goods are secured, the traders will pay handsomely for them. In many cases, they will directly commission adventurers to acquire such items, even going so far as to provide maps and detailed routes to sources of unmined gold, abandoned vaults, or hidden caches of lost treasure, stretching across continents and oceans.

If the party secures a route to deliver these goods reliably, so much the better—but that is their problem, not the merchants’. They will turn a blind eye to how it was acquired. If smuggling across borders is necessary, if bribes must be paid to avoid tariffs, if a rival merchant faction must be eliminated to secure the shipment, so be it. The risk belongs to the adventurers, while the profit belongs to those with the money to buy and resell.

But wealth is not merely earned through trade—it can be stolen, and the merchants are not above funding the thieves who can make that happen. A powerful merchant may hire a party to sabotage a rival, particularly in another city. They may finance raids on caravans, place bounties on ships, or pay burglars to ransack a competitor’s warehouse. With the right introduction and a demonstration of loyalty and skill, an adventuring party may rise in favor, eventually securing ships, soldiers, and resources for something far greater—an outright private war against an enemy trading faction.

This is how cities are plundered. This is how fortunes are made overnight. This is how Constantinople fell. A merchant prince will not hesitate to outfit an expedition if the profit justifies the risk. The party could find themselves at the head of a fleet, an army, a ruthless syndicate, backed by the wealth of men who care nothing for morality—only outcomes. They will ask no questions about the throats that need cutting—as long as those throats belong to outsiders.

Demographics

Villages: Any settlement with fewer than 1,000 inhabitants is considered a village, regardless of whether it has a market or lies on a trade route. Settlements with fewer than 2,500 inhabitants that are not on a trade route should also be treated as villages, as they tend to be focused on agriculture or gathering raw resources. Similarly, settlements with fewer than 7,000 inhabitants that are located more than 5 hexes from the nearest trade route or border should also be classified as sprawling villages.

Towns: Settlements with 1,000 to 2,500 inhabitants that have a market or are situated on a trade route are considered towns. Settlements with 2,501 to 7,000 inhabitants that are not on a trade route or a market, but are within 5 hexes of a trade route or border, should also be classified as towns. Any settlement with 7,001 to 12,000 inhabitants that is neither a market nor located on a trade route is still considered a town.

Cities: Settlements with more than 5,000 inhabitants that are a market or located on a trade route are considered cities. Settlements with more than 12,000 inhabitants, regardless of their location, are always considered cities.

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