Humanity’s entry into the province where Eskemar was founded was dimly remembered. It was known that humans came in waves, first from the north, then the west, and created small settlements in the forbidding forest that held sway in the region at that time, only small remnants of which now dotted the landscape.

  These drifting clans encountered various beings of strange aspect and even stranger powers, and there ensued a prolonged contest for supremacy that persisted for generations, with the requisite reversals of fortune and escalations of butchery. Of the creatures that struggled and strove with Man nothing was recorded, and thus little was remembered except for dark scraps of song composed by bards who habitually used poetic license that blurred the line between the true and the fantastic even more than the murky lens of time. It is known that amongst the mightiest of man’s adversaries were certain trees that thought and acted as one. Initially quiescent, after a time they eventually recoiled in horror at the depredations of these bipedal newcomers, who were not wont to live in harmony with others. Only the druids of the taiga still speak of this conflict with feeling or authority. But the veracity of this is nonetheless supported by the extant remains of these trees, which proved to be almost impervious to decay and possessed of remarkable strength and resilience. Termed “the ironwood”, many of them were used – and subsequently reused - in all manner of construction projects, culminating in the present iteration of Eskemar.

  Thus it was, that some said the City was built on ironwood pilings sunk deep into the loam of the river valley. But in the current reality, it was more accurate to say it was built on debt.

  This debt accumulated like the silt of floodwaters and hardened into chains that bound like the stoutest manacles ever forged by a dwarven smith. And as long as seal or signature was acquired beforehand from the victim (that is to say, “client”), it was all legal and above-board. For consent, however ill-informed, implied full acceptance of consequences.

  Assistant Lender Shadric stifled a grim smile as he brooded on this, which he had done many a time during his tenure at the counting-house. It would be in poor taste to be perceived as frivolous by one of his…clients. At the moment it was a yeoman farmer who had ridden two hours for the appointment, a sober man of some forty years, responsible, stolid, and utterly respectable, yet sadly a bit out of his depth today.

  It was time to educate the man about some of the finer points of the financial world in which he was an unwitting participant.

  The farmer was a little impatient, he probably had other tasks to accomplish in the City today, and so he pressed his case without preamble.

  “So, my family still owes two-score crowns.”

  Shadric did not need to consult the file. He was prepared. “Yes, according to our records that is accurate.”

  The farmer nodded. “As you know, the crops have grown well the last several seasons and fetched a good price on the markets. So, I have managed to save up enough money to pay off the mortgage on the farm and once again own it free and clear.”

  “I’m sorry but paying off and closing this mortgage is not currently an option.”

  The farmer pursed his lips in puzzlement. “How can this be? Will you not accept my money? Or is there some kind of fee for paying the owed balance early?”

  “Simply stated, this institution no longer owns this mortgage. We have sold it to Trading House Argel.“

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  The man grunted. “Well, where are they located? I will give my money to them!”

  “I’m sorry, you can’t do that. Your farm can no longer be differentiated. Or, to be more precise, the mortgage cannot.”

  “What does that mean?”

  The assistant lender sighed and leaned back in his chair and pressed his hands together almost as if he were in prayer. “Your mortgage was sold to someone who purchased a lot of other agricultural mortgages at the same time. These were all bundled together to create a vehicle for investment, then they were split into tranches according to the area of the farm and predominant crop, and these tranches were sold on the market to speculators who think that the income generated by the farms in aggregate will exceed the price they paid, so they can turn around and sell it to someone else for an even greater price and pocket the difference as profit.”

  Somehow this struck the farmer as being faintly ridiculous. “But won’t that price inevitably become GREATER than the income that the land produces?”

  “Well, yes, but no one is exactly sure at what point that will occur… There are targets of course. Which reminds me –“ whereupon the prim, sallow-faced man turned around in his chair and took a ledger down from a shelf.

  “You have been mainly growing grains, yes? Next growing season we think you should grow sugar beets and medicinal herbs. They are cash crops that will bring in more income.”

  The farmer had an incredulous expression on his face. He was not accustomed to such temerity.

  “Wait – if you no longer own my mortgage, how can you hold the authority to tell me what to plant? Why am I even still talking to you?” and with that, the man began to rise to make his leave.

  “Because,“ and Shadric waved one hand to stop him, “we have been hired to act as agents for the investors. Since we represent their financial interests, they have delegated that authority to us.”

  “But sugar beets are risky to grow – they are susceptible to disease, and the herbs are labor-intensive to harvest and need sandier soil than my land has!”

  “Excuses! If you refuse to plant the following crops, then we will find another tenant who will, and you shall be evicted.” And with this, Shadric produced a shortlist of the plants in question which he slid forward for inspection as the farmer sputtered in outrage. “Now, now, arguing is counterproductive…”

  It took another quarter of an hour, but compliance was eventually secured, however grudgingly. As the farmer left the small office livid and dazed at the position in which he now found himself, Shadric motioned for the next client to come through the door.

  This man was seeking to borrow a not-insignificant sum of money for a wedding procession and feast so that he would not be seen as having lesser social status than his neighbors. He was a young man, just starting out, but his bride-to-be had certain expectations. “Why yes,” said Shadric, with an ingratiating smile, “we simply must do our best to see to it that her special day is perfect!”

  To secure the loan the self-conscious lovestruck man committed to signing away a percentage of his future income for a rather extended duration. Shadric made a notation to follow-up with an investigation to confirm all the particulars that the man supplied and to investigate both families to make sure someone was available to stand surety (which was contractually implied, if nowhere explicitly delineated) if he ever happened to suddenly leave the City. A relative would then be forced to pay, or at a pinch serve as a fitting hostage. Recompense would be extracted somehow, that was certain.

  That loan expeditiously concluded, it was time for the next person. Assistant Lender Shadric was having another busy day.

  And similar tales were repeated throughout Eskemar. Dreams were born and nurtured. Desires were encouraged. Aspirations were inflamed. Appearances were preserved regardless of cost. Agreements were drawn up that contained poisoned pills and subtle caveats, ambiguously–worded disclaimers, and convoluted clauses subject to legalistic parsing. Loans were made and credit extended. And not terribly long thereafter the usual calamities transpired, as they were designed to. Homes were lost. Fortunes were divested from the hard-working people that had amassed them. Savings were depleted. Hopes were dashed. More and more, people toiled not to enrich themselves, but to enrich the ones who had title to the fruits of their labors.

  A lurking poisonous undercurrent of desperation, always present in trace amounts, began to spread through Eskemar like a disease, the pitiless mathematics of the financial class slowly but surely tightening its grip over the citizenry like a jungle serpent languidly looping itself about an unsuspecting primate and suffocating it in ever-tightening coils.