FENMARROW — THE FLOATING MARKET
Alias: The City on Chains
Continent: Eastern Thorgun
Facing: The Chimera Sea (eastward toward Canava and Port Chimera)
Neighbors:
North — Grumbleholt (Troll fortress)
South — Virelin’s Rest (Elven ruins, scholars, and thieves)
West — The inland Heartroot wilderness
Overview
Fenmarrow is the swamp-port heart of Thorgun, half afloat and half anchored in the murky shallows of its eastern coast. The entire city sways with the tide — not enough to spill your drink, just enough to make you feel like the world’s still breathing.
It is a place of traders, gamblers, ferrymen, and philosophers; a town where honesty and mischief live side by side, and kindness often takes the shape of a well-timed joke.
Silverwake once docked its warships here, Port Chimera still collects its “protection taxes,” and Harlequin Vale’s performers still fill its taverns with laughter. Yet through it all, Fenmarrow remains itself — muddy, musical, and impossible to conquer.
Geography
Fenmarrow sprawls along the eastern cliffs of Thorgun, its raft-districts chained to the mainland by massive iron moorings left behind from the Silverwake crusades of the Heartroot Wars.
When the tide rises, the whole city creaks — a chorus of timber, rope, and old metal that locals call “the Fenmarrow hymn.”
Narrow bridges connect the floating market platforms to the cliffside neighborhoods above. Lanterns hang from poles and driftwood masts, painting the mist in rippling gold.
Population
Fenmarrow is Aescharion’s most mixed city — human, troll, dwarf, elf, gnome, goblin, elemental, and countless others.
Here, heritage is trivia. A person’s worth is measured in what they bring to the table, not who their ancestors prayed to.
Locals like to say, “Everyone floats different, but we all rise on the same tide.”
Culture
The people of Fenmarrow are honest tricksters — fond of wit, wary of cruelty. They haggle for sport and bet on everything, from ferry races to weather patterns.
Performers from Harlequin Vale are regular guests, turning docks into stages and bars into theaters.
Despite the chaos, there’s a sense of neighborly order: disputes end with laughter, drinks, or a push into the water — in that order.
Politics
Fenmarrow is nominally ruled by a Dock Council, though decisions are mostly made in public arguments shouted across the Spill Market.
Power here is a triangle balanced on rotten planks:
Silverwake maintains a small garrison and tax post, officially protecting the city but resented for overreach.
Port Chimera demands “protection fees,” a euphemism for tribute that Silverwake condemns but rarely stops.
Harlequin Vale provides cultural goodwill — the comedians who make both sides too busy laughing to draw swords.
Locals prefer bribes to battles, but they can fight when pushed. The mud itself remembers war.
Faith
Most citizens follow the Rational Coin denomination of Serendahl’s faith, worshiping chance, trusting the symmetry of cause and effect.
To them, luck is a miracle.
Temples double as guild halls where merchants debate the “Mathematics of Mercy” and dice tables share space with ledgers.
Others lean toward naturalist atheism, believing the swamp itself has its own quiet rhythm that even gods can’t predict.
Sanctifiers still preach restraint from their old war-chapel on the cliff, but few still listen — except when it rains.
Economy
Exports: smoked fish, rope, timber, oils, and ship salvage
Imports: fabric, iron, stories, and ale
Fenmarrow lives by its trade, ferrying goods between Thorgun and Canava.
Pirates from Port Chimera stop here for refit and rest, paying their “taxes” with gold and gossip.
Merchants from Silverwake unload supplies, and troupes from Harlequin Vale pass through performing to pay their passage.
No one grows rich, but everyone eats.
Atmosphere
Rain on tin roofs. Lanterns reflected in swamp water.
Laughter spilling out of taverns that double as counting houses.
A sense that if you fall in, a stranger will pull you out — then charge you for the towel.
Fenmarrow is the sound of the world refusing to drown.
Landmarks
The Chainhouse: The rusted anchor-platform turned council hall; half pub, half parliament.
The Spill Market: Floating maze of barges where each stall shifts daily; a living map of chance and commerce.
The Iron Steps: The old Silverwake staircase carved into the cliff; connects the upper ward to the rafts below.
The Rusted Chapel: Once a Sanctifier fortress, now a boarding house run by aging soldiers who’ve forgotten who won the war.
The Dockside Stage: Harlequin Vale’s satellite venue — the boards creak, the crowds roar, and no one ever charges admission.
Reputation
In Canava: “A moral swamp, but at least it keeps to itself.”
In Port Chimera: “Honest fools, but they pay on time.”
In Harlequin Vale: “Our rowdiest audience and our best drinking partners.”
In Thorgun: “The only port where no one tells you what to believe.”