Slaver’s Syndicate

Introduction

This group works to obtain (sometimes by directly kidnapping) and sell slaves, both human and non-human. They operate in most of the nations but are banned in some and operate with certain restrictions in some nations. This is the closest thing in the 4th Epoch to the mob.[/p

Syndicate by Nation

• Rowlem - Full Operations
• Curath - Full Operations
• Nashriam - Limited to non-humans
• Caliharah - Banned, though some operations are conducted illegally
• Vas’tek - Technically Full Operations, though not as prevalent due to the climate and culture
• Garshallah - Full Operations, though most operations are informal and are conducted through the Garshallan tribes
• Kende - Non-Existent; not technically banned, though the Alium race’s legal system is fairly unusual; no foothold attempt by the Syndicate has succeeded in Kende
• Alvania - Full Operations
• Karg - Banned
• Polyandrium - Full Operations

Notes:

• The slaver’s syndicate is widespanning, and only banned in Caliharah and Karg, though even in Caliharah slaves still exist.
• Slavery is an inherent party of the world that people live in.
• Like with modern day prisons, most average people believe that while slavery might not necessarily be a good thing, it’s ok because only bad/deserving/criminal people are slaves.
• Most setups in proper cities have a front and back side for glitz and glam or work and drudgery.
• Because wealthy/elite/influential people use the slaver’s syndicate, they are often used for bribes, blackmail, ransoming hostages, etc.
• Slaver’s syndicate can be treated as a “thieve’s guild”, though actual black market dealings happen in a less organized manner more often than being done through the syndicate.
• As a comparison to a real world analogue, in america in 1860, the population was 31,443,321, and the total slave population was 3,953,760. That’s about 12 percent of the total population. Transition that over to the continent for similar numbers, though there might honestly be slightly less depending on how we want to go about it. A large part of the American percentage of slaves were not imported, but were born in the US. For the continent, are there slave populations that reproduce and treated as self contained family units?
• For reference number 2: Scholars estimate about 10% (but possibly up to 20%) of the Roman empire's population were enslaved. This would mean, for an estimated Roman empire population of 50 million (in the first century AD) between five and ten million were enslaved. This number would have been unequally distributed across the empire, with a higher concentration of enslaved people in urban areas and in Italy. Surviving evidence shows that enslaved people had a wide range of occupations. Many carried out hard manual labor under strict supervision, but they could also perform more specialized activities with a higher degree of autonomy. Some were highly autonomous and were even responsible for other enslaved people, known as vicarii.
• Slaves not sold through the Syndicate are considered “illegal”.
• A Syndicate slave is marked with a brand, confirming the “legality” of the bargain, and with high value POIs, it is infused with congruence by a Hex Adept, either mind-altering or similar.
• The slaver’s syndicate often receives a lot of information trade, and are brokers in that regard as well.
• Several congruence items exist to help the slaver’s syndicate, the Wicker being just one example.
• Certain colloquialisms may apply to the syndicate, e.g. calling it the “butcher’s shop” because you’re there to buy meat and so on. However, all locations are still a part of the same overall structure.
• MOST, though not all, locations have access to a resident congruence user.
• The congruence user can be ANY of the position so long as it is not a slave.
• Hierarchy of an individual organization includes one Graf or Master that oversees the operations and effects of their business, Marchers whose sole purpose is guarding the prisoners and overseeing their condition (they feed, clothe if necessary, treat, and break the slaves and are their direct handlers before purchase), Ritters who are slaves with roles inside of the organization that are not for sale, Suzerain’s clerks who steal/swindle/blackmail and otherwise act as the unseen hands of the company, Family titled (such as Mother, Father, etc.) who may or may not be slaves that serve as liasons and faces of the organization, Chattel who are the slaves owned by the organization that do not work for them, and Vindicators who unlike the clerks shadowy methodology, are the obvious up-front meat and muscle of the organization.
• The organization is run by a single person, of unknown identity, who is referred to as the Suzerain. It is believed that they are a congruence user who specializes as an Empath, though their given powers like all else are completely unknown.
• Rarer peoples make for more expensive slaves.

A typical outpost holds at any one time:
1 Graf
1 to 2 Resident Vindicators
1 Resident Suzerain’s clerk
X Chattel
1 Marcher per 3 chattel
1 Family per 5 chattel
1 Ritter per 7 chattel
1 additional Suzerain’s clerk for every 12 non-slave members
1 additional Vindicator for every 6 non-slave members

A Short Story

“Remember to keep your mask on, son. Do not take it off.”

The man who was called my father held my hand as we stepped out the door of his estate. He closed the door behind him, locking it with a strange device that he’d pulled from the depths of his coat pocket. The small machine rotated along a series of pleasingly rhythmic clicks before the lock popped sealed with a hiss. With a gentle squeeze on my palm, he let me know that it was time to get moving. He didn’t say where we were going, nor did I ask. Despite the stern demeanor he showed to the staff, he had a kind voice that seemed to dance around my endless questions with more of his own that he told me to think over. It made my stay in the manor house bearable, though as I had gotten used to the curious and pointed stares of the servants, his smile always managed to find the way to his eyes when looking at me. That warmth managed to last until a few days ago, when without a word to anyone, he had locked himself in his room for an entire day with no food or water before emerging. I had wanted to ask him what the matter was, but when he looked at me after coming out of his room, I felt doing so would be dangerous.

The last few days had been spent in solemn silence and isolation from the world. Servants around the house began talking less, then whispering less, before vanishing from sight altogether. I did not know where they went, but I did not mind that they were no longer in the house. To me it only meant that there were fewer eyes to look me over. Today the man who was called my father had gone outside to talk with someone wearing a cloak that clung to the body like wet rags. As we left the building, we were wearing similar outfits now.

I attempted to match his stride as he traipsed ahead, occasionally pulled along when I got distracted by one of the innumerable sights of the city. I could feel the excitement bubbling inside me, watching as the world around us moved, but when I tried calling out to the man who was called my father, my words stuck to my throat as the image of the last time he looked me in the eyes flashed into my head.

After several minutes of walking in silence, we arrived at what looked like a carnival. Brilliant colors and intricate designs fought with each other for the right to demand my attention. I must have gasped because I felt the man who called himself my father squeeze my hand gently. I looked up but his eyes were focused elsewhere.

“Welcome and joyous tidings! What brings you two to our menagerie today?”

I jumped. The lanky man with a green pinstriped suit and endless ribbons of flowing tassels seemingly appeared from nothing. The question was pointed to the man who called himself my father, but the man in green kept his gaze on me. I tried not to squirm, but the abrasive festive colors felt much more sickly now.

The man who called himself my father scowled, “You know why we’re here Merrik, just take us inside.”

Merrik swished downwards in a deep bent elegant bow. “As you wish. Follow me to Candyland.”

Mesmerizing green waves floated by as the strange man waltzed back and forth, leading the way to a large set of decorative wooden doors plastered on the face of an otherwise innocuous building. With a happy flourish Merrik pushed the doors open for us and we entered the shop.

The bright hues and flashy tones that screamed at my senses outside were dropped for a uniform, almost pastel green, that coated the inside walls and ceiling as far as I could see. Several people sat naked or in light clothes on cushioned chairs, or stood talking to each other with languid expressions on their faces. The walls were lightly carved with intricate swirls and designs, and I felt my gaze drawn all across the room in an unfocused yet entranced way. Across from the entrance were empty doorways leading deeper into the building. As far as I could tell, there was no candy.

A bright chuckle from beside me caught me by surprise, though this time I suppressed the urge to flinch. “It’s a bit of a misnomer really. We’re called Candyland because you can find whatever sweet thing you want.” The man in green leaned down from the waist and smiled. Uncomfortable needles pricked my body as it felt like he was trying to look under my disguise. I fought the unconscious urge to readjust my mask and hood.

“Merrik, that’s enough.” I felt a sharp squeeze on my hand. “I don’t need any of the charades today, you know why I’m here.”

The green suited man slipped upright again, “Oh come on Marcus, your kid’s just curious. What’s the harm in a little show and tell? The kid can stay up here while we have our little chat-”

“Merrik!”

The green clad man threw up his hands in a placating gesture. “Merely a suggestion, but if you wish to not be separated yet then be my guest.”

The man who was called my father stiffened slightly, but Merrik was already walking to the back. We continued to follow behind through the building, past some rather plain corridors, around a dimly lit loading dock, and into a cellar. Inside was a clearly locked door across from the entrance, a table, and four ceramic chairs, all brightly lit by a glowlight that meandered about the ceiling, casting strange shadows across the hard geometry. Merrik sat on the side with the door, and beckoned for the two of us to take our seats. I climbed into mine, and the man who was called my father sat in his, never letting go of my hand as the door shut behind us.

Merrik leaned into his seat looking relaxed as a cat while the air in the cellar room seemed to chill, grinning all the while. “Now onto matters of business. You met with one of our agents yesterday who explained the situation to you, correct?”

The man who was called my father nodded. “They said that you know where my daughter is.” I could feel him shaking. “Did you take her?”

“Marcus, please, do you really think that-”

“Did you take her!”

I squeezed his hand back, his grip was tight to the point of whitening up to his forearm. That gesture seemed to sap the strength out of him, and he shot me a glance before sighing and sagging into the seat.

Merrik’s thin smile never left his lips. “Marcus, who do you think we are? We aren’t the type of people who will steal away a petty smuggler’s daughter in broad daylight. We know how things are supposed to be done. We might deal with matters you find unpleasant but at least we have some principles, which is why when we found out that the Blackwell’s had hired thugs to sell your daughter away illegally, we stepped in to convince them otherwise.”

“The Blackwells…” The man who was called my father paled. “Please tell me that they didn’t harm her.”

Merrik’s smile widened as he leaned back in his chair, though it never reached his eyes. “Yes, she’s perfectly safe. Safer than you are at the moment I’d imagine. With as many enemies as you have made it’s a wonder that you’ve managed to run your smuggling operation so smoothly for so long. It seems like you finally crossed a line with the Blackwells though, they were prepared to do unspeakable things before we stepped in. Now tell me honestly, which slave of theirs did you try to free? Was it the cryptum falling apart at the seams? Was it the cat-eyed boy? Not that it really matters but you can’t blame a fellow for being curious.”

The man who was called my father sat perfectly still. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter any more. Nothing matters except-”

“-Except your daughter. And we are quite happy to return her to you safe and sound.” The green man’s smile dropped. I began to feel nauseous. He might have been looking at the man who was called my father, but I still felt his gaze piercing me. “But there are terms.”

Time passed, “Name them.”

“Let me first explain to you the benefits of this agreement. Your family, including your daughter, will be protected by the Slaver’s Syndicate and all branch offices. If other groups or individuals attempt to harass you, we shall take immediate action and you will have the full weight of our backing and support. I’m sure you already know just how much influence we can pull. You will also still be allowed to attempt to smuggle slaves as you wish so long as it occurs after they have been sold off, and are outside of properties directly managed by us. And you’ll be allowed to buy slaves off of us at a very hefty discount and can skip the front desk auctions entirely.” Merrik paused, as if thinking, “And as a last gift, we’ll even teach you how to remove the brand.”

“And for these considerations, what terms do you demand?” The man who was called my father spoke without inflection.

The man in green stood up from his chair, hands clasped together. “We have heard reports that you recently came into contact with a rather rare specimen. A unique existence that nobody across the continent has ever seen before.” The man who was called my father stared at nothing. “A synthoid that inhabits the body of a child, and is as intricate as the most expensive work of art.” I felt the grip on my hand shift up to my fingers, clasping weakly. “The Blackwells mentioned that you had a daughter, but they never told us anything about any other children.” My vision began to swim, the man who was my father’s hand felt clammy. “Did you adopt this one recently? Well aren’t you just the picture of charity.”

“Merrik.” The man who was called my father looked up into the green man’s eyes. “What would you have me do?”

“You already know don’t you? Why else would you accept our invitation with your precious kid in tow?”

I wanted to leave, but was rooted. The man who was called my father had released my hand, but my legs were frozen. Pulsating waves of green sickness swarmed over my entire being.

Merrik smiled. “Now then. Why don’t we make a trade?”