Bosco Smokey visits Squatters' Corners

July 27th,  Ardean Year 1420

I decided to take a cart full of cheap cigars that I couldn't sell in the Kingdom across the border into the Badlands.  I've heard that there's a decent sized settlement at Squatters' Corners, and it's closer than Bosco Crossings.  The biggest advantage is that one can reach Squatters' Corners in one day's travel from the southern border, so you don't have to spend the night outdoors in monster country.

You smell Squatters' Corners before you see it.  It smells strongly of animals and garbage.   The village is surrounded by a dirt rampart 30 feet wide and 20 feet high, with a 15 foot ditch around the outside.  The top of the rampart is thickly planted with tall thorn bushes, and I've heard tell that there are wooden and metal spikes hidden among the thorns.  There are 2 gates, one west one south.  Next to each gate is a wooden watch tower.  Above the gate is the town motto inscribed on a wooden plank.  It says "Mind your own business."

Inside the rampart there are no regular streets, instead there is a random scattering of wooden sheds, log cabins, plank-built houses, and even a few houses made of bricks salvaged from old villas from Ardean days.  There aren't really any business establishments in the village.  Most of the squatters farm small plots within a mile or two of the town, mostly root vegetables like turnips, since they aren't easily destroyed by passing monsters.  However, the chief pasttime of the people is "making a deal."  There are no taverns, but dozens of the squatters brew beer or ale in their houses and sell it to anyone who asks.  There are no tailors, but most of the women spend time sewing and repairing clothes.   A certain portion of the population are hunters, the wild pig population in the area being quite high.  Also, a certain portion of the people are pickers, scavaging the Ardean ruins in the area, or they are bandits sneaking across the border (of course some of the pickers and bandits are the same folk). 

There's a big open square in the center of the village, which acts as a public market every 7th, 14th, 21st, and 28th of the month.   People come with excess goods and sell or swap.  I managed to unload my rancid cigars, mostly by swapping then for boar hides, which I sold at a decent profit in Portchester. 

There are no public buildings.  There's no courthouse, jail, arsenal or any such thing.  If there's a dispute a mob is summoned up and the complainers shout out their cases.  Whichever side gets the loudest shouts by the crowd is deemed the winner and must give way or get out of town.   Everyone in town is expected to do 1 day of gate-duty per month or else he gets pelted by dung by his neighbors.  Folks told me that occasionally a thug tries to set himself up as boss, but there is an immediate violent reaction to the attempt.  Each of the last 3 local bandits who tried to take over the town were killed by a local resident called Iron Frank, who otherwise keeps to himself.

There was no church until this month, when one cabin was purchased by an out-of-towner and a missionary curate was installed.  The people expected him to be preaching up a storm, but he seems to spend most of his time sitting by himself in the cabin drinking corn liquor.

There are a number of colorful characters in town, one calls himself Taglac, and is a big, ugly fellow (he might be a half-orc, but might just be ugly).  He has an exceptionally hairy body and goes around wearing a cloak that is covered by small bells.  This has led to the locals calling him 'Tinkerbell" behind his back.  He recently hired a large gang of squatters to build him an underground chamber outside the town.   He might have wanted it to be a secret, but there were 30-40 guys engaged in the digging, so everyone knows it's there.

Another notable resident is Granny Crawford, the town busy-body.  It's rumored that in her youth she got herself into serious legal trouble in Portchester and is outlawed, but no one has any details.  Now, she is famous for gossip and an extremely palatable turnip mush.

I doubt I'd make this place a regular stop on my rounds, but it's okay if you have stuff you want to dump in exchange for hides or Ardean bricks.   On the other hand, it's a lot more open and far less oppressive than trying to do business in Bastardville, where the "Bees" take a cut of everything and bully you the whole time.

Your pal,
Bosco Smokey