The Duke and the Devils

Across the northern realms of Tarusia it has been widely believed that the Duke of Morton is in league with the devils. Over the centuries the details of this league have changed according to the whims of the time, the personality of the duke of the day and the political position - but the common factor is that there is devilry afoot in Morton and that it protects the town.

Historical Basis

This old wives' tale originates in the long standing relationship between the Duke and the Drakiss descended from Jorrath's Crew. Although playing an important part in the water supply and sanitation systems of the town, the drakiss have always maintained a low profile and knowledge of them is limited to the Gongsters, the Duke and some of his senior staff. The wider population of Morton have somen vestigial awareness of this but few have seen the drakiss. Their experience is that whatever lurks beneath the town is beneficial and not to be interfered with and though they play up to the story by referring to the devils they make the distinction between their devils and the ordinary, diabolical, kind.

The tale keeps its currency through two specific factors - firstly the folk fear of the humans of Tarusia, brought by their ancestors from Marivar and as exemplified by tales of Pshoo and similar and secondly specific historical examples implying subterranean power in the hands of the duchy (for example some of the deeds known, to the educated few, as the work of The Third Sanitary Section) during the curse of the Duchy's expansion. Within the Duchy itself a third factor prolongs the tale - every yokel and bumpkin likes to look down on and question the decency, humanity and so on of those who dwell in their capital.

I tell you, when I was up at Morton few years back, I dumped a load of waste in the storm drain. The following morning - there it was piled up at the front door. Well I didn't want the boss to wake up to that so I went to put it back in the drain but when I opened the grating I saw this thing looking back at me. Small, head like a dragon and covered in gore - it were one o'they devils granny warned me about. I were out o' Morton within the hour and ain't never been back since.

— Arno Hallick, Journeyman Butcher of Durranmouth.