Cormyrean naming and trading laws

Cormyr’s naming laws and fair trade regula¬tions are typical of those that have developed in other well-governed lands and settlements in the Realms.

No Royal Names Allowed

The kingdom’s laws about naming date back to about ten years before the death of King Azoun IV, when Vangerdahast and Alaphondar had an idle month and agreed on some things. One of them was a Crown law banning businesses of all sorts (including inns, taverns, and private clubs) from using royal names, royal nicknames, and royal heraldry, as well as preventing them from “decrying the Crown.” This means you can’t name your tavern Azoun’s Codpiece or Duar’s Head or the Steel Regent’s Backrest. Local Purple Dragons would be offended and might wreck such an establish¬ment even if there was no law. Those soldiers have a fierce loyalty to their “companions in harness” (comrades in arms) and the Obarskyrs who lead them, and so veteran Purple Dragons tend to tal a very dim view of anything that pokes fun at th Crown. Such an act of naming would also be seen as tempting misfortune, and as such many poten¬tial customers would avoid the place as well. Of course, sometimes undercover “drinking clubs” in Marsember are given names that are a mockery of the Crown—but never real, taxable businesses.
In memory, Azoun IV is revered and jovially celebrated in taverns everywhere as “our stal¬lion.” However, honoring him takes the form of remembrance festivals on the date of his birth¬day, and the naming of meals or ales as “Azoun’s Preferred” or “Azoun’s Chosen” (claims that everyone smiles at and does nothing to refute, in¬cluding Crown agents), rather than buildings and businesses that are named after him. Court offi¬cials had to be quite firm in the recent case of the “A King To Swoon For” club. Lauding royalty, rather than mocking the Crown, does not earn an exception to the law.
The law also prevents directly naming any business after a particular battle (even a victory), or any noble, noble family, local lord, or specific heraldic blazon. You could, for instance, dub your tavern “the Rearing Stag” even though certain arms use a rearing stag as a device. You could not, on the other hand, duplicate the depiction of the rearing stag that appears in the Staghunt noble family blazon, nor adopt the heraldic description of that stag: “a full-antlered scarlet stag rampant to the dexter, its silver rack entwined with the branches of an oak tree.” There’s no rule against a business using the name of a Cormyrean naval ship, because a few unintentional duplications ex¬isted when Vangey and Alaphondar were drafting the law—and because neither of them considered that anyone would ever confuse a ship with a business or a building ashore.
The names of mythical nobles—so long as they can’t be mistaken for members of a real noble family—can serve as the names of establishments, so “the Drunken Lord” or “Old Lord Roaring- sides” is all right, but “Old Lord Roaringsides” would not be allowed in combination with a de¬piction, badge, or anything else (such as the black stallions famously bred by the Roaringhorn fam¬ily) that would make a traveler think there was an association with the Roaringhorns. Cormyr, like every other long-settled place, has several folk equivalents to the real-world Baron Munchausen, Casanova, and Squire Allworthy. Nobles detest being linked to these names, since they have long been evoked to comment on (and usually mock) nobility of the day.
The best known is the aforementioned Old Lord Roaringsides, a hunting, brawling, tirelessly enduring lover of every woman within reach, who is said to eat like sixteen men at a feast, belch loud enough to knock nearby folk over, and so on.
Another is Lady Doom, an icily sneering haunt of a gowned, gliding woman who sails through walls and locked doors without hindrance, says nothing to most but whispers of doom to a few, and whose appearance presages misfortune or death.
The third most popular is Lord “Firetongue” Haubrynton, based on a non-noble knight of another name who fought alongside King Duar long ago. The Lord Firetongue of the folktales is a solemn, dignified noble of senior years who has fits in which he swears like a sailor, punches objectionable people, chases maids, plays pranks . . . and then reverts, apparently having forgot¬ten everything he’s done. The real knight differs from the folk version in that he apparently had no remembrance, whereas the fictional Lord Fire¬tongue is always depicted as slyly winking when he claims to have no knowledge of his wild deeds.

Using Pla ce Names

You can name your tavern, inn, or stables (but not any other kind of business) directly after the place it is located in. For instance, “the Arms of Arabel” and “the Pride of Arabel” are legal names for taverns or inns, but not for armorers, weapons shops, bakeries or garment shops. A tailor can’t do business as “the Flashing Needle of Arabel,” even if that nickname has been bestowed by his or her customers. The laws prohibit duplication of, or even simi¬larity to, an existing name. Crown agents (the same guys who show up to collect taxes) will force a name change on “the second business in” if, in their sole opinion, confusion could arise (for one thing, they never want the tax rolls to get con¬fused). So if “the Pride of Arabel” is flourishing, you can’t legally open “the Promenade of Arabel,” because the two businesses might get confused by a wayfarer from afar unfamiliar with the city (or so a past Crown agent ruled), but “the Delight of Arabel” or “the Heart of Arabel” would be fine.
No business can name itself after a place it isn’t located in (for example, no inn in Espar call¬ing itself “High Horn Rest”). There are a few old businesses that break this rule, and the right to go on breaking it can be bought and sold, but the number of such exceptions never increases. For example, there’s a centuries-old inn called Wyvernwater Inn that was originally known as the Wyvernwater Way Inn because it was on the road to Wyvernwater, half a day north of that place. The name shrank over the years, but the inn itself has survived in steady operation, dating to before the naming rules were tightened—so it can continue to exist. However, if its keeper sells it to someone who goes on operating it under the same name, that seller can’t open a new inn outside Wyvernwater called the Old Wyvernwa¬ter House. Similarly, if the inn called Wheloon House (located well outside walled Wheloon) ever burns down, it can be rebuilt, but it can’t be expanded to two outside-Wheloon locations, Old Wheloon House and Wheloon Castle (unless those locations lack “Wheloon” in their names). Many elder businesses sport discreet “banner boards” under their main signboards, to inform all that this establishment was formerly known by a famous or infamous, but now banned, name.
Inns, public stables, and taverns are required by law to have clearly visible signs that thrust out into the street. These signs must be lit by lanterns or some other means, such as magic, so as to be readable by night, except during instances when local authorities specifically decree otherwise, such as during a war.
Other kinds of businesses might choose to have such signs, or might be governed by local guild rules or trade agreements in their signage. Almost all businesses do have signs, though not all businesses use out-thrust signboards. Some businesses, particularly crafters, have flush-to- the-wall signs mounted over their doors. In all cases, the Crown (acting through local lords or through Purple Dragon commanders in rural areas where there is no local lord) has instant and final say over the size, shape, content, and loca¬tion of all such signage. Location, in this context, means “how much the sign thrusts out into or over the road, creating a hazard for high-loaded wagons and coaches.”
Local heralds have a duty to inspect and order any necessary changes to all such signage on the grounds of infringing on heraldry or mislead¬ing the public as to the nature of the business (not, however, on the grounds of good taste). The High Heralds can override local heralds, who can in turn override the tastes of a local lord or his agents. This gives citizens a route of appeal if their lord just doesn’t like giant carved wooden boots or candles hanging from chains out over the street he rides down, for instance.
It would be foolish for shopkeepers to pick a fight with their local lord, who has many ways of getting back at them, if he chooses. However, there is a strict prohibition on local lords harming businesses or crafters by denying them one sign after another, and in the past, local lords have been removed and publicly disgraced for doing so, most notably Onslur Gelnwood of Wheloon in the last few years of the reign of Rhigaerd I, and Caltath Malurt of Waymoot in the second year of Azoun IV’s rule.

Quality of Goods

Tax collectors and all traveling Crown officials and courtiers have clear, easy, and confidential channels through which to complain about bad beer and similar shortcomings in inns and tav-erns. They can, for instance, speak to any Purple Dragon barracks commander, to any local lord or bailiff of a local lord, to any War Wizard, or to the Desk of Justice in the Royal Court of Suzail. Every one of these “complain to” persons can also make complaints from his or her own observa¬tions, or on behalf of any citizen.
All complaints are ultimately routed to the Desk of Justice, which is really a room rather than a desk, and has nothing at all to do with Black Robes or judicial proceedings. Rather, it is a small band of undercover inspectors run by a High- knight (a person who serves the royal family as a personal enforcer, spy, or envoy) and escorted by War Wizards and Highknights when it seems nec¬essary for safety’s sake. These inspectors have the power to close a kitchen or taps on the spot, con¬fiscate or destroy food, yank Crown licenses, and effectively shut down a business for as long as it takes to fix it—even if that is forever. They rarely have to do so, these days; their mere appearance awes many patrons and frightens most hostelry owners bone white.
However, there aren’t specific qualities set down in laws. The Desk tries to prevent poi¬sonings, disease, and (the most important and prevalent part of their work) daily deception.
If you are promised a tankard of ale, there’s an expectation that the tankard will be large enough to have a handle you can fit all the fingers of one hand through. In addition, the inside of the tan¬kard should have a fillable depth that descends at least two finger widths below that handle and at least one above, and that space should be wide enough that all fingers of one hand, squeezed together tightly, can be thrust down into the tankard. This indeed means drinkers with huge hands should be given larger tankards, or more ale in other containers, per drink paid for. For everyone, it means no miniature “toy tankards,” and no vessels that are only two inches deep, from lip to the “bell,” or inside bottom. Similarly, if you are promised mutton or goose eggs or ale from Arabel, what you are served should be just that, not something else passed off as what was promised.

Labeling and Levies

In the ports of Suzail and Marsember, guilds insist on and try to enforce strict labeling and pre¬cise identification of goods, so “Malaxan’s Best Brew” won’t be barrels of whatever Sembia sends labeled as such, but will always be beer actually brewed by the person named Malaxan, in the same place, and to more or less the same recipe.
It should also really be what he considers his best, and not “mixed-bottom-barrel dregs slop Sembi- ans won’t drink, so we’ll ship it to Cormyr, where all they can taste is horse dung, so they’ll never know the difference.” Which is why you can buy really cheap, bitter, horrible ale called “Sembian Odds” at some dockside taverns; it really is mixed “odds and ends” from barrels, which is fine be¬cause it is identified as such.
No direct taxes are assessed on the sale of ale, wine, and spirits to patrons in a tavern, but the businesses that produce such drinkables are taxed, both as businesses and at 1 cp per bar¬rel (up to 1 sp for the largest tuns, so making the barrel larger doesn’t allow a brewer to escape “the Crown’s take”). Small beer made at home is never taxed, and local brews are never taxed if they are drunk only by the brewers or their neighbors. However, if drink is ever put into a barrel and transported elsewhere (outside town, as opposed to one street over in the same municipality), the barrel tax applies.
In Arabel, Marsember, and Suzail, all produc¬ers of strong drink, such as alcoholic beverages, “physics,” and “cordials” (medicines) are taxed, except for what family and table guests consume in their own houses. Individuals who try to evade this tax by running taverns or drinking clubs in their homes get swift visits from the Desk of Jus-tice, the tax collectors, the Watch, and everyone else. This attention includes War Wizards mind¬reading them to determine their true intent and the extent of their activities, because there’s an ever-present “wary watch” for smuggling. They will be taxed as businesses or hassled out of such behavior back to serving just themselves, family members, and a handful of dinner guests.

SENTENCING THE GUILTY

Even where clearly codified laws exist, sentences are generally at the discretion of the ruler. For in¬stance, the king can let a guilty party go free, or allow the individual to perform some task rather than enduring the usual punishment. Likewise, the king can decide that nobles, rather than being flogged and imprisoned, must pay huge fines.
As a rule, no place that thrives on trade (such as Waterdeep, Scornubel, or Athkatla) will dare allow open bribery or flawed justice. Any rig¬ging of results must be done behind the scenes rather than in public. For instance, you could avoid someone’s being brought to trial, or ar¬range a prisoner escape. Also, places that survive on trade almost always have clearly codified laws,
separate-from-the-authorities judges (such as the Magisters of Waterdeep), and arrangements to let guilds partially punish their own members (lessening the court sentence in return for guild sanctions). A common belief that visiting mer¬chants will be treated equally to residents and citizens must be fostered and maintained ... or the merchants will stop coming.
In many places, magisters or their equivalents, guilds, and priests all have the right to call on the aid of spells to determine truth and falsehood, though who pays for this service varies widely from jurisdiction to jurisdiction. In most places, royalty and nobility have rights or privileges oth¬ers in the society don’t have. Trial by combat is rarely allowed in “trade reigns” places, but might occur in places of rural “rough justice” or in communities dominated by a faith that allows such activity, such as in a hamlet around a temple. In Sembia and some other civi¬lized places, battle between hired champions—or even personal dueling—is often a public enter-tainment used in cases when a noble feels slighted by another noble, or when a young woman of high birth who hasn’t yet wed is accused of being of less than good character, and wants to refute the slur.
Most places in the Realms have nothing resem¬bling real-world libel and slander laws. Also, aside from prohibitions against copying or counterfeit¬ing the words of royalty or nobility, or the decrees of magisters or guildmasters, nothing really ap¬proaching modern real-world copyright law exists in the Realms.
The Realms does not have lawyers, robed and wigged or otherwise. There are some “advocates,” paid orators who will speak in court (always in the presence of an accused, not appearing in their stead) and who might know something of the law and can give advice to an accused. Some advo¬cates are real performers who mimic the voices of people, act out scenes, tell jokes, and engage in furious debate in court—which, being great entertainment, is seldom cut short even by angry judges or rulers, because the commoners like it.

Seized Goods

In actual practice, rulers or their officials have almost complete discretion over what happens to items found in the possession of an accused. 
This blanket power is tempered by public scrutiny—usually supported by vigilant local clergy—reinforcing general principles that are actual law in some places, but merely prevailing opinion or tradition in others.
These principles include the following strictures.
— Identifiable stolen items should be freely returned to their owners, not kept or sold by the government. — In peacetime, there should be clear and tight limits on what authorities can confiscate as evidence or suspected stolen goods. For ex¬ample, if a thief has been storing stolen goods in a dockside warehouse used by many individuals, the authorities have the right to search the entire building and examine everything, but not to con¬fiscate all contents of the warehouse just because they believe some of the contents were stolen. — Magical things need to be thoroughly ex¬amined (and probably kept) by the authorities. However, local officials have an obligation to “hunt it all out,” and when it has been examined, tell local citizens the whole truth about what magic was found, where it came from, and what it was intended for. — Any hint of undead in a settled area is to be treated like magic: hunted out, destroyed, and the whole truth told, locally. — Law keepers who find and seize anything should not be allowed to personally keep it—oth¬erwise, they would have a strong incentive to misuse their office for personal gain. — Contraband should be publicly and promptly sold by the government, not destroyed or kept by government officials. — Any investigation that disrupts the com¬munity (arrests, prolonged questioning, searches, and seizures of goods, for example) should even¬tually be explained fully to the community. Authorities have very few justifiable grounds for not telling citizens anything they ask about (though “the king’s will” is a justifiable ground). — Disputes over what happens to property must be resolved in public, not behind closed doors. Some governments are swift to confiscate land, buildings, and everything owned by certain sorts of criminals, but in other lands or city-states, such action would bring swift and strong protest from the citizenry. Different lands have varying gov¬ernments and likewise differing popular attitudes regarding the presumption of guilt.
For instance, in Cormyr no one’s lands or buildings can be seized until royal assent has been given, in the wake of a formal sentence. How¬ever, in Calaunt, Mulmaster, or Westgate, if a high-ranking official believes someone is guilty, seizures can occur well before the person has been tried—and some individuals deemed mis¬creants just disappear, never getting a public trial at all.
In Chessenta until the mid-1320s DR, city rul¬ers customarily arrested persons they disliked, then, even if they were not charged with crimes, let them escape with armed agents of the ruler in hot pursuit. If caught, the person was slain on the spot. The ruler then took the individual’s worldly goods, leaving the family of the “dangerous recre-ant” destitute. If the fleeing recreant successfully got away (the agents would not pursue beyond the borders of the city’s territory), it was deemed the will of the gods that the person escape. Although all of the recreant’s property was forfeit, the ruler would ignore him henceforth, rather than sending more agents after him.
This Chessentan custom faded into dis¬use thanks to the strongest nonviolent force for change in the civilized Realms, one that speaks ever more loudly as the years pass: traveling mer¬chants. They publicly expressed their disapproval of such cruelty, calling it proof that rulers who engaged in this activity were corrupt and, as the shipping fleet owner Rarl Tartassan of Arrabar said, “placed no value on the rule of law, and the keeping of one’s bond.” Most important, the mer¬chants threatened to stay away from the domains of such rulers. This resistance was mounted on an individual basis, not in any united effort. When several city lords scoffed, claiming that merchants were such “craven slaves to coin” that if one chose not to ship or bring goods to a place, a rival would inevitably do so, the rejoinder was that a city de¬pending on lone peddlers would fall far behind others. Surprisingly, so it proved, and the rulers gave in.