In D&D, money is not important. Specifically, economy is not important. PCs start with enough money to retire. That’s just silly. And so, in keeping with the theme, let’s look at how the ven economy works and how the players can manipulate it.
Yeah, there’s a mechanic. A big bad doozy of a mechanic. Wait for it.
First, there is no money. No coin, no paper. The ven do not have currency.
Gold is abundant. So is silver and platinum. The mines left behind by the sorcerer-kings make digging these things out of the soil easy, but other resources–such as lumber, food, and stone–are more difficult to acquire. You see, the sorcerer-kings populated the world with monsters. (The ven word for “monster” is ork. Everything that is not ven is ork.) Outside the protective walls of the cities, the forests and fields teem with unspeakable horrors. Villages often suffer from ork attacks, making the need for sheriffs and rangers essential. (Of course, this is where the Blooded of the Falcon come in to the picture.)
Farming, fishing, mining, and other “common work” is dangerous. The peasants expect the nobles to keep their end of the “feudal compact” alive: I will serve you if you protect me.
But there is no money. No coin, no paper.
Ven economy is based entirely on trade and promise. Although, the ven are self-aware enough to realize just how much a promise is worth. That is why every barter and bargain is written down and signed by both parties. This has created an incredible amount of bureaucracy: contracts are the standard for all ven interactions. Some of those contracts involve blood–but we don’t talk about that in public.
Let’s look at an example. The farmer comes to town with his seven bushels of wheat. In town, there is also the fisherman, the tailor, the baker… almost everything you could want. The farmer knows he needs a new plow, the wheel fixed on his cart, and getting his wife a bolt of material for a new dress would make her very happy indeed. He goes to the blacksmith first. He produces the contract he has with the blacksmith, outlining the bargain they made two summers ago. The blacksmith takes wheat in exchange for a new plow. The blacksmith isn’t very happy–there is too much wheat in market this season, making it easy to get–but the contract is for one more season. Next season, he’ll renegotiate. Next is the carpenter who is in a similar situation. He can get wheat wherever he wants it, so he tells the farmer he isn’t interested in trading this season. So much for that new wheel. The tailor, on the other hand, is getting as much wheat as he can. Nobody’s really sure why. But he’s more than willing to honor his contract with the farmer and take all the wheat he can get in exchange for a bolt of fine cotton fabric.
Meanwhile, the farmer has to renegotiate his contract with the baker. The contract he signed is up this season and it is time to settle on a new deal. The farmer and baker sort it all out and settle their new contract with an exchange of wheat and pastries. The pastries will go good with that bolt of cotton. His wife will be very happy this season.
There is no money. No coin, no paper. But there is barter and trade. And contracts.
And yes, there is a mechanic. A big doozy of a mechanic. I’ll get to that later on this afternoon.