The Plain of Greyhawk is the great fertile region south of the Free City, home to farmers and dotted by a handful of towns and villages, each with its own mayor, council, or feudal lord. The entire region is nominally under control of the Directing Oligarchy of Greyhawk, a group of “co-equal oligarchs”, who dispatch occasional militia patrols aimed less at protecting people, and more at ensuring trade.
But there is a shadow force at play on the Plain, one that threatens the livelihood of every individual who lives there.
This post is part of RPG Campaign Tour Challenge 2026. Here’s the prompt:
Day 9 – Who’s in charge here? Who are the major movers and shakers in the campaign?
Visit Nuketown’s RPG Campaign Tour Challenge 2026 Prompts page for the rest of our challenge posts.
Who is the law?
Alain the Wanderer tips his wide brimmed hat back up with a push of his finger, so he can look you directly in the eye. You’re walking down the dusty streets of High Ery, the mining town on the northeast fringes of the Plain of Greyhawk.
“Who’s the law? Well, it’s complicated. The Directing Oligarchy rules Greyhawk, and Greyhawk controls the domain, so you could say it’s them. Or you could say it’s Lord Mayor Nerof Gasgal, one of the Oligarchy who the other money-grubbers elected to lead the city. Be head of state. Talk to the high muckity-mucks. You know how it goes.”
He takes a long puff on his hand-rolled cigarette, then exhales. “They collect taxes. Have a couple of toll bridges here and there. Got some forts, like Blackwall Keep and Marsh Keep, over on the edge of the Mistmarsh to keep the more horrid critters from crawling out of the swamp. There’s some City Guard patrols that come down now and again, though they’re not what you’d call ‘consistent’.
“Mostly, they’re content to let the towns and villages and estates rule themselves. Places like Erybend, High Ery; they’ve got their own councils, mayors, benevolent despots, whatever. Some of ’em got local militias that come together to deal with brigands and the odd monster, but there ain’t much organized law enforcement.”
“Plenty of disorganized law enforcement though. That’s usually adventurers and mercenaries and such who get hired to deal with threats the militias can’t — or won’t — touch”.
“And then there’s my compatriots and myself. The Knights of Murlyand. Come to the Domain to help the common folk. And deal with the bastard who really runs the Domain.”
Who is really in charge?
“Fineon Burrows. That’s who really runs the Domain. He and his Burrow Boys are everywhere and nowhere.
- Missing ore shipment down from Diamond Lake? Burrow Boys.
- Barge floats into Erybend without a crew … or cargo? Burrow Boys.
- Dead militiamen found hanging dead from trees along River Road, strangled by the damn tree’s own branches? Burrow Boys.
- Loudmouth mocking halflings found dead in his room, eaten alive by rats? Burrow Boys.
Alain sighs, looking up at the clouds racing overhead. “They say Fineon was a good lad, back in the day. Lived in Greyhawk City. Son of Fallon Burrows, a second story man in the Thieves Guild. When his dad died on a guild job, the guild rep only paid out half of what was owed, saying that the halfling was only ‘half a man’.”
“That rep was Beron Nine Toes. He died less than a year after Fallon did … and everyone knows it’s Fineon who did the killing. Now Fineon, he does’t make any edicts. He doesn’t make any laws. When it comes to government, he’s got no use for it. What he wants is revenge and respect. Revenge for his father’s death. Respect for the long disparaged halfling people.”
“It’s working. He’s got people on the Plain scared and watching their tongues. He’s got the Greyhawk Militia scared to come down and run patrols, and he’s got the Thieves Guild pretending he doesn’t exist. He doesn’t rule the domain, but his shadow warps everything that happens here.”
Alain looks you in the eye, then speaks softly. “It’s clear as the sky above. The Burrow Boys must die.“
Featured Art Meta
Grand Citadel, Flames of the Falcon, p26, by Ken Frank.