"You're staying away from my silver, then, now go!" The Cartel members grumble and leave, their coin-laden wagons staying behind with you.
808 AD, Winter
The caravan with silver from the far southwest arrives.
"What is the cause of the delay?" You ask the leader of the caravan, and he bows his head.
"The roads have their accidents, my liege, and the journey took longer than our optimistic overseer back at the mines thought it would." You dismiss him - at least the silver is here.
808 AD, Midwinter
Your youngest son, Havar, catches the dreaded swamp fever, that kills 8 out of 10 sick children and leaves another one crippled.
1to4
Unfortunately, the little one wasn't special, and the sickness claimed his life.
808 AD, End of the Year
The Advisor arrives, as always, to deliver you the Scrolls on the very last day of the year.
Happiness: 5
Population: 4
Economy: 3
Army: 4
"The Treasurer worries that the tax on the Cartel and the bullion from silver mines might not be adequate in covering various expenses that pop up, consistently, year by year, my liege."
"Oh, now he dislikes the Cartel?" The Advisor strokes his beard.
"He cares for his ledgers, not ledgers of others, sire. He wonders if perhaps something could be done to fill our Treasury a little bit more, a little bit faster?"
A) "We're fine, I told you before."
B) "Fine, lets raise taxes for a year."
C) "Fine, dismiss mercenaries from our army."
D) "Fine... send a message to the Cartel. We will have a little talk about their usefulness."