The Marginalia Statute

A strange local law...

Within the bounds of Evenshade, any public claim presented as fact must be accompanied—at the time it is spoken or posted—by a "margin": a brief citation of source, witness, or method.  Opinions must be declared as such.  Accusations, prices, remedies, and even omens count as facts under this law.

How people comply:

• Speakers preface statements with simple epistemic tags:
• “I witnessed …” (eyewitness)
• “It is written …” (book, scroll, ledger)
• “By inference …” (reasoned conclusion)
• “I hold …” (opinion/creed)
• Market stalls, shops, and the River Harbor hang tiny margin-slips—thumb-sized tags—beneath price boards: “It is written: Ledger of Grain Weights, 2nd Moon” or “By inference: price decreased, as the ferry is delayed for high water.”
• Town noticeboards have wide chalk margins. Scribes literally draw a line down the left, and you must jot your source in that margin when posting a notice (directly next to your notice).
• Traveling speakers borrow a ring of margins from The Watch of the Scroll; turning the ring sets a little pointer (witness/written/inference/opinion). It’s quaint, but everyone expects it and they may demand to see the ring if it isn't prominently displayed.

Why this law exists:

Around two centuries ago, a silver-tongued traveler roused the village against a healer, following the death of a child from a strange and sudden sickness.  The traveler claimed “it is known” that the healer had poisoned the river, though she produced no evidence.  In the ensuing panic, the mill and mines shut, several more townsfolk died, and the healer vanished—only for documents later found in the The Temple-Library of Oghma to show the healer's remedies were not at fault and that the real culprit was upriver mine runoff.  Ashamed, the elders and Scrollkeepers swore an oath: never again will eloquence outrun evidence. They passed the Marginalia Statute to enforce reasoned, sourced speech.

Who enforces it:

The Watch of the Scroll, in concert with temple scribes.  They don’t police tavern gossip, but public speech—market barkers, council petitions, proclamations, posted notices, and anything that sways coin, cures, or courts—must carry a margin.

Penalties:

1. Errata Duty: copy temple pages for a day; add corrective slips to the noticeboard.
2. The Gag of Errata: for one market day, you may only speak to correct your prior claim.
3. Fine in Kind: donate a book, blank vellum, or pay for scribe hours.
4. Council Censure: repeat offenders lose the right to address the council, post notices, and sell goods—at first, for a single lunar cycle, and following a second offense, for an entire year.

Carve-outs & loopholes:

• The Owl’s Riddle: inside The Rusted Crown tavern, marked riddling and poetry are exempt—provided the performer rings the “riddle bell” and declares it art.
• Declaration of Emergency: In immediate danger (“Fire!”, “Flood!”, "Thief!", or generally—"Help!"), nobody expects a margin—though a follow-up notice with the details of the emergency and the names of those who declared it, must be posted within a day.
• Harpers’ Wink: Harpers, and those aligned with them, sometimes “margin” a claim with “It is written: private correspondence,” which is technically legal, but raises the ire (and closer examination) of the Watch.

Cultural effects you can show at the table/on the page:

• Council debates feel measured—people pause to fetch ledgers or witnesses.
• Street hucksters chant, then point to a dangling tag: “It is written: Captain Mirel’s spice manifest.”
• Children play Citation Duel, racing to find sources in the Temple-Library to settle playground arguments!