The Economy of the Griffon: Part 1
How flying predators would disrupt medieval commerce

What happens when a creature that can carry half a ton over mountain ranges in hours disrupts trade routes that took centuries to establish? The griffon isn’t just about moving goods, it’s about reshaping civilization, one flight at a time.
—By Aldric Dwarden, Former Royal Advisor to the Crown
When Young Money Meets Old Money (And Old Money Loses)
“You have to understand, Master Aldric,” the young merchant’s voice trembled as he clutched his ledger like a shield, “Ironhold controls the only viable trade route through the Dragonspine Mountains. Their caravans take six weeks, their fees are ruinous, and they demand exclusive contracts. But if what you say is true about griffons…”
I leaned back in my chair studying Korvain Goldstorm. Third son of minor nobility, ambitious enough to risk his inheritance on revolutionary transport, yet naive enough to think griffon economics were as simple as “buy bird, make money.” Behind him, through the large windows of my counting house, I could see three of my own aerial steeds roosting on their tower perches, their eagle eyes scanning the sky for something tasty…
“Young Master Goldstorm,” I said carefully, “what I’m about to tell you will either make your fortune or bankrupt your family faster than an eagle diving for prey. The griffon trade isn’t merely about moving goods from point A to point B. It’s about taking a centuries-old trading system and throwing it off a very tall cliff.”
I had learned this lesson the hard way, twenty-three years ago, when I watched the guilds crumble before the advent of aerial commerce like a poorly built tower in a windstorm. Those who adapted grew wealthy beyond imagination. Those who didn’t… well, let’s just say the Merchant’s Quarter still has some very grand, very empty halls where stubborn old fools used to count their rapidly diminishing gold.
How Lady Brightfeather Broke an Empire (With Birdseed and Audacity)
The transformation began, as many revolutions do, with a single desperate gamble and a woman who refused to accept that “we’ve always done it this way” was a valid business strategy. Lady Thessa Brightfeather, facing bankruptcy after bandits destroyed her fourth caravan in as many months, made an arrangement with a few druids and wild griffons nesting in the Thunderpeak Range that would make merchants weep with either joy or terror.
It started as a simple agreement. Fresh meat and sovereignty of a small, wooded glade, in exchange for carrying small, valuable parcels. It became the foundation of an industry that now moves thousands of gold pieces worth of goods. More than some kingdoms see in their entire treasury, and it all started because one woman decided that flying predators might make better business partners than an adventuring party.
The traditional merchants didn’t take the threat seriously at first. How could they? For centuries, overland trade had followed predictable patterns as reliable as sunrise: heavy wagons creaking slowly along established routes, protected by hired guards who charged extra for staying awake, paying tolls at every checkpoint where some minor noble’s cousin needed beer money, paying bribes to local extortionists and accepting losses as part of doing business the way one accepts bad weather.
The infrastructure was enormous. Roads that cost money to maintain, travelers inns that served ale slightly worse than horse urine, repair shops run by smiths who could fix a broken axle but couldn’t count past their own fingers, and guard companies with impressive armor and questionable courage, or the even worse alternative to guards: adventuring parties.
Griffons changed everything.
“Impossible!” declared Guildmaster Rothgar Ironhold when Lady Thessa’s aerial courier delivered a crate of ethereal silk from the coast to the mountain city of Skyhold in three days, a journey that previously took his caravans five weeks and at least two nervous breakdowns. “No flying beast can carry meaningful cargo! This is some sort of trick!”
Within two years, Ironhold’s monopoly was broken like an egg dropped from eagle-nest-height. Within five, half the traditional overland freight companies had either started paying Lady Thessa or vanished entirely, leaving behind only empty warehouses and very bitter former guildmasters. Today, Rothgar’s son begs me for griffon breeding contracts while wearing the expression of a man who’s realized his father’s “impossible” prediction aged about as well as milk in summer.
Meanwhile, Lady Thessa’s Sky Merchant Guild controls trade routes spanning three kingdoms and has enough political influence to make kings reconsider their dinner plans.
The lesson? In commerce, altitude equals attitude and griffons gave traders the ultimate high ground, (*ahem*, pardon the puns).
Why Griffons Are Disruptive
Understanding this requires grasping three fundamental advantages that make mythical creatures the fantasy equivalent of the internet disrupting traditional retail except with more claws and a tendency to eat halflings whole.
Route Independence: The Death of Chokepoints
Griffons don’t need roads, which is perhaps the most revolutionary concept in trade since someone figured out that coins were more convenient than bartering chickens. This eliminates economic chokepoints that previously allowed regional monopolies to flourish like mushrooms in damp caves.
When Lady Thessa could fly directly from coastal ports to mountain mining towns, she bypassed six different toll stations, three guild checkpoints, and the infamous Bandit’s Gorge, saving both time and the protection fees that traditionally consumed 30% of cargo value. Suddenly, every mountain valley became as accessible as every coastal port, and geography stopped being destiny for ambitious merchants.
Cargo Capacity: Quality Over Quantity
A griffon’s carrying capacity is substantial: 540 pounds for a full-grown male (DMs Note – for the rules-lawyers reading this thats 30 lbs for a large creature, times the 18 strength of a griffon, going by straight 5th edition SRD), thanks to the impressive strength that comes from being essentially a flying lion with an eagle’s head and a predator’s attitude. However, this constraint requires strategic thinking rather than the “load everything that fits” approach of traditional wagons.
The magic happens with high-value, moderate-weight goods that were previously uneconomical to transport. I’ve witnessed single griffon flights carrying:
- Spell components worth 2,000 gold pieces weighing only 50 pounds (profit margin: extraordinary)
- Masterwork jewelry generating 5,000 gold pieces in profit from a 200-pound cargo load (ROI: ridiculous)
- Diplomatic correspondence needing speedy delivery worth kingdoms and weighing mere ounces (value: incalculable)
- Poison supplies creating 9,000 gold pieces profit from a 300-pound shipment (markup: shameful but that’s what you can get with illegal goods)
Weather Mastery: When Storms Become Opportunities
While ground caravans halt for storms like frightened children hiding under blankets, griffons can use some weather to their advantage with the confidence of apex predators who consider themselves part of the sky itself.
A skilled griffon rider can leverage wind currents to increase speeds, while storm clouds provide concealment from both aerial pirates and ground-based observers with more curiosity than good sense. My most profitable run ever involved delivering emergency supplies during a blizzard that had every road impassable. The client paid eight times the normal rate for food that arrived when no other transport could move, proving that sometimes the best business opportunities come disguised as terrible weather.
Understanding griffon advantages is one thing. But the real question every merchant asks is: ‘How much will this revolution cost me?’ The answer might shock you more than seeing a 500-pound lion-eagle for the first time..
Understanding griffon advantages is one thing. But the real question every merchant will ask is: ‘How much will this cost me?’ We will get into this in part 2.