Elfin
2009-09-01, 02:32 PM
Ironhame.
Long has it nestled in the western corner of Naramis, walled against the towering eaves of the Deluge Jungle.
A frontier settlement, its atmosphere of danger and violence attracts only the most adventuresome or desperate subjects of the kingdom. Built right next to Deluge Jungle, Ironhame attracts tomb robbers, treasure hunters, fiend-hunting zealots, nature priests, and any other breed of eccentrics that could be imagined.
And now you have come as well.
You make your way down the bustling street, and turning the corner you find yourselves facing an old, worn wooden building of weathered grey planks. A wooden sign hangs above the closed door, creaking in the little wind that blows down the road and bearing the symbol of two crossed, poison-tipped arrows.
The windows are matted with ancient black grime, making it impossible to see in; all you can see through them is a murky darkness.
Stepping in, you find the tavern to be a dimly-lit, low-ceilinged place; only a few dusty rays of sunlight penetrate the windows, and a fire smoulders in a fireplace at the end of the large room. Two long, communal tables dominate the centre of the space, with smaller tables crammed around the edges; on some of them are dirty candlesticks with candles burning low. Dusty swords, bows, and hunting trophies are mounted on the walls, relics that you guess have not seen use for many winters.
The tavern is mostly empty, though a few dark-cloaked strangers skulk around, some talking in low voices and others crouched over mugs of ale. A server comes up to your party, his face pale and drawn. He speaks in a low voice.
"What might I be gettin you folks?"
Long has it nestled in the western corner of Naramis, walled against the towering eaves of the Deluge Jungle.
A frontier settlement, its atmosphere of danger and violence attracts only the most adventuresome or desperate subjects of the kingdom. Built right next to Deluge Jungle, Ironhame attracts tomb robbers, treasure hunters, fiend-hunting zealots, nature priests, and any other breed of eccentrics that could be imagined.
And now you have come as well.
You make your way down the bustling street, and turning the corner you find yourselves facing an old, worn wooden building of weathered grey planks. A wooden sign hangs above the closed door, creaking in the little wind that blows down the road and bearing the symbol of two crossed, poison-tipped arrows.
The windows are matted with ancient black grime, making it impossible to see in; all you can see through them is a murky darkness.
Stepping in, you find the tavern to be a dimly-lit, low-ceilinged place; only a few dusty rays of sunlight penetrate the windows, and a fire smoulders in a fireplace at the end of the large room. Two long, communal tables dominate the centre of the space, with smaller tables crammed around the edges; on some of them are dirty candlesticks with candles burning low. Dusty swords, bows, and hunting trophies are mounted on the walls, relics that you guess have not seen use for many winters.
The tavern is mostly empty, though a few dark-cloaked strangers skulk around, some talking in low voices and others crouched over mugs of ale. A server comes up to your party, his face pale and drawn. He speaks in a low voice.
"What might I be gettin you folks?"