4th number
2013-01-25, 12:07 AM
About fifty feet from the famous King of Fire tavern in Hareth's Folly is a rickety wooden bridge passing over a deep chasm, the rooftops of Lower Dura visible far below on a clear day. The bridge leads into the side of a massive cylindrical granite tower. At the top are the residences of the aristrocrats of Upper Dura, but you can't get there from here. What you can get to is a little neighborhood called The Nook.
The Nook is stone circle about two hundred feet across and twenty high. It was once a landing of a mighty staircase traversing the height of the tower, but centuries ago, stonemasons sealed it off for reasons long-forgotten, leaving no way to access the chamber until some industrious soul knocked a hole in the wall and built a bridge.
Buildings and tents of varying levels of permanence line the outer wall of The Nook, most of them bearing a sign indicating their business. A handful are small-scale restaurants and pubs, each with less than a dozen tables. One purple canvas tent proclaims itself The Uncommon Rose, with a crude sign bearing a motif clearly designed to evoke the vulva of a green-skinned woman. An old gnome sits outside his roofless sheet-metal hut drinking something blue out of a clear glass flask.
A well-dressed half-elf man picks his way past goblin food carts selling eye-on-a-stick and seedy-looking mongrelfolk hawking magical gewgaws, heading toward the most solid building in The Nook-- a two-story oak construction with a brass plaque nailed above the door: FINDLAY&KITTON, it reads, FOR HIRE. He opens the door and steps inside.
The Nook is stone circle about two hundred feet across and twenty high. It was once a landing of a mighty staircase traversing the height of the tower, but centuries ago, stonemasons sealed it off for reasons long-forgotten, leaving no way to access the chamber until some industrious soul knocked a hole in the wall and built a bridge.
Buildings and tents of varying levels of permanence line the outer wall of The Nook, most of them bearing a sign indicating their business. A handful are small-scale restaurants and pubs, each with less than a dozen tables. One purple canvas tent proclaims itself The Uncommon Rose, with a crude sign bearing a motif clearly designed to evoke the vulva of a green-skinned woman. An old gnome sits outside his roofless sheet-metal hut drinking something blue out of a clear glass flask.
A well-dressed half-elf man picks his way past goblin food carts selling eye-on-a-stick and seedy-looking mongrelfolk hawking magical gewgaws, heading toward the most solid building in The Nook-- a two-story oak construction with a brass plaque nailed above the door: FINDLAY&KITTON, it reads, FOR HIRE. He opens the door and steps inside.