Post by DM Sin on Nov 18, 2006 9:44:22 GMT -5
Soubar
This small trail town is located on the Trade Way, south of Boareskyr Bridge. Often raided by goblinkin and bugbears, it’s a summer tent town that shrinks to an armed outpost in winter. At its heart is the old stone ruin of a temple or abbey of Bane, known as the Black Abbey. Some folk believe it was once sacred to another god and was only seized by worshipers of Bane briefly. The ruins have yielded stones to build the rest of Soubar. What remains of the ruins are home to a mysterious woman known only as Mag, who runs a tavern called the Winding Way in them. The word around the Coast is that Mag was once a priestess. Some say she abandoned her calling, others that she embraced another faith and others say she’s a mind flayer or other horrible creature (a beholder, perhaps, or even a neogi) who’s mastered magic enough to take human form for years at a time. All that’s certain is that Mag answers no questions, has healed folk from time to time, wears a ring of misdirection that conceals her true allegiances and powers, and stores broken instruments of torture in the old abbey loft where she sometimes lets travellers sleep.
Whether she used spells or potions for healing is a point of contention. Reports on this are confused. All of this makes many merchants uneasy. They camp west of Soubar, or press on past if the weather’s fair and the night apt to be moonlit, rather than stopping here. Soubar is a lawless town. Visitors should bring their own swords, and be prepared to swing them. There are several Coast lands fireside tales about brigands who buried loot here and were slain before they came back for it. Not all such tales are fanciful. The merchant Janthool of Athkatla, a fartraveled trader in sundries, dug a latrine pit just west of Soubar a spring or two ago and unearthed an ivory coffer crammed full of matched black pearls, each as large as the pommel nut of a stout broad sword! Be warned, however. Digging in certain spots in Soubar summons helmed horrors to the digger, due to an ancient guardian spell of unknown origin! Folk not wanted in Triel or Boareskyr Bridge find their way here. This has made Soubar something of a hiring fair for brigands, evil mages, dopplegangers, wererats and other werefolk, mercenaries down on their luck, mind flayers, those bearing curses, and others not tolerated in most communities.
Fences for stolen goods are plentiful here. Scurrilous “bounty hunters” who kill, maim, or capture specific beings to order are also plentiful, as are dealers in slaves, information, poisons, chains and cages, sleep venoms, and exotic pets. Kill-trained pets cost twice the usual prices. I’m not (ahem) familiar with any names or details, of course.
Triel
This small, stockaded way-village is located on the Trade Way north of Scornubel, where that road meets the Dusk Road that swings across country from Elturel to Hill’s Edge. To the northeast are the Trielta Hills, quiet, rolling grasslands rumoured to contain gold, and home to many small, peaceful gnome and halfling communities. Triel is ruled by Elvar the Grainlord, so-called because he’s obsessed with having enough food to safely survive the winters, when trade virtually ceases along the inland roads. The gates of Triel’s log-and-boulder village stockade are locked at night, and visitors are expected to be outside, camping in the fields around so they can do their part to keep thieving bugbears and worse away from Elvar’s precious grain. The stockade itself is crammed, stacked high, and dug deep with crates, barrels, bins and jugs of preserved vegetables and grain, all sealed, numbered, and meticulously labelled as to their contents.
At least Elvar’s lucid enough to hunger after news of the wider world outside his well-stocked, fanatically defended pantry. Traders who bring food, firewood, barrels, or sea salt for food preservation or the like will be honoured with a feast at Elvar’s table, and the villagers are good cooks (and well fed, to boot, but then, how could they not be?) Be warned, Triel not only lacks anything much useful to the traveller, like an inn, tavern, or decent shop, though the villagers seem to have no shortage of money with which to buy anything a merchant might want to sell, but Elvar’s also a little, er, unusual about religions. The Grainlord changes faiths almost by the tenday, complete with vestments, hired priests, if he can get them, and rituals.
Messengers sent out to Scornubel or Boareskyr Bridge who takes too long to return with a hired priest may find the clergy they bring back is already passé, professing a faith now fallen out of favour. Altar building and dismantling at the Cup of Plenty, the shrine Elvar maintains, keeps two carpenters busy day in and day out as the seasons pass.
This whole-hearted leaping from deity to deity makes things very difficult for visitors. It also makes life none too easy on the local priestess of Chauntea, a stubborn little wisp of a thing by the name of Antriera, who quietly sees to the healing needs of the garrison, farmers, and forage patrols Triel sends out. She’ll also see to the needs of travellers for very reasonable fees. More than one adroit visiting thief seeking disguises for later has relieved Elvar of a dozen or more sets of priestly garb. (Antriera always burns the whip-and-chain vestments of Loviatar before the Grainlord realizes he looks ridiculous in them and gets any funny ideas about creative second-hand uses for them.) Elvar always seems puzzled as to where they go and how he could have misplaced them when everything’s so neat. This, of course, goads him into further acts of organization, cleaning, and rearranging - activities he never seems to tire of. For all his faults, Elvar, a simple soul at heart, is a genius at finding water, creating proper irrigation and drainage, and anticipating weather and crop problems. Folk from troubled Temyr have several times tried to entice him away from Triel with much gold to run their own farms. They are always puzzled as to why he refuses, but Elvar always does so, firmly. He does give advice and is well paid for it, but he won’t travel, so the rest of Faerûn is free of his ability to smell where buried water lies and to dig a well just deep and large enough to draw with little pumping. Triel has two deep, clear wells that have never been known to get low on water due to his skill. His folk love him, for all his eccentricity. I learned all that I tell here by talking to several of them. If you can stomach all this, or are a dealer in clerical regalia or a creator of new cults, perhaps, Triel may be the place for you, or it may not. Most will pass it by.
This small trail town is located on the Trade Way, south of Boareskyr Bridge. Often raided by goblinkin and bugbears, it’s a summer tent town that shrinks to an armed outpost in winter. At its heart is the old stone ruin of a temple or abbey of Bane, known as the Black Abbey. Some folk believe it was once sacred to another god and was only seized by worshipers of Bane briefly. The ruins have yielded stones to build the rest of Soubar. What remains of the ruins are home to a mysterious woman known only as Mag, who runs a tavern called the Winding Way in them. The word around the Coast is that Mag was once a priestess. Some say she abandoned her calling, others that she embraced another faith and others say she’s a mind flayer or other horrible creature (a beholder, perhaps, or even a neogi) who’s mastered magic enough to take human form for years at a time. All that’s certain is that Mag answers no questions, has healed folk from time to time, wears a ring of misdirection that conceals her true allegiances and powers, and stores broken instruments of torture in the old abbey loft where she sometimes lets travellers sleep.
Whether she used spells or potions for healing is a point of contention. Reports on this are confused. All of this makes many merchants uneasy. They camp west of Soubar, or press on past if the weather’s fair and the night apt to be moonlit, rather than stopping here. Soubar is a lawless town. Visitors should bring their own swords, and be prepared to swing them. There are several Coast lands fireside tales about brigands who buried loot here and were slain before they came back for it. Not all such tales are fanciful. The merchant Janthool of Athkatla, a fartraveled trader in sundries, dug a latrine pit just west of Soubar a spring or two ago and unearthed an ivory coffer crammed full of matched black pearls, each as large as the pommel nut of a stout broad sword! Be warned, however. Digging in certain spots in Soubar summons helmed horrors to the digger, due to an ancient guardian spell of unknown origin! Folk not wanted in Triel or Boareskyr Bridge find their way here. This has made Soubar something of a hiring fair for brigands, evil mages, dopplegangers, wererats and other werefolk, mercenaries down on their luck, mind flayers, those bearing curses, and others not tolerated in most communities.
Fences for stolen goods are plentiful here. Scurrilous “bounty hunters” who kill, maim, or capture specific beings to order are also plentiful, as are dealers in slaves, information, poisons, chains and cages, sleep venoms, and exotic pets. Kill-trained pets cost twice the usual prices. I’m not (ahem) familiar with any names or details, of course.
Triel
This small, stockaded way-village is located on the Trade Way north of Scornubel, where that road meets the Dusk Road that swings across country from Elturel to Hill’s Edge. To the northeast are the Trielta Hills, quiet, rolling grasslands rumoured to contain gold, and home to many small, peaceful gnome and halfling communities. Triel is ruled by Elvar the Grainlord, so-called because he’s obsessed with having enough food to safely survive the winters, when trade virtually ceases along the inland roads. The gates of Triel’s log-and-boulder village stockade are locked at night, and visitors are expected to be outside, camping in the fields around so they can do their part to keep thieving bugbears and worse away from Elvar’s precious grain. The stockade itself is crammed, stacked high, and dug deep with crates, barrels, bins and jugs of preserved vegetables and grain, all sealed, numbered, and meticulously labelled as to their contents.
At least Elvar’s lucid enough to hunger after news of the wider world outside his well-stocked, fanatically defended pantry. Traders who bring food, firewood, barrels, or sea salt for food preservation or the like will be honoured with a feast at Elvar’s table, and the villagers are good cooks (and well fed, to boot, but then, how could they not be?) Be warned, Triel not only lacks anything much useful to the traveller, like an inn, tavern, or decent shop, though the villagers seem to have no shortage of money with which to buy anything a merchant might want to sell, but Elvar’s also a little, er, unusual about religions. The Grainlord changes faiths almost by the tenday, complete with vestments, hired priests, if he can get them, and rituals.
Messengers sent out to Scornubel or Boareskyr Bridge who takes too long to return with a hired priest may find the clergy they bring back is already passé, professing a faith now fallen out of favour. Altar building and dismantling at the Cup of Plenty, the shrine Elvar maintains, keeps two carpenters busy day in and day out as the seasons pass.
This whole-hearted leaping from deity to deity makes things very difficult for visitors. It also makes life none too easy on the local priestess of Chauntea, a stubborn little wisp of a thing by the name of Antriera, who quietly sees to the healing needs of the garrison, farmers, and forage patrols Triel sends out. She’ll also see to the needs of travellers for very reasonable fees. More than one adroit visiting thief seeking disguises for later has relieved Elvar of a dozen or more sets of priestly garb. (Antriera always burns the whip-and-chain vestments of Loviatar before the Grainlord realizes he looks ridiculous in them and gets any funny ideas about creative second-hand uses for them.) Elvar always seems puzzled as to where they go and how he could have misplaced them when everything’s so neat. This, of course, goads him into further acts of organization, cleaning, and rearranging - activities he never seems to tire of. For all his faults, Elvar, a simple soul at heart, is a genius at finding water, creating proper irrigation and drainage, and anticipating weather and crop problems. Folk from troubled Temyr have several times tried to entice him away from Triel with much gold to run their own farms. They are always puzzled as to why he refuses, but Elvar always does so, firmly. He does give advice and is well paid for it, but he won’t travel, so the rest of Faerûn is free of his ability to smell where buried water lies and to dig a well just deep and large enough to draw with little pumping. Triel has two deep, clear wells that have never been known to get low on water due to his skill. His folk love him, for all his eccentricity. I learned all that I tell here by talking to several of them. If you can stomach all this, or are a dealer in clerical regalia or a creator of new cults, perhaps, Triel may be the place for you, or it may not. Most will pass it by.