Sometimes a roadblock is there for a reason. There are some places you don't want to be after sundown.
With but a name, these places fill common folk with apprehension and dread
An area known for its exceptional steel work. It is named after the main city in the region.
Kastraad is a Keep and Bailey upon a good sized hill in the mid country. While there has been several battles not far from it, it has been a quiet location for a generation or two. Recently it was taken over by a New Lord, Sir DuKon. He and his few men at arms took the keep from the previous owner (a lazy braggart called Lord KelSen the Fat). After setting himself up as a Lord, he found himself in a difficult position of needing money and being unable to take it (or lands) from his better fortified neighbors. Thus the founding of New Pastello.
What thieves convention can be complete without the ubiquitous Black Market! The specifics can obviously be as varied as one’s imagination. In fact, please consider this as the scroll it’s intended to be. The more stalls and booths the merrier!! Scras and I would like to see forty or so by next years convention. These are just twelve random ones we came up with. Some are quite standard, while others slightly more unorthodox. Maggot, your ‘thief bugs’ & their insidious proprietor go here.
This is a scroll of locations that are somewhat out of the normal.
Wytchwolde-Under-Ash, once a great Thorpe, was razed to the ground by the ruthless, and truth told more than slightly deranged, Porcelain Princess and her henchmen, the Purifiers. When the flames had at last subsided, and a kaleidoscope of swirling, dull-gray ash choked the sky, nine hundred acres of old growth iron spruce, black larch and weeping birch, was burned to utter cinders, along with the entire coven of witches comprising the Sisterhood of the Silver Teat.
Now, centuries later, the forests are somewhat re-grown, and the town of Foolswater stands where Wytchwolde-Under-Ash once did. It is said that even to this day, one can still find ashes in the otherwise potable well-water of this village. Once a year during the Winter Solstice, the “Ash-Wind” comes to Foolswater, a suffocating black cloud that passes quickly but leaves dead birds and animals in its wake, darkening the trees, and staining the sky with black snow. The inhabitants of the village know better than to be caught outside during the day-long Ash-Wind. Everyone is locked snugly inside, reading old hymns that curse and re-curse the burned witches who once called this place home.