Every city, town, or large village will have businesses. Some will be inns, some stores, some people providing a service. They are all places for characters to get what they need, spend money, and a chance for the GM to hook the PCs into a new plotline. So we are looking for distinct establishments, ready to be pushed in a not-yet-complete place.
Welcome,o distinguished traders to the Great Market of Ushart! Here you will want for nothing when it comes to the exotic and wonderous!
Just mind that you have a strong stomach…
In a country without real law, the Courthouse, a wondrous ampitheater of death, is the only place the commoners will recognize that disputes are settled permanently.
In the great town plaza the magnificent edifice of the Basilica of Kestidel has stood for many generations. This elaborate gothic structure is the hub of power of the clergy. It has been a bastion of faith for the surrounding lands. Not only have the spiritual affairs of the populace been governed here but also it is a centre of the community that has proved resolute in time of crisis, whether through war, pestilence or famine. In the myriad of crypts beneath its sanctified grounds lie interred many thousands of bones of the dead, as these crypts are the place of burial for the worshipers.
The Ellis of Kestidel is the main building to register as a citizen of Kestidel. It is located outside of the city and thus must have its own defenses.
Below the white spumes of the wind blown sea, in the inky depths of the oceans vast domain, lie fantastic cities and civilizations undreamt of by surface dwellers. While most think tales of such are legends, the sea faring folk know better.
In the Great Blue Bay, there is a deep undersea drop canyon that leads to a great aquatic plain. Both surface dwellers and sea dwellers utilize the great aquatic forrest and harvest its bounty. Here the Lands of Men meet the Kingdom of the Deep. The place that they meet is called Neptune’s Court.
A place more holy than any other
Completely isolated from the rest of the world, the House of the Abbot is possibly the most remote location that can be found.
Nestled among the smaller and less noticed store fronts, hidden among the sundry vendors, and purveyors of beads, cheap jewelry, and meat-on-a-stick products in a small building that smells strongly of hot linen, cotton, soap…and goblin.
To refer to Rubens a inn is an insult. There are no battered bars, or heaving bosoms, or the scent of stale beer and tobacco smoke. There are no crowded common rooms, or cheap entertainment. The flooring is plush, the rooms are exquisite, and the bill is out of this world…
An oval a full mile and a quarter in circumfrence, infield thick with dark grass, surrounded by white fences and stands enough to seat two thousand spectators. The smell of hay, horse sweat, and excitement is strong in the air…
This large shrine the god Sunglory, is not famous for religious reasons as for architectural reasons.
...In the hallowed halls of the University of Linnarson a glimpse may sometimes be caught of the Senior Masters, learned sages and masters of knowledge. They seldom leave their dusty studies full of learned tomes, other than to dine - each evening they will be found shuffling down the dimly lit corridors to the dark and shuttered Great Hall. After feasting at high table by candlelight they will be gone, returning once more to their studies. None but they know of their pact with death, how they have willingly embraced an eternal undeath in which to pursue knowledge, yet this is the reason for the darkened corridors and the shuttered hall, for those who are undead cannot abide the light of the sun…
The home of the reclusive Monk-Smiths of Moldan, unparalleled practitioners of the art of smithing.
AutoMedon – A mechanical poet of renown not for his vast catalog of poetry, but for his complete lack of anything written or spoken, having had no output in his programmed profession. His creator is unknown or at least unaccredited, and there are those in great number in the artistic world who wonder and marvel at his inability to produce poetry, crediting that flaw to his creator who is unknown or at least un-credited. There is also a small faction of scholars who believe that when he finally, finally speaks, it will be the most beautiful or sorrowful verse ever spoke or will ever be spoken. Whether his creator is among either group or dead is unknown. AutoMedon sits alone under a tin roofed enclosure, upon a stone chair, with his gaze off in the distant as if thinking.
“It’s strange to look at this mechanical man and think what thoughts are working through its’ workings or even if the damn thing is” – Aralis of Qurim, poet and pottery salesman