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.
The focus of discontent between Vandergraff and Powlgraff, the Cathedral was built of ambition and rose marble.
Powlgraff, The Fowl City.
Milord I do present a uniquely industrious city located on the periphery of the Sea of Grass and the bawn of the Ganhojol Forest.
The Purple Bowl is a very nice place in a very bad part of town. From the outside, it seems like nothing but a grungy tavern. The inside reveals much more.
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.
"A-Wan, A-Wan, A-Wan". Awanggis is an unassuming place blessed with good clean water from a subterranean source.
Most towers and baileys are defensive, protecting defenders from attackers. This keep tower and bailey is used to protect everyone else from what is within.
The Mines are quite old, but even after 700 years, they still produce the Queen’s best iron ore…
HomeTrees, there is nothing more Elven. These enchanted trees are one of the three Keystones of Elventi Society; allowing Elves to live in harmony their beloved forests. Without them, there would be no Elventi Society.
Got a good joke to tell?
Come visit Qacha’s Neck. Home of the Worlds Oldest Cat
The Land of 1,000 gods, Calcobrina burns under the gaze of the Lion’s Eye.
The Province of Ardamoth, or Ardamien as is the modern name, was the first of the Old Continent settlements on the Dhargenaas Continent. Of course the Imperials from Aumethorion had already founded the Careshian Empire (The Southern Empire) and the Belemarians had founded the Empire of Belemar, but the Ardamians were the first from the Old Continent and arrived just 10 years after the landfall.
The Province of Silmar is the cold and windswept area from the tip of Cape Murder in the North, to the Imperial Border in the south. Silmar is a place of suspicions and of persecutions; a place where magic users are burnt at the stake and crusades are launched frequently. The reasons for the crusades may wary, but the basics remain the same; the lure of the dark arts has consumed someone and a Crusade must be launched to purge that which has succumbed to darkness.
Bardag Ol lies in the midst of the Adaz Pass, on the Great West Road. A product of a mixture Old Sohari architecture and frontier pragmatism, it is an interesting blend of sophisticated pomp and grizzled realism.
Quietly situated between chic salons of the nobility and the grand halls of the great guilds is the Tabernacle of Discrete Amusements.
It is quoted in the Canon of St. Mancel that once in his life, that every devout soul should make pilgrimage to the holy city of Sangreal.
The Sea of Sand is one of the most treacherous and deceitful tracts of waste in the heart of the Djaraha desert.
This is a a city where your wealth, social standing and everything is decided by the society of prohecy who keep the rich, rich and poor, poor.
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