The small town, and it is generous to call it that, is a bit "out of the way". Yet it is the only outpost of civilization for a good distance. Travelling in this country is a bit hard, given the terrain and the unpredictable weather, so people do it only when they can. Thus a market day was not convient for anyone, venders or local. Alanus solved this problem.

His was the idea of a "General Store", one where goods from many merchants were sold to him, then resold to everyone else. Normally each merchant would have their own store or market booth. Yet given the unpredictable flow of people, many merchants would spend too much time waiting for customers that never came than making goods. So by selling to Alanus, he spends all day doing nothing but selling (and putting in an occasional order to the various merchants and traders) and they are free to make goods. 

The General Store carries dry goods, some groceries, hardware from The Smith and travelling tinkers, candles, blankets, soft goods, and some fabric from local weavers and traded goods.  Thus everyone can go to Alanus’s for most of their needs, unless they need a real weapon. Alanus’s religious beliefs do not allow him to sell weapons.

Before any of you wonder why this concept is so miraculous, after all we live with a variety of stores, the earliest "general store" came into existance in the late 1700s. So it is a proper near modern invention occuring long after the Renaissance. Until that time, all trade was done with individual market stalls which limited the owner’s ability to produce as they spent time selling. These general stores were the first places to do "bulk sales". The department store did not develop until the mid 1800s.

Argus is like most of the carter’s in the city. He works out of one of the inns, where they actually prepare the food. (It is loaded into the cart there and kept warm by stoked coals and ash.) The Blue Rose carts are served by a consortium of inns, while a bit more expensive than standard cart food is well worth the price.

Argus himself is a slightly heavy set man, with oily skin and hair. He is very strong given the size of the cart he hefts around all day. He always has a twinkle in his eyes and a laugh on his lips. Think of him as Santa Claus before he had a white beard.

Argus serves sourbread meat stew every day out of his clay urn. (A very popular item indeed as it is a beef and vegetable stew thickened with olive oil and sourbread.)  You pay a minor deposit (two copper) on his bowl (and lid) which are marked with a blue rose; but that can be refunded (if you return the bowl to any Blue Rose cart or switched if you bring an used marked bowl and order a new bowl.  

What make’s Argus’s cart different is the brightly colored sun shade over the cart and Argus’s own bubbling personality.  He sings, he jokes, and gossips. He is more than a carter, he is a performer. He also sells several urns full of sourbread stew, so he is quite successful at being a salesman. (So successful in fact that he occassionally give food to furry taxi pullers and wall liners - the poorer people in Antioch).  Between his stew, his busy district (and the fact that he will bring stew into businesses), his caring for the poor (many of whom have sharp claws) and his performances, the people of ArchStreet defend this man. Woe be it to anyone who give Argus any grief or worse yet tries to steal from him (His brother in law is a member of The Shadow Guild, so if the street crowd does not get you, someone else will later).

The Semaine Sundry
The Sundry was one of several shops in one of several markets and was operated by equally non-descript merchants and vendors. As a sundry store it carried primarily consumable goods such as manufactured soaps, spices, finished cloth, and a hodge-podge of other goods. It had steady business but nothing that was reliable. The stock of the store changed on a month to mont basis and while one month they would have plenty of soap, the next month it could all be gone and no more to be seen for six months.

The New Proprietor
As the vicissitudes of capitalism caused the shop to regularly change hands, none of the local merchants batted an eye when the thun unnamed shop was leased by a whip thin and very proper gentleman named Algus ‘Baldric’ Balde. Algus was a foreigner, though nothing that the locals would have considered exotic. He also had a keen sense of business and a steady hand for working leather. While the shop still did a good bit of the same old shop-a-day stocking, Algus also did a good bit of leatherworking on the side.

Eventually he even joined the tanners guild and was then fully endorsed to make leather goods. The most prominent of these leather goods were the excellent scabbards and baldrics, or sword-belts, that he made. Many of these were hevily embossed, detailed, inlaid with silver, and all sorts of other flash and dazzle. Soon algus was known as Baldric since few could get him name right, and his leather goods were top notch.

Cometh the Frog
Philogenus Psil, also known simply as Frog, was every inch the ideal salesman in the time before salesmen. He was short and wide, his smile large and accomodating. Unlike others who viewed their customers as necessary evils, Frog was a man of the people. Gregarious to a fault, the man spent his life as a wandering Tinker, selling everything conceivable from his wagon until he encountered Baldric in his small town shop. The two men struck off on a wonderous rapport and were soon in business with one another.

Frog’s wagon trundled around the local area of villages and towns, laden with baldrics, belts, harnesses, and other leather goods and items left over in the shop. Business was grand as Frog knew just where to take items to get the best deals, and where he go to get rid of old stock that had been on the shelves far too long.

The First Shoppe
It was within two years of the initial meeting that the two redid the shop and changed the way that they both did business. The wagon was no longer going to be trundling from village to village, and the namelss sundry store was no more. In his various travels, Frog had made contact with many artisans and craftsmen who had skill and product, but lacked the coin to open a shop, so their wares were left unsold, or even unmade. Baldric changed his shop to be a front for these various cottage craft folk as well as his own goods.

It took a few years for the idea to really take off, but when it did, it made both men comfortable in their pockets. While still a shop, many merchants and people in the buyers market considered Baldric and Frog to be finders, commisioners, and locators. Some of the most prominent of their goods were custom made saddles, leather belts, weapons, and knives.

Ye Catalogge
With heavy ledgers and thick books of records of suppliers and supplies, merchants and taxes, Frog was drawn to an idea. He created a much slimmer codex, one that could be written in short time. It detailed the goods that the duo could provide, estimated costs and even estimates of how long it would take for said item to be delivered. The cost of having the catalogs printed/scribed was hefty, but soon paid itself back in full. The tomes were shipped to various villages and townships that often lacked merchant’s markets, or were limited to the rare market day. Now these smaller dorfs, hamlets, and thorps could send a piece of parchment and a deposit and within a week to a month have their needs filled rather than waiting on irregular tinkers and such.

Market Problems
So long as the two were only meddling in the general region around their base town, the larger guilds had no interest in their venture. It wasn’t until Baldric and Frog’s was commisioned by the crown to procure over 500 saddles for the royal cavalry that the other merchants took notice. Such an order would have floated the Saddlemakers and Harnessmen’s Guild for two years or more, and it was given instead to some foreigner, who was not even in the saddler’s guild!

Insult was added to injury when many of the Guild’s goods started being passed over for being of lower quality and higher price than those offered by the shop and its catalog. While resentment grew among the major guilds, support from the smaller guilds was falling away. it was more feasible for the less populous and poewrful guilds to get on good terms with the new business magnates. By associating with the two, they increased their own fortunes, as Frog’s marketing worked well with their less than common product.

Stretched Thin
While in history, this tale would go on to become the foundation of a massive department store, such as it’s inspiration, Sears and Roebuck, such is not the fate of Baldric and Frogs. As men ahead of their time, they encounter the limitations of their times. There are only two of them, and the thought of opening another store has never been an option. The duo is often overworked, despite having a large number of employees, scribes, clerks, and dispositionaries. Much of their work is centralized around their hometown or city, and a few major cities within a week or two’s travel.

Their expenses are often hefty, in the form of lost or stolen goods, hired protection for wagons and sales that are declined at the last minute. The deposit is retained, but it is seldom a large enough sum to counter the cost of the goods made.

Plot Hooks
The Book - Equipping PCs can often be a hassel, need a saddle, find the saddlemaker, need a sword, well they dont sell scabbards with the swords, need some candles, find the chandler. With access to one of Baldric and Frog’s tomes, they can scribble off an order send some gold pieces and in a short time have their order filled. Medieval economics were just that, medieval. Baldric and Frog’s provides a way for the PCs and DM to not get bogged down in the often tedious system of medieval commerce.

Semaine Duty - The PCs have been hired by Baldric and Frog to guard a large shipment of goods through a contested area. The PCs get to escort several wagons of saddles, scabbards, food goods, and other consumables from bandits in the area. If they do well, the buyers of the goods, locals, will offer the PCs a new contract to help them then hunt down the bandits that have been raiding them. The shipment is gear to equip their militia as cavalry!

Sabotage! - The PCs have been hired by the Thieves Guild to cause all sorts of trouble for the duo, be it looting a shop for gear, raiding caravans or the like. It is easy work at first for the PCs with hefty pay-outs. Things become more difficult as the business becomes better defended, even to the point of the Crown sending in a few soldiers to make sure that it gets its saddles and shoe horns. Alternately, the PCs could be hired to protect the venture from said thieves guild.

We’re Going Shopping! - Ye Olde Medieval Department Store, Baldric and Frog’s keeps a large amount of goods on hand at their store, which has since expanded into a very large warehouse complete with magical protections against thieves and such. The PCs can browse racks off pole arms, be fitted for armor, get their leathe goods personalized, their metal goods etched, and the like. While magic items are likely to be out of the question to be in stock, the duo certainly knows how to get them, and they have them and use them themselves. The PCs get to go shopping, complete with busty sales wenches to help them pick out everything from common clothing to exotic weapons like nunchaku, katars, bolos, and other things strange and unique.

The Local Barron does not own this business, but he certain keeps it in business. It was named in his honor by two (now old) men who realized that non wizard generated cold drinks and foods could be profitable (wizards, who hate to be bothered with such trivial spells charge huge sums for cooling areas). It was all about the circle of product (a pet theory of their that either will go on, and on, and on, and on, and on about… if anyone gives them a chance). It is early systems theory on logistics if anyone want to research it, but just keep using the phrases "you have to keep things moving", "use what works", "look at how things move",  and "motion makes money." This one business has changed the local political and social landscape.

Barron’s Ice is a sturdily constructed warehouse down near the river docks and old pond. It is a good sized kelly green building made of brick, with a thick shale roof. There is a sheltered drive way that their delivery carriages (three enclosed carts painted the same kelly green)  use for loading and unloading. The upper building keeps a little ice and two offices used for business. The building sits upon an old played out well. The shaft leads down to a good sized cave that has been "finished". In this deep dark place, the ice is kept.

While there is occasionally ice on the river and the pond, most of the ice is brought down from the high mountains not that far up river. Barron’s ice has four crews that do nothing but go up and down the river to their cutting shed all fall, spring, and for a bit in the winter (mid winter is too dangerous for the rewards).

Note: Ice cream has become the areas favorite desert and most noted regional fare. This business has allowed nobles (and those somewhat well to do) to have cool drinks in the sweltering heat of the summer. The Barron has been able to sway nobles and lower royals to his court in the hot summer, his power, prestige, and wealth has grown.  (Thus buying more ice to entertain more nobles… the cycle continues to this day,... they are thinking about creating another site between here and the mountains to store additional product).

The building was at one time between The Bog and the Moors. The Bog is mostly gone now. The other buildings near it have grown up around it and the path to and from Bogmoors.

From the outside it looks somewhat dingy and disreputable. It is a medium size for a tavern in these parts. it is not any better inside. Though there are many lanterns, it is fairly dark. The walls, though freshly painted, still look dingy. The ceiling is a bit low. The woodwork is dark, worn, and well polished. The floors are the same dark, worn, and beer stained polish the rest of the wood is. The floors often have sawdust spread on them, to help in the cleaning. The brewery is out back, in an equally dingy and disreputable barn. 

Bogmoors has been here for 721 years. It started with an ale stop for the Imperial invaders. From there it has been a similar stop for every wave of invaders since then, as well as every local for a good walk’s distance. It has had its share of famous and important.  Those that the BarKeep has though were important have carved their name on the back wall. Kings (back when they were princes), generals, and the occasional rebel leader have all been here at one time or another.

note: The graffitii on the inside of the stone outhouse walls goes back several centuries as well. If you can read the langauge, they are really pretty funny… for potty humor.

The Brown Beer is above average, the Ales, Stouts, and other brews are merely average. They serve a locally made malt liquor and wines from a ways away (which is hugely expensive).  They serve pub food as well: Boggies (beef stuffed in a roll), potato mush, cheese, and crisps. In fact the food they serve is what “set the expectation” for what is Pub food in this region.

The Staff is nice enough. Nobody stands out. In most cases, their families have served here at one time or another for as far back as anyone can remember.

The place has it share of ghosts. In fact, if you fall asleep in the common room (heck really the private rooms are really large booths with a curtain across them) you will sometimes dream that you are in it a few hundred years ago… being served by people who look like the people who have been serving you now… and you will be talking to the ghosts (and sometimes some historical folks).

Brownworks is a leatherworking shop and store. It is not much to look at from the outside.  You know it is a leather shop the moment you open the door. The smell reminds you. It is sweet, it is sour, it is natural, is is acidic. The dim inside is filled with racks, poles with pegs, tables, and more table, and boxes under the tables. On and about these are odd piles and groupings of tack, saddles, hats, vests, boots, belts, whips, bolas, scabbards, slings, quivers, pot holders, gloves, work gloves, crystal holders, and just about anything that can be made out of leather.  If you look long enough, you will find what you need.  The two daughters of Eshmel are very helpful and can make sense of the seemingly random piles and pegs, cubbyholes, and drawers. They should, they have been doing such for 15 to 18 years.

That which they don’t have in stock, they can make. There is a huge selection of conventional hides in the back, in a variety of colors. They also have some exotic leathers as well.  If it is not a leather, they will not have it… so nothing with fur or scales.

Esmel Brownman is the third generation to run the shop. His hair is thinning and his middle is growing a bit round, but he is the spitting image of his father at his age. (His son Ericus, 13, is the spitting image of him at his age). His apron seems to be part of him and had dozens of loops for all his tools. The scent of the shop follows him everywhere, even when he goes down the street for a cup of klah or a few pints.

Most of the table at Cashmirius’s are outside. There is a ivy decorated low fence separating the "seating area" from the rest of the plaza.  The large creme awning protects many of the tables from the sun or elements.  The tables are slightly larger than the interior ones. Four to eight can fit around them.

The food here is exceptional.  Cashmirius has been dead for nearly 150 years, but her name and recipes live on.  The cafe here serves the best pastries, klah (coffee/chocolate/nut tasting drink), and tea in the city.  The rest of the food is top notch as well.

This is the place to be and be seen by the noble and important folks.  Guildmasters and Dukes seem to be able to procure a table without a wait.  The Highpriest can be seen dining with the Mayor’s wife. The young nobles or retainers of the noble houses tend to while away the afternoons here.  Scholars from the colleges and elder guildsmen often find themselves here for lunch.  Many a lively discussion political, intellectual, or religious, can be overhead from nearby tables.

The temple/ church in this sea side town is just another one. It is part of the common faith for the region. You might not give it a second glance.

However, it has something extra. It has an additional chapel with its own external door. Here, in this out of the way temple/ church is a major holy site. It is a powerful one. Miracles have occurred here, morso than any mere magic spell. There are relics here, from “miracle ships” (those that have survived some terrible fate). There seems to be tons of candles illuminating the dark wood floors and seats and off white stucco walls with a warm glow. This is The Chapel of the Wayfarer.

Anyone who has lived by the sea has heard of this place, but few seem to really know where it is. It is the chapel dedicated to sailors and fishermen. Prayers for lost souls are heard here. Prayers for good weather and runs are heard here. Prayers for the lost, that they may find their way home, are heard here. Truly it seems the prayers are heard here. The locals and others, if pressed will tell you tales of what has happened here.  People are known to travel for days (by boat usually) to pray here when it is important to them.

One lone priest is known to sit the chapel. He is always a former sailor or fisherman. The call of the sea pulled him here, just off the waves. When he dies or can no longer fulfill his duties, it seems that another arrives soon after to take his place.

Those that do not know the local vernacular might be confused by the contents of the Shadow Shop.  A Shadow is anything that looks like a person. Chrisia’s shadow shop sells dolls in a variety of sizes (from small toy size to life size) in a range of realism (from nice caricatures to nearly perfect in their simulation).  They are made of wood, clay, and cloth mostly, painted almost perfectly. Most of them are toys (dolls mostly, but some puppets), some are statuettes, a few are mannequins, and a life sized ones in the back are for more special purposes. As one can guess, the costs vary greatly. She is sought after for her puppets and special shadows, as her articulation is nearly perfect.

There are many things you can do with this shop.
1) You see someone leaving in a coach, little do you know it is a Shadow in the coach leading you on a wild goosechase.

2) You think you have a body snatcher, but it is just a life sized shadow.

3) Coyns could complicate things…
A Bag of Beautiful Coyns
4) A new magical technology has been invented. All of a sudden, Chrisia’s artistry is in high demand to make ‘jacks
(System- X-Jacks)

5) An item that provides telekinesis or animation could make things interesting here.
Garage Sale From Hell

6) An evil madman wants a Shadow of a specific person.  He will then steal their soul and stuff it in the Shadow for safe keeping. He can then put a demon in their body. How little does he know that the Shadow, under the light of the moon, will move on its own accord.
Garage Sale from Hell

7) Someone is putting on a puppet show with full sized shadow puppets.  They are using their life sized puppets as a cover for their occasionally smuggling people and slaves in and out of an area.

DiCarrigan’s Den

While this appears to be a well maintained “common house”/ tavern/ inn, it is actually a club.  Only those who are members (having paid their dues to the house… i.e. set up their credit here) or those brought with a member can enter. (The door is guarded by two armed men in the foyer.) Inside, it is a very nice tavern of the noble level with a variety of food and drink. The serving girls are pretty, but not here for other types of enjoyment. There are a number of hexagonal and octagonal tables topped in felt where gambling games using cards are played. The chairs at these tables are quite comfortable. The various members can check out chips from the house (using their credit). Members can even draw off their credit to generate cash.

The Membership is a number of nobles who enjoy gambling, lesser nobles and city officials who utilize their connections to get in and use their skills to generate cash, and richer merchant types. Many a deal has been made over a friendly game of cards here.

There is a small squad of private soldiers here that act as security, guarding the members, the doors, and the cash in the building. They are well paid and quite elite in their skills. Some of them are moonlighting here from the jobs as The King’s Hand - the spy organization for the kingdom… though nobody knows that.

The butchery didn’t move since its founding, so with all its renown it is located in a quite poor neighborhood. The old house has been enlarged three times, and may grow still more. It is not rare to find dogs and homeless people wandering around, delighted by the scents and looks.

The shop sells the usual kinds of fresh meat of a decent quality, but its fame comes from the various preserved, dried and smoked goods. Few would refuse a fine ham or sausage coming from this house.

Finghaart himself is getting older, and left a part of the business on his assistant, concentrating on what he knows best. Married too late, loosing the wife too soon, and having no children, he is quite the melancholic, forgetting the sadness in work, and occassionally drinking until he is senseless. But, so people say, he is a nice guy and treats his customers well. He likes to keep the shop clean and ordered.

Now the optional, dark part of his business.

Where there are people, there are evil people. And in most cultures, every evil finds sooner or later its followers. One of the sins plauging civilised states is cannibalism, lone madmen or entire cults craving the taste of flesh of their fellowmen. And if there are nobles in the cult, or wealthy men of refined tastes, they may not desire a simple bloody meal (leaves too much traces, anyway). An expert may be hired, someone that knows his job… like Finghaart.

Finghaart himself prefers to know as little as necessary. A body is shipped in (often a homeless, troublesome servant, or personal enemy), and it is processed. Finghaart’s policy is to accept only dead bodies; he never kills himself, and leaves even the animals to his assistants. Once all flesh is removed, the bones are shattered into splinters, with most of the remains fed to his vicious dogs. The sausage or ham is then sold in the shop, it is much more expensive however, out of reach for most people. Finghaart claims there are special, exotic spices added (which is true). He will but sell them to anyone knowing the proper brand; people with special connections (like priests and paladins) should beware of eating this meat…

Despite the name, no metal working is currently done here. It is a restaurant of some repute.

It is in the Greens, the fringe area around the Old Village with scattered cottages. The Old Village is a bit up the hill from the New Town, which is growing properous being next to the New Forest Road. There was once only a packed earth path to the Forge. There is talk about making it more.

The Forge started out as a real forge. The Blacksmith of the time was a bit of a dreamer, but he was married to the best cook in the region. Using the heat from the forge, he was able to make special ovens and air roasters for her. Between her skills and her equipment, she was the cook for every festival and party in the Village (this was pre-the new road). Everyone would crowd their patios and when it got cold, they would stuff themselves uncomfortably into the house. Tired of expanding his home, he built “heat fountains” into the patios. The flow of warm air made it pleasant on the patios at night (and kept the snow off). Son in laws (he had four daughters) expanded the patios, adding firepits and hearths to them, while others added to the house. One of the grandchildren became a brewer, and they added a real tap room. Somewhere along the way, they gave up on forging metal and just became a public house or restaurant. That was almost two generations ago. The Forge is still the location of every public (and semi-public, and private) celebration in Old Village and New Town.

The Forge in the Forest is a sprawling building these days, settled amongst the green old trees. It is “T” shaped with a small sideways “U” attached to the right arm. Despite the sprawl, the two story building appears unremarkable- exposed timbers, shale roofs, white plasters. The family (and few employees) live on the upper level, with the lower level being an indoor dining hall, a tap room, the kitchen (and its amazing ovens and air roasters), and the forge (the bellows system and coal burning system is there. Now a clockwork system pumps it most of the time, having to be rewound every hour or two.). The public rooms are all decorated with old forge tools and the last few lucky horseshoes made by the original blacksmith. It is surrounded by patios (with the heat fountains). These patios are mostly enclosed (some with walls, others with shrubbery and planters). Each patio will have one to three small hearths depending on its size.

The menu is varied. There is a variety of roasted meats (deer, cow, chicken, and some fish) -which can be roasted on a very large or very small scale, braised meats, vegetables, other additional recipes picked up from travellers, beer, wine, and some of the best breads and baked goods (made from The Blacksmith’s wife’s original recipes) you have ever tasted.

//Inspired by a real restaurant of the same name in Carmel Ca.///

The city is large enough, and filled with enough nobles and rich merchants, that it can support a number of "frivolous businesses". Thus Garden in the City is the first Florist in the city (heck… in The Land).

The florist sells flowers and plants of all natures for festivals, parties, romantic gifts, and anything else that the presence of flowers can enhanced.

The shop is quite small really. The shopfront has a large picture window, showing off the greens and flowers that are "ready" in the shop. There is a small desk where business is conducted by Thalanus, the proprietor. Behind this small shop is a long alley, which leads back to towards the docks.  At the docks there is a good sized warehouse. It is an odd warehouse, as it has a glass roof. It is here that flowers and greens are maintained through the dry and cold months.

Thalanus is a half elf, applying human ingenuity to an Elven problem.  In creation of The Garden of the City, he has found a possible solution to Elves living in Human cities. The large warehouse with its glass roof, and dripping water lines, and warm green environment, can help the claustrophobic Elves live in this place of cold unliving stone.  If he can gather enough money, he plans on creating more glass buildings and rescuing of the displaced Elven people of his father’s line.

This is your traditional water wheel mill.  It is a large grey painted building. Next to a river, its massive wooden wheel turns via the current, driving its large stone grinding stones. In goes the various grains, out comes flour and meal.

The miller and his family that lives here, in a building adjacent to the mill, inherited it from the last of the original family, after the New Miller (and he is called the New Miller in these parts, even though he has been doing it for twenty three years now) had fallen on some hard times and his mill had been destroyed.

The Mill has some features that make it unique.  It has a number of “priest holes”, places where a person can be hidden and not found during a search. There is also a tunnel under the great wheel. The narrow winding stairs lead down to a small tunnel that leads to the caves in the hills a mile or two away.

The Mill has forever been part of underground trails, smuggling out and protecting those whos religion or blood line has fallen out of favor in The Land. The New Miller was one of those. He was actually escaping on foot, not following the underground trail, when he lucked upon the Mill.  The Old Miller, dying of wounds endured while helping others escape, entrusted him with the mill’s secrets and deed. The New Miller seems upright and beyond approach, yet deep in the night… he helps those who need to escape oppression.

The alchemist-cum-inventor Guidenstern was once an adventurer and mage of middling skill. Like many adventurers, his career was not quite the smashing success he hoped it would be, but he did ‘retire’ from the profession before suffering a serious injury, or meeting an untimely end. The same could not be said for some of his associates who met demises of varying horror.

With the path of the sword and spell behind him, and with a satisfactory lump of gold to work with, Guildenstern opened a book shop. He turned his meager alchemical skill to the making of paper, and glues and began making books. Blank books to be precise, and certainly of top notch quality. The majority of his books are sold to the churches and temples of the faith for transcription into copies of religious canon, or into faith hymnals and other such works. Nobles, sages, and wizards also frequent his shop looking for the tools of the trade, be it record keeping, the writing of princely memoirs or creating tomes of eldritch and arcane lore.

The shop itself is small, less than a quarter of the building is used for selling wares, the rest is devoted to the vats, presses and drying beds used in making the book materials, along with a small laboratory for concocting glues for binding the books. Guildenstern himself is a reserved man, he has the build of a blacksmith, but has the etiquette of a librarian. He speaks little, but is quite knowledgeable about a wide variety of subjects, especially in the area of adventuring.

After having been in business for a while, he noticed that a good number of people would frequent his shop looking for certain books, rather than just the supplies to make them, or a blank one to write in themselves. Being a canny business man, he began dealing in books. While he doesn’t keep a large number on hand, he does keep up a network of connections in several major cities that will sell him books at a discount, so long as he passes along a favor of his own every now and then.

While spellbooks can be had, they command top dollar, comparable to the price of a suit of armor, or even a small estate or noble title. such things are increasingly rare, and seldom do new ones enter the market. As a mage himself, he is able to transcribe some of the spells himself and has a number of spellbooks of low power level that he can transcribe himself, though for a hefty fee, it is a long process to do it.

Plot Hooks
The Ninth Gate - The PC’s have been employed to find a certain book, and have to A. Find it, and B. authenticate it. There have been a number of forgeries produced. This could be a simple scavanger hunt all the way to thwarting the Evil Cultist looking for the Book of Ultimate Demon Summoning.

One for Antiquity - The PCs uncover several old books during an adventure and need a way to turn what could be useless paper into gold. Some old books can command excellent prices from nobles, wizards, and other collectors. It would be a good way to introduce that 12 volumn Epic of Ancient Elven Literature into a campaign. Also works with more interesting books, and can be used as a window opportunity to introduce color elements to a game.

The Necronomicon - The PCs have been hired for the laughable purpose of protecting a book during transport. They later find themselves beset by minions and monsters of the Underworld/Hell/New Jersey in an attempt to steal back a book Holy to the side of Eeeeevil!

Helioglyph (his magical name) is a Talismonger, a maker of charms, talismans, holy items, and so on. 

The shop is near the gate of Azure Wall.  Like many stores and homes in the area, it is painted in bright colors and decorated with "mystical symbols". (Well what common folk call mystical symbols, alchemical shorthand, ancient languages, and the occasionally odd scribble).  Common folk think these act as magical protection, but they are not.  Since they are expected of "magical shops" and homes, Helioglyph has painted his sky blue house with "sun gold" trim and mystical symbols. He has a gold sun on his door.  The shop is a two story affair, with the lower level being the shop and upper level where he and his eight non familiar cats have lived for the last twenty five years. 

Helioglyph specializes in common magic items, things that gain power through the belief of everyone rather than mystical enchantment.  Thus he sells rabbit feet, religious items, disks to ward off fey, and talismans inscribed with classic magic circles for protection, luck, and the occasional fertility.  Other talismans are copies of tarot card or disks with mystic letters on them. Technically all these items do work, if the cosmic forces are alligned just right. They really need "charging" or minor enchantments to make them effective. Common people believe they are magical, but not so magical as to be dangerous,  so it makes them happy to have them.

Helioglyph is an excellent silver and gold smith, and has been known to dabble in copper, iron, and the occasional jade work.  His work is quite skilled and his work has an artisitc flair.  Despite the stigma of coming from a "magical shop", many clerics in the region pick up finer emblems of their faith from the shop. 

Helioglyph does do a "bit of enchanting" on the side, enchanting basic simple talismans. True luck/ fate charms (+1/-1), minor mystical resistance, skill bonuses, and so on.  Anything stronger than would be enchanted by someone else (though he might of made the piece originally).  He does sell certain things on consignment for others in the district.

The House of the Duck has humble roots, the building’s original purpose was as a shipping warehouse with a large archive. compared to many similar establishments, the House of the duck is very large and spacious, avoiding the hot, smokey and cramped conditions endymic to other taverns and music halls. The exterior is made of rough boards and plaster that have been deeply stained by years of dock work and workers hands. The interior retains a rough appearance with exposed roof joists and rafters. Lighting comes from large hanging lanterns. This has made the place a good deal more fire safe than places that use torches in wall mounts or table to table oil lamps or expensive candles.

To show the change in operation, an attempt was made to renovate the exterior of the building. A tavern sign was acquired, carved with a duck. The animal was picked because of its comical nature, and the number of ducks that normally congregated along the waterfront. The building itself was whitewashed liberally and the doors, cornices and other facade works were painted in a blueish purple. All of the metal fittings were done of brass, and it is the job of a single worker to keep the brass shiny.

The Venue
The House of the Duck is dominated by a single greatroom, the former warehouse section of the building. A short stage was built to accomodate musicians, and the large size and enclosure of the building gave it surprisingly good acoustics. Many taverns suffer from being oddly shaped, or over crowded, meaning that being near the back of the common room means being out of earshot of the musicians. Not so at the House of the Duck.

The lower offices of the scribes and clerks who formerly handled shipping records and letters of credit have been converted into a number of private suites that can be rented for the night, or for an hour or so. The house has a good number of prostitutes who on occassion do double duty as serving girls or scullery maids depending on the work available.

The second floor offices were converted into a single large suite that is often rented by nobility or the wealthy who like to take in the local music scene and be lavishly waited on by barely dressed women. Sometimes high level guild meetings are held in the Mallard’s Suite, as the room is named. There are several supply closets, and a small strongroom that formerly served as a coffer and arsenal.

The front of the building has a single small tower that rises three stories from the ground. This was originally built as a place for the shipping magnate to do his work in and ‘look down’ upon his small but growing empire. Now, it serves as the nexus of the House of the Duck. Here the coffers are held, and records are kept of payrolls and lists of musicians and the like.

Out on the Town
Unlike smaller taverns, the main purpose of the House of the Duck is an almost religious devotion to celebration. There are few dark and smokey corners, and fewer dark strangers eyeing each other over mugs of ale. Loud music dominates the common room, while drinks are hled in hands as tables, those small things crowded near the walls, are few and far between.

Dancing is a nightly event, and is the low and mean sort, far from the courtly and elegant affairs of the nobility. The pace is frenzied and hectic until the oil in the hanging lamps starts to run low. When the lights start flickering out, the music begins to slow and the patrons start to leave one by one, or in small groups and pairs.

Crime is a bit of a problem around the Duck as cutpurses and footpads know most of those leaving in the wee hours are tired, drunk, and often off guard. This vagrancy is unheard of at the Duck since the building has both a protective wall and half a dozen thugs to keep the other thugs at bay.

Plot Hooks
I’m With the Band - The PCs have gotten a job working as bouncers for the House of the Duck and have a big task ahead of them. Importatant Person X is coming, and there is a rumor that the Thieve’s Guild has a bounty on their head…dead or alive. The PCs become embroiled in assassin’s games, socialite circles, and people just behaving badly.

The Old Record - The PCs following a trail of clues go looking for the old warehouse of the Shipping Magnate, only to find that instead of an abandoned and dilapidated warehouse, the place is now a loud tavern. Finding the secret door containing the locked chest of rubies and the Celestial Key is going to be a good deal more difficult with a few hundred people drinking gallons of wine and ale.

For Sale - The gold heavy PCs need a place to dump some gold and it happens that the House, deeply in debt to the Vinters and Brewer’s Guild, is for sale, and cheap! Now the PCs can have fun trying to run a tavern, as well as settling debts with some angry old men who are used to being paid on time.

The "Inn Ye’ Go" Inn, is a large three-story structure, built of brick and cedar logs. The taproom is huge, dominated by a rubble granite fireplace. The second floor, which has the majority of the rooms, features an outdoor deck, which raps around two walls of the rectangular building. The third floor has fewer but pricier rooms. The paint on the outside of the inn used to be a sky blue, but on a whim, Unquis the innkeeper had it painted in a mahogany color recently. A low one-story wing extends from the inn, which serves as the stable. Unquis employs young girls and boys, in their early teens, (former street urchins), to serve as the staff. For muscle, Unquis employs four pikemen, who have for various reasons been expelled from, or have quit the Town Guard.

Unquis himself, lives in an apartment below the inn, connected to the larder, root and wine cellars, and his "treasure room", a small chamber filled with thousands of old maps, sea charts, and journals from his travels. Quite the sailor and cartographer in his past life, Unquis is obsessed with maps. He is a life-long bachelor. His wife is his inn, and his ‘kids’ are his staff.

Unquis Helstraw, or "Uncle" as his patrons have called him for as long as anyone can remember runs the most popular inn in the town of Sparn. There is nothing particularly unusual about the town itself, and its only claim to fame, other than the inn, lies in the fact that it is situated at the crossroads of several major trade routes. More people have heard of the "Inn Ye’ Go" than they have heard of Sparn itself. Good food, good drink, and good times are always on the menu here.

  Unquis has run the establishment for twenty-five years, and is now nearly sixty years of age. He is a portly, salt-n-pepper haired, ruddy cheeked fellow, who has one strange physical characteristic. Unquis sports one-half of an incredibly bushy moustache. The other half was scorched off long ago, during Unquis’ youth, when he was a wild and wooly explorer, sailing the southern oceans. Unquis will NEVER tell anyone how this happened. Since that time, no matter how many different ointments or balms Unquis has applied to the area, hair did not grow back left of his upper lip. He even tried a hedge wizard’s magic once, but when the drunken magician nearly burned down the inn while brewing some potions, Unquis "gave up on magic". He is now no longer embarrassed by his looks, and wears his half-moustache proudly, having heard every jape and anecdote on the subject there is to hear. Think you have an original one? Unquis will buy you two mugs of his best ale and a partridge-on-a-stick if you regale him with a quip. If he thinks its funny he laughs. If he thinks your stupid, he tells you so. Keep in mind that Unquis not only knows all the face-sitting moustache jokes, but he’s directly responsible for a few, including the one about the baker’s wife, the bag of flour, and the spatula.

An advanced derivation of these one-liner challenges is another tradition that has developed in the inn. Twice a year, at Midsummer’s eve, and during the Winter Solstice a contest is held in the taproom of the "Inn Ye’ Go". The contest involves telling a tale of how "Uncle" lost half of his now famous whisker(s). Any one is free to enter the competition, and over the years, bards, poets, lyricists, rhymers, and storytellers of no small renown have traveled from great distances to spin their yarns and tell their tales. There is only one simple rule…you have twenty minutes. It could be a song, poem, fable, or a plain story. Anything goes. Over the years, the contest has evolved to the point where rarely if ever, do the stories have anything to do with Unquis himself anymore! Sometimes a contestant will tell a tale completely unrelated to Unquis, and in the end say "Oh yeah, and THAT’S how ‘Uncle’ lost his whisker!" More often than not, and unsurprisingly, these stories feature a bawdy component.  

  During these contests the taproom and balconies are filled to capacity with people, often with over a hundred folks brimming inside, and more on the outside trying to get in. The prize for the enviable winner, is a free one week stay in one of the inn’s finer third story rooms (food and limited drink included), a pig-leather pouch with sixty silver, and a silver-plated wooden plaque, which is hung from the rafters, with the winner’s name carved into the wood.

The judges are three "Inn Ye’ Go" regulars. These men are local to Sparn, and spend most nights "with their Uncle". They all share one common trait, which helps with their judging. They are great listeners! The three are:

Dogbreath 
Like the other two judges, and "Uncle" himself, this chap goes by his moniker, and few know his real name. His particular appellation derives from the fact that he possesses the most putrid breath one can come across in another human being. No amount of lemon or mint seems to have any effect, though "Uncle" can often be seen forcing Dogbreath to chew on one or the other. Not the greatest conversationalist (and even if he was, no one would sit near enough to listen!), Dogbreath’s true talents are drinking and playing "Baduk", a strategy game, popular in Sparn, involving a painted wooden game board and many small white and black flattened, spherical stones. No one can best Dogbreath in "Baduk", though many have tried. His breath probably has something to do with this! Dogbreath has a soft spot for the raunchier tales during the contest, and the dirtier your little ditty is, the better chance of him voting for you.

Buttons 
Named for his occupation, he can often be seen dropping or picking up buttons, as he makes his "rounds" through the inn, offering people his services. Like, Dogbreath, he says little of any interest to anyone, but if you need a shiny new button for your jerkin, this is the best man for the job, a true master of his trade. He will make you buttons of wood, ivory, metal, or any other raw material you bring him. He even has a few magic buttons (!), but such business is conducted in his little shop across town, far from the eyes and ears of the inn’s patrons. Buttons tends to vote for melodramatic stories featuring love, heartbreak, and betrayal in heavy doses. As the local saying goes, if Buttons starts crying and blubbering, you’re a third of the way to victory. This man epitomizes drivel. Drivel coats him like fresh paint, staining anyone he touches.

Splinter
  Skinny to the point of seeming starvation, the patrons always laugh at the fact that they never see Splinter eating. "If he misses one more meal, he will vanish altogether", or "Where’s Splinter?" "He’s hiding behind that fishing pole" go the japes. Of the three judges, Splinter takes the contest most seriously. He can be counted on to be objective and often picks the truly best tale of the bunch. Splinter has no job, because of his wealthy in-laws. Splinter’s only thorn in his otherwise rosy life is his pushy, quarrelsome, wife. A woman of great height and girth, she can often be seen dragging Splinter out of the inn by his ear, while berating him for something he didn’t do, or worse, did do. He would leave her, he always says, but then he’d have no money, and since Splinter has no skills to speak of, he does not consider this an actual option. Besides, he loves her, but likes to pretend he doesn’t.

Role Playing Ideas:

      -   Make "Uncle" laugh with a moustache joke. If the pc can make you, the gm laugh, maybe they succeed!

- The Contest. Challenge the pc’s to actually come up with a story and have them tell it (preferably no dice rolling to gauge success). A GREAT way to test a bard character!!

- Surprise Unquis with a magical or non-magical cure for his bald left lip. Of course convincing him to accept a magical solution in the first place, takes some smooth talking and convincing.

- Looking for a rare map of some long lost land, forgotten ruin, or uncharted island? Unquis probably has it! Don’t forget to bring coin. He doesn’t like parting with his maps!

- Need a magic button? See Buttons. Let your imagination run wild with the buttons, with an emphasis on MINOR charms.

- Think you can beat Dogbreath in Baduk? Challenge him, he’ll play you for money

- Looking to meet some merchants, friends or interesting people? "Inn Ye’ Go"

On the intersection of Noble Avenue and First Street lies Kandorr’s Fine Perfumery. The shop occupies the entire building which is built in a classical style with majestic marble pillars and stylish stained glass windows.

Not only is Kandorr’s the place where the nobility and rich merchant families buy their expensive perfume, it is also a social scene in its own right. The topic of discussion at galas and in the Prince’s court, often is what this Baroness or that Duchess wore and shopped at Kandorr’s.

Kandorr himself is something of a celebrity among the rich and powerful. He favours extravagant close fitting shirts and all the trappings of a true connoisseur. Although he is getting elderly, his silver tongue and charming ways still makes young women blush and their male companions jealous. He has taken to wearing hats lately, as his hair is growing thin, a fact that has given him panic attacks on more than one occasion.

His expensive perfumes are made in the perfumery in the cellar. Unbeknownst to the general populace Kandorr is an accomplished alchemist and collector of rare material. In contrast to his shop, which is tastefully decorated to exhibit his perfumes, the cellar is crammed with shelves which are filled beyond their capacity. Indeed one must often squeeze between shelves filled with all manner of ingredients, an exercise of claustrophobic proportions. Not only is the space limited, the rank odours of both failed experiments and open cauldrons of perfume in the making, makes the room unpleasant to be in at best.

This is where Kandorr performs his research and a place that is forbidden to enter for anyone save Kandorr. Strange bubbling liquids and coloured powder, dead kittens in glass bottles and cages filled with colourful birds half-plucked of their feathers. Kandorr uses ingredients his clientele would find distasteful.

Kandorr’s way to the top was a hard one and at one time he served as a poisonmaker in the service of a powerful crime lord. This crime lord will not relinquish his hold on Kandorr, or "Death Nag"? as was his former nickname, and has lately made several threats against him. The head of the powerful crime faction wants to socialize with the powerful and sees Kandorr as the perfect opportunity.

Kandorr only wants to keep his current fame and fortune and does not at all want to introduce his former associate to his new found friends.

Located in the lower part of the community, Pernouds is the epitome of sleazey establishments. The floors are dirty and smell of excretement, urine, and worse. The chairs are ramshackle built, and the tables are all in poor shape.

The selection at the bar is worse than poor. Watered down Orc-Piss ale, old grog, and soured wine are the only drinks available. There are a good number of whores at the alehouse, most are bored, hooked on potions, and drugs. There is a single room upstairs that the whores will use for some clients, but goin’upstaars costs extra. Most would prefer to handle their…ahem…affairs down at the bar.

The establishment is frequented by the pariahs, beggars and lowest of city dwellers. Thieves and criminals ply their trades in secrecy, using Pernouds as a front to launder money, set up meetings, and as a safe house. Informants also frequent the place, passing on their information unnoticed.

After leaving Pernouds, PCs should feel dirty, even if they didnt even sit down. If they sampled the ladies of the house, seeing a healer or apothecary wouldnt be a bad idea. Nothing at Pernouds is clean.

A SharpShop is one that sells sharp things. This shop is larger than most, as the forge is in the rear of the courtyard behind the house.  The crotchety neighbors next door complain about the noise constantly, but are happy to use the left over forge heat to bake their goods. 

Most of the wares for sale here are cooking and butchering items. A few are used for WoodSmithing (Carpentry).  These everyday items are what pay the bills. What makes Mathius’s Money is his weapons.

Mathius has a knack for weapons.  He has never produced a bad blade yet. They are expensive and just short of greatworks. But you can find weapons ready made here, while most shops only custom make them.  Here you can find a dozen or so swords of various lengths weights and blade shapes off the rack. His arrow heads are expensive, but highly prized broadpoints.  Weapons are awful stock, hard to make, expensive in terms of material and times, and the people who need them seldom have the cash to get them.  They sit on the rack for quite a while before they are found by the one who should have them.  (When they do sell, they do make a big profit). 

Mathius is a Master MetalSmith. He is getting on in years, developing a bit of a belly, but he is still fit and his mind is as sharp as one of his blades.  He has two apprentices which have become like his sons: Kevinus and Markus. Being nearly of age, they are both Journeymen now, on their way to being full Guild Smiths. Both want to take over the SharpShop. Kevinus is the better business man and a great smith. Markus has Mathius’s knack for blades and wants to cater to adventurers and the local military.

These folks make them, they are not warriors by any stretch.  Mathius and Kevinus are passible hands. Markus fancies himself a "blademaster". He can talk the talk and walk the walk, but he is simply better than average at all bladed weapons.

From the outside, Outsiders looks like pretty much any other inn or tavern on the less traveled side of the marketplace. It has a brick foundation, and the upper floor is clad in plaster and slatboard. A plain tile roof keeps the occupants inside dry while they drown their sorrows or their lusts. The windows are shuttered, and the sign over the door shows a man leading a horse.

History
Outsiders at one point was just another inn on an avenue of taverns, brothels, and other inns. During that time nothing of great importance particularly happened other than the occassional brawl, or lovers tryst gone sour. It wasn’t until 20 years ago when the bar was purchased by Davor Evincan, an Ankaran merchant and expatriate.

Davor found few places that had anything like the food he ate at home, or the dark beer he was accustomed to drinking. On top of that, he found many of the local taverns and alehouses to be less than friendly to who they called outsiders. Davor found himself constantly in brawls since so many of the Ozian youths wanted to test the supposed martial nature of the Ankaran people. Exasperated he found an Inn for sale. Within a year, he had Outsider’s Inn operating.

The kitchen makes Ankaran cuisine, which unlike the spice and stir fry of Falhathian food, favors seasonings of nutmeg, marjoram, and saffron over steamed rice. Poultry is ever present in the meals, boiled in spices and dark beer, or fried on a hot pan with butter and sliced vegetables. Evincan started a joint effort with another Ankaran, a brewer by trade. A basement was dug, and barrels made for the brewing of Ankaran type black beers, contrary to the light and pale ales favored by the Falhathians.

Now some assume that Outsider’s is an Ankaran establishment, and while for the most part it is, it is more of a refuge for travelers and merchants to rest. Within Outsider’s plastered walls, everyone is equal, no one is on their home turf, they are all strangers and outsiders. Few places will have as diverse a clientele as Outsiders as half-orc furriers and trackers are just as likely to be found as the exasperated half-elfin herbalist tired of being hit on by short brown Falhathians.

Outsider’s Inn Today
The Inn does good business, both in terms of selling its unique black Ankaran beer, and in terms of filling the rooms on a nightly basis. Rates are a bit higher than most taverns and inns in the area, but few of its patrons are nursing their last silver piece. Sometimes brawls break out, but this is generally only when a band of locals decide to go bar-diving and attempt to invade Outsiders. The fights can be legendary, only broken up when the guard arrives with clubs and hook-sticks.

As with most Inns, Outsider’s has its share of working girls, most of whom are foreigners, or the half-blooded bastards of foreigners. The racial variety presented on the staircase has led to many a decision being reduced to a quick game of eenie-meenie-minie-mo to pick a lady to ‘spend the evening’ with.

The bar dominates a quarter of the ground floor, the kitchens located behind it. A seated area has tables for those who are taking meals, making deals, or listening to whatever entertainment there is for the time of day or night. A central area is simple open space often used for dances, and sports not supported by local policies. Many an Ankaran style cock fight has been held after hours on the dance floor.

Plot Hooks
Into the Mix - The PCs are outsiders, and are faced with the constant barrage of strange meals, strange customs, and sometimes not so friendly locals. Outsider’s offers a place of refuge and maybe even a taste of home. Replace Ankara with the PCs original homeland and they have a safe place to go to, or keep it as Ankaran, and the PCs find an oasis that has a hint of home to it, and a sense of camaraderie to be found with the other foreigners.

Slumming! - The PCs are locals, and their current antagonist is a foreigner, and he’s been shacked up at Outsiders, and to get him the PCs are going to have to go slumming with the foreigners and tourists. Can they start a brawl and take him down in the process, or do they set something up with the guard…to look the other way for a bit?

Closing Shop - The owner of Outsiders has a Dingus…not an all-powerful dingus, but a dingus none the less. Do the PCs try to haggle for it, buy it, or do they break and enter to steal it from the Inn? How do you break into a place that really doesn’t close?

I would first like to thank Moonhunter for always coming up with the smash mouth type of subs of his. The list of 30 was a great idea. This was a submission I wanted to add in addition to the 30 NPC list, but it is falling short of that mark by a considerable number.

While not being NPC’s I thought that a list of 30 Shops, business, and establishments would be a great idea. Although once again Moonhunter has the honor of adding a codex of Establishments. So after being disappointed once again, I began reading the places that he had linked, and while they were great they were common in a sense.

My list of, hopefully, 30 Businesses of the Rare and Unique will be a new look into what we can get packed into our city settings. I hope this is worth it.

Cities are a perfect place for role-playing. It gives everyone a place we can be familiar with in some form or another. We all have lived in a civilized society to some extent for some time now and can relate to the need for certain things to be there and available, even in a fantasy environment.

A market place for instance. People need to sell their wares and in an environment where shipping via land, sea, and air was slow or impossible or expensive; merchants take to their own and move it themselves and setup shop in a bazar or market.

Clothing venders are another thing you see that is common and important. Inn’s, taverns, food shops, bakeries; all are important, needed, and always there.

But what about the odd places of interest we neglect? What about taxi services? What about repair services? Things that we neglect to think of because we assume that they do not have the need or technology to provide the service?

I beg to differ, even something as complex as a taxi service is possible, and was possible even in our own history. This codex is a testament of that and I hope that it makes it to 30 so it can follow in the footsteps of the big 30 List. Some of these may turn into full subs at a later date however.

Guild Stations are found in almost every town and city. They serve several functions. They have distinctive red doors and a lamp that is always kept burning to its right.

The front room is a counter with a stool and a few chairs hanging about. There is always a scribe or two hanging about, looking to pick up a job scribing a message.

Older Red Caps are stationed as these Stations and their larger cousins Homes. While not able to handle the rigors of the road, they can still put in a day of work.  These silver belled capped fellows organize their runners, take in messages, and keep the station in supplies. 

In the back, guild stations are small mini-inns for RedCaps. It is a place where they can catch a meal and a few hours rest, perhaps even trade in their horse for a fresh one.  Most Red Caps do not travel too far from their station, as most people send messages short distances. Other Red Caps specialize in messages along certain routes.  Certain runners only take messages to nobles or certain guilds. There is no hard and fast rule, it is who ever comfortable with the run and who is available.

The end point of many a caravan, The Salt & Herb Shoppe is a purveyor of fine salts, spices, and herbs from many lands. The loads may be relatively small, but they are worth more than their weight in gold.  The proprietor Samius Keeprian of Shandazar is a stingy man who worries and watches over every aspect of his business. He carefully watches his loads. He measures everything. He is squinting at everything that goes on, including the dust that floats in his shop. Keeprian sells medicinal, magical, and culinary products.

The shop is an L shaped building that "cuddles" the shop next to it. (Keeprian charges a good rent for this small shop.) The front of the shop is fairly standard. The roof and the awning of the building is a deep green. Entering the shop one is assaulted by smells. The walls are lined with drawers of various sizes. They are all a dark stained lacquered wood. The dark walls add to a gloom that is not helped by the three tiny lamps that attempt to light the place. Each drawer has a plain white tag written in an odd code known only to the employees (to prevent theft of course, so you must be assisted by one of them. They shift the drawers around frequently). Some are loose, some are kept in tins, some are kept in wax balls, it depends on the item.

There are two or three "island" fixtures that serve as both desks and storage of spice in tiny drawers.  Each island has measuring devices of such precision that many alchemists and jewelers are jealous. They also have several scholarly tomes available that catalogs every spice, herb, and salt in the known world.

The shop also carries feathers, incenses, a few chemicals, small branches of special woods, and pure alcohols. They are mixed in with the herbs and spices.

In the back of the building is a huge warehouse where goods are stored in wax sealed urns. The odd code is continued here. One needs to be intimately familiar with their system to find anything here. The back section has Keeperian’s office. Here he keeps two sets of books (one real, one for the tax man). He also has a secret safe under his desk where secret gold and treasure are kept. 

Just inside this warehouse there is a number of shelves, This is where they keep items that are in larger glass jars of common nature.

Keeperian never cheats a customers, he gives them EXACTLY what they PAY for, never more, never less. If he does not have it, which he never believes is true, he swears by all that is holy he will have it again soon (and usually does). He keeps such careful records that he actually knows what the shop does and does not have, and the schedule for when the next shipment arrives.  The three employees of the shop are all scared of the old man. (He hires them timid and scared.) He watches them like a hawk. He drives them like dogs on a sled, except sled dogs occasionally rest while in the harness.

It is very much common knowledge that the skills of dwarfkind in the crafting of metal, and the working of stone are second to none. It does easily slip the attention that the dwarves are simply very skilled and patient craftsmen and their works in stone and steel are the most prominent and observable. Few give much thought to the humble dwarven cobbler who tacked the sole onto the bottom of their boot.

Samoyed is such a dwarf. He runs a tidy, yet understated shop in an upper class market place. The front of the shop is small, bordering on cramped, but the comforting smell of new leather and sawdust fill the air with a pleasant fragrance. There is a lingering scent of pipe tobacco in the air and the steady humming of the master cobbler working his craft.

Samoyed fits the image of the typical dwarf, short with a great long beard of once fiery red hair slowly turning gray. There is a stain in his mustache where his pipe sits, sometimes smouldering with a bit of leaf in it, or otherwise simply sitting in it’s usual place. Several different styles of boot line the wall, sitting in displays of varying sorts. Mens boots, officer’s boots, nobles boots and even the smaller and much more cunningly made ladies boots. There is no stock on hand, as each pair is custom made and fitted to the customer. The normal wait for a new pair of boots is three to six weeks, and the dwarf is solid on his list, no amount of threats or bribery will budge him to move people up on the list.

There is nothing magical about his footwear, other than the fact that the boots he makes are of teh absolute best quality and craftsmanship. It is a symbol of status among the lesser and middle nobility to own a pair of his boots, and they pay dearly for them. A pair of Samoyed’s boots can cost as much as 200 gold crowns to purchase, with the payment being made up front before he starts working on the boots.

The Silver Chalice is the shop (and market stall) where Fredius Cancian of Amar sells his fine wines.  Fredius imports his wines from near and far, selling only those that meet his high standards.  By "tacking on" a case or two of wine to another merchant’s caravan or ship, but having his wine making friends send one or two on almost every caravan or ship heading this way his import costs are practically nil. His wines are a bit pricey, but worth the cost as they are generally better than the local wines. (note: He sells finer local wines as well, just they are few and far between).

The Silver Chalice is known as the only source for Sparkling Wines in the City.  The Secret of Sparkling Wine is only known to one region, though other WineSmiths are trying to duplicate it.  It sells out almost faster than he can bring it in.

Fredius’s foreign roots show through by simply looking at his face. His darker skin and large dark mustache always show him as a foreigner.  To compound that, he wears Amarian robes despite the colder climate here. He is utterly polite to strangers and his family. He also has a bit of a hidden side to his personality.

Silver Thread’s shop is a tailors shop. The shop mistress and her crew can produce a wide variety of local styled clothing in a wide variety of local cloths. While not the producer of the finest clothing in the city, you could certainly do worse. The only limit to the shop is that they do not use exotic fabrics, nor do they import them.

The shop also makes things "for the rack". You can actually find ready made clothing here. (In any place but Antioch, this is a rarety until sometime in the 1800s or equivalent).

Silver Thread’s got its name from the sprite who taught the original owner (the current shop mistress’s daughter) how to sew with magic silver threads. The Shop’s Mistress is called Thimblia. The name came from her mother’s best friend, the sprite Thimblia. You would think a fairy graced child would be beautiful, graceful, and wise. Thimblia is plain, somewhat clutzy (except with her hands) and pretty stupid. However she is a good seamstress and a nice shop mistess to the guild orphans and waifs she trains and employs.

Appearance

Given the typical housing of the native peoples of the icy wastes, Taqukaq's post is unusually large and lavish. It seems to appear from the white haze as though a mirage, a smallish but sprawling sort of structure of many hides piled into mounds. The entryway is a hole dug into the icy and snow, covered by a bearskin for a door. The only hint of the place's identity is a organized pile of square stones, stacked into the rough outline of a man, draped in a wolf skin like a cloak with the head as a hood.

The interior is styled in a sort of spartan luxury. The floor is packed snow, the walls carved from ice blocks with rawhides as a roof. The structure is supported by ice block pillars and archways of whalebone. The building is roughly cruciform: the left branch is a store room with many skins, barrels, and dugout holes acting as larders; the right is a bedding area, covered in skin blankets; the rear features a crude counter made from ice blocks tended to by Taqukaq, and behind that is a wider area that appears to be Taqukaq's home, with bedding area and a small fire beneath an opening in the skins as a chimney.

Finding the Trading Post

Though it's not unusual to find native trading posts on the borders of more settled lands, Taqukaq's place is by all accounts deep into the tundra. The land is uncharted by all, even the natives. Here great beasts dwell, enough to drive off most native hunters, and the average merchant has neither the knowledge nor patience to go so deep. How does Taqukaq's enterprise manage to stay open? For one, his wares are by far the best. Taqukaq and his band of hunters always seem to find the best game: bearskins with fur white as the winter sun, walrus ivory long as man's arm, whale blubber rendered to oil that burns pure and slow. Taqukaq is also renowned for knowing information few others do; he seems as much a part of the northern environment as the wolf or the tern. Those who seek such goods and knowledge are often either great adventurers or the hirelings of powerful lords - both of which carry a multitude of interesting goods.

So how to find the trading post? Ask someone who has made the journey and returned successfully and you're likely to get different answers. Follow the Frozen River north until you see the White Escarpment? Leave the Taiga north of Thordar until all is ice? Traverse the Blue Glaciers into the Black Valley until nightfall? With no sure path, the adventurer takes a certain risk when making the trip. However, there are others that say you don't find Taqukaq - Taqukaq finds you. More than a few travelers have found Taqukaq by chance and just in time, as the cold began to set in earnest and the light dimmed beyond hope. The friendly and reassuring grin of Taqukaq has greeted many on the door of death, thankful for his insulating furs and warm fire.

Northern Hospitality

Once safely inside Taqukaq's igloo-tents, travelers are greeted with the warmest place this far north. The furs and ice blocks make for a surprisingly warm hut, necessitating the shedding of outer clothing that one would normally keep in a standard winter tent. For a merchant, Taqukaq is a warm host, freely offering his fur-lined room for rest with a cut of roasted walrus meat and a cup of fresh seal blood. Before getting to any talk of trade, Taqukaq likes to sit down and hear tales - any kind, really. He and the native hunters that often bunk with him love a good story, and whether its one's personal tale, regional fairy tales, pious gospels, and all else are listened to with appropriate dedication. Taqukaq likes to tell stories himself, usually ribald jokes and local myths. A treat is for he and his hunters to perform the Kargyraa, traditional throat singing, its haunting drone echoing off the ice block walls. It's no wonder that Taqukaq's hospitality is as fabled as much as his mercantile goods.

Fur Trade and Beyond

Once everyone is fed and happy, Taqukaq is ready to deal. His most popular stock are furs, practically a currency of the north, and his are certainly the finest. Any local creature - seal, walrus, bear, wolf, even mammoth and great cat - seems to have its flesh dealt here. Ivory, both walrus and mammoth, is also popular, some of it carved into beautiful shapes and figures. More practical travels supplies like dried meat and whale oil are also offered. Others come exclusively to get a piece of information: the best fishing spot in the tundra, an enchantment only his people know, even the secrets to Kargyraa. Taqukaq seems a master in the strange tongue of the wilderness.

In exchange, Taqukaq trades for the really unusual and unique. Magic clothing, enchanted musical instruments, and exotic jewelry are among his favorites, but he also will take personal items of great value: a grandmother's ring, the amulet from a spouse, the only cloak that made it out of the village fire. Taqukaq seems to value these above all else, even goods that seem to be of more monetary value. He makes his deals insistently, though not aggressively.

Taqukaq's Secret

While he seems a simple if exceptional native of the tundra, Taqukaq and his hunters are more than they appear. Centuries ago, beyond the ken of mortals, the natural spirits of the icy wastes fought a civil war. The traditionalists insisted separation from mortal society, treating them as invaders to be wracked with all the powers of the tundra. A dissident group of younger spirits wanted to have direct interaction with the mortals, fascinated by their simple magics and personal dramas. A schism split the northern spirit tribes, expelling the dissidents from the heavens in hopes they would be forced to see the error of their ways among humans.

Taqukaq was the leader of this radical group, and now he haunts the arctic lands with his hunters seeking interaction with the mortals who tread his lands. Many of the natives worship the traditional spirits, and shy away from Taqukaq as a devil, but non-natives are not privy to this history and are thus drawn to Taqukaq's wiles. He hunts the great beasts like a mortal and offers trade mostly for the pleasure of interacting with others. As a spirit, he can see the simple and natural magics that flow through the world - hence his love of personally valuable goods.

The feud in the spirit world continues, so Taqukaq must not tarry in one place. Instead he roams in ghostly form until he comes upon those who seek him, when he materializes with his shelter. He often waits until mortals are half-dead before rescuing them, loving their thankfulness and taking the chance to admire their form. He is thus a benevolent spirit of a sort, while not hesitating to take his own worth through the trade of the goods that fascinate him.

Role-Playing Hooks

Knowledge of the North - The players are tasked with finding secret knowledge known only to the northern tribes. While no one in the igloo village they stop at has the answer, a persistent rumor of  sends them into the deep tundra. No matter whose directions they follow, they will find nothing until they reach exhaustion brought on by the powerful cold. Taqukaq rescues them and brings them to his post. They will have to entertain the merchant with stories before he's willing to discuss trade (this could be a good session to build character and reminisce). In the end, Taqukaq is willing to offer the occult knowledge, but only at the price of the items most beloved by the PCs, magic or not.

Spiritual Warfare - The party catches wind of a rumor: the famed Taqukaq, rare tradesman of the far tundras, seeks great warriors to share their tales, secrets - and arms. The folk in the north are deathly quiet on the matter, so the PCs decide to seek out the man himself. After they (eventually) find their way into Taqukaq's post, they must convince the hunters - who seems uncharacteristically on edge - that they are warriors worthy of his call. If successful, Taqukaq will reveal his true being to them as an exiled spirit. The Kuurngaq - bodiless nature spirits who dwell in this realm - have decided to bring justice on Taqukaq and his hunters for their companionship with mortals. They harass him at every turn, and Taqukaq fears they may imprison him deep below the frozen sea for his humble crime. The party and Taqukaq must put their heads together to find sanctuary, salvation, or retribution for his little enterprise.

The city of Emperor’s Port could easily hold the place of being the worst city on the land, if it weren’t for the fact that it has a working bureaucracy to sort out problems. Trouble is, the bureaucracy is corrupt to the bone. It lies on the southernmost tip of the southernmost country, built in a sweltering summer heat around the ruins of a forgotten city. Once a thriving trade hub, the cancer of corruption pumping through its veins has long since killed the city, and only a rotting husk remains. The city is truly ruled by the Jack of Irons, the sole leader of the Iron Fist, a thieves guild turned political entity that rules the city with, well, an iron fist. And at the center of it all stands the Closed Fist and Open Palm Tavern, the birth and death of the city.

Over a hundred years ago, a nameless city boy climbed aboard a caravan and jumped off at Emperor’s Port, the hub of the southern wheel. He soon found that, amid the bustle of merchants and clerks, there was a good deal of coin to be loosed from pockets and sacks. Caught up with a band of vagrants and cutpurse leaders, he rose quickly, and grew in strength. He began to see that the good people were powerless to stop what was killing the city, and that a new order would need to step, in to take the place of trust and security. A night fell upon the city, and the nameless boy took into his hands a chain, and waited in the shadows until a good man of the city, a baker, appeared, coming home to his family. And with the chains he took the life of the man, and took his own soul as well, and became the Jack of Irons. The Jack now commands a league of followers spanning all types, from rag-tag pickpockets and cutthroats to city clerks and governers. His rule over Emperor’s Port is both untraceable and absolute. His name is not on any paper, for he has no name. All that is known is that he resides in the Closed Fist and Open Palm Tavern, and that no man enters there who has not business with him.

The tavern is a true extension of the Jack’s character. It resides not in the center of the city, but in the eastern trade district, on an unmarked street in a shadowed sector. However, it does stand out from its surroundings, a solid tavern of polished dark woods among a line of nondescript stores and warehouses. On the front is a sign, on one side a closed fist, on the other, an open palm with a coin in the center. No words are marked, but all know the name. Several vagabonds can be seen lurking in the shadows of a nearby alley, keeping constant vigil. When one opens the door, an eerie silence as well as an uncomfortable smell, of blood and moldering wood, enters the nostrils. No music can be heard, although low conversation can be heard over tables as wisps of black smoke drift from table-candles. A hearth with no fire sits to the left, and dark wooden tables are spread around, some seats taken by hooded figures hunched over pewter goblets, others by hard-faced men with swords across their laps. There is no laughter or revelry here, only fear and business. The innkeeper greets you with a burning stare, a ghost of a man, with a pointed beard and embers for eyes. One will know if one belongs in the tavern if one survives the first two steps, for on each side of the door are two robed figures, well trained in the arts of dispersal. Five coins are placed on the counter, gold, and a goblet is placed into your hands. You sit until the Jack calls you.

What goes on inside the rooms one is led into is never discussed. Oftentimes one enters, but does not return. Rumors say the Jack is an ordinary man, with an iron mask for a face to hide a disfigured countenance. Others say the mask hides the crumbled skin of a dead that speaks, one who has lived beyond the bonds of death. And yet others say that the Jack is but a rotting corpse, pinned to the wall while one speaks to an underling. His chambers have been described as everything from a neat, lacquered office to the pits of hell itself. All that is known as truth is that all who deal with the Jack do not return as they entered, and that some have succumbed to madness shortly after. The mantra, a closed fist and an open palm, refers to the two parts of the Jack’s deal. The open palm refers to the price. You place five coins on the counter, and a thousand into the Jack’s hand, and the closed fist, the Iron Fist, will fall upon whomever you wish. It is a deal that has lasted for longer than many have lived, and will most likely continue to last until long after this day.

The tavern is not simply a building or establishment, it is a symbol of the death of a city, and the triumph of darkness. Every day it stands is a day the Jack’s Fist tightens around the Port. What the future holds for the tavern, be it a death in flames or a new coat of polish, none but the Gods can tell.

This is a Tea and Klah shop on the corner of two large streets. The streets meet at an odd angle, so the Corner Klah is a odd pie wedge shaped establishment. The walls are thick light ocre plaster. Dominating the rear of the building is a large dark wood "bar" in back where the drinkcrafters make their teas and klah. There are too many tiny round wooden tables with matching chairs for the oddly angled space.  Patrons tend to pull some tables outside (in all sorts of weather) to avoid the noise inside for the noise outside (the intersection of two busy neighborhood streets). Though spindly looking, the furniture is the same dark brown wood the bar is and are exceedingly tough. Tiny windows and some Ball Lamps 1283 lighten up the gloom inside the building.

The Corner Klah is one of those places you go to find people. This is a place where those of indeterminate employment can be found. Chimney sweeps, handycrafters, paintcrafters, and the occasional house cleaner can be found here, drinking Tea or Klah, waiting for someone with an odd job to show up. Some say that the Corner Klah at the Intersection is where one might be able to find those who handle VERY ODD jobs, if you get my meaning. Ask around, you might even find someone who finds someone to handle your every need.

Peterus is a heavy set, slightly round man, with jowels forming. He is always sitting at "HIS TABLE", something near the back near the feeble fire that heats water keg used to make the somewhat okay Klah and Tea served here.(Good thing the baked goods come from some place else down the street, or this place would have no redeeming qualities). He is the man to know.

There are always a few young lads looking for some odd coins who run his messages (or take them to the messager guild).

Surface Establishment - The Crystal Retort

The Upper Crystal Retort is housed in a sturdy two-story stone building. The ground floor has few windows, and those present are small and barred.  Thick, translucent glass is set back from the bars.

The second floor has larger windows and numerous bronze chimneys of various sizes protrude through a grey slate roof.  Keeping the chimneys company are a few strange weather vanes and other odd devices with no obvious function.  On the street in front of the shop, a wooden sign hangs displaying a faceted Retort.

The interior of the upper shop is well appointed and what one would expect of such an establishment.  Many pigeon holes line the back walls behind a long counter. All manner of oddities overflow from these compartments as well as hanging from the ceiling in boxes, cylinders, cages and various other containers.  The smell can be inadequately described as ‘exotic’.

In addition to a wide range of legal alchemical wares, one can purchase supplies and raw materials, though at what one would consider somewhat high prices.

A notice is placed prominently advertising coin for the remains of magical creatures, as well as a price list for the remains of other rare creatures.

Staff

None except Het and Manzred know Hachnar exists, much less his name.

Eldrid Longshanks - Health/Enhancement specialty alchemist
  A tall,thin, balding neurotic individual. He is always moving or fidgeting and will talk a mile a minute to any customers.  He never wants to actually see, or Gods forbid, touch any health issue. He requests a simple description, nothing more and then suggests an appropriate remedy. Eldrid has a secret passion for elves.

Terick Corun - Pyrotechnics specialty alchemist

  Where Eldrid is a flurry of motion, Terick is simply glacial in his actions.  He never rushes and does all things, including speaking, very slowly and carefully.  He is generally unremarkable in appearance, dark haired and slightly portly.  He does, however, appear have several fingers replaced by articulated wooden replacements.  Either by careful craftsmanship, or strong magic, they appear to have all the dexterity of the original.  He will not speak of them, nor how he ended up needing them -though given his vocation it may be obvious.

Vlense Richmon - Poison specialty alchemist

  Strangely enough for one of his specialty, Vlense is a people person.  He will be the first to greet new customers and show them around the establishment.  He is short, medium build with short-cropped red hair and beard.  Even if poisons are legal, he will approach the topic obliquely.  He will use euphemisms constantly, or be overly technical - perhaps even anachronistically so.  In truth, Vlense hates people and enjoys selling poisons.

Manzred Othmuz - Ex-Soldier guard

This dour figure generally stands about dispassionately watching everything that happens in the above-ground establishment. Of all the surface employees, he knows the most of what is going on and is a loaned enforcer from the underworld.  He will not engage in conversation and the staff will try and redirect visitors from him.

Het(Hetamar) (Homunculus of Hachnar)

This strange creature appears as a gnome-light figure with oversized features (even for a gnome!). He wears a red, iridescent robe.  He acts as the manager of the above-ground facility, being literally the eyes and ears of Hachnar.  He is capable of minor magics and Hachnar can channel spells through him.  He leaves dealing with customers to the other alchemists, only becoming involved if they cannot handle it, or if Hachnar becomes interested.

Wares

Most normal potions and alchemical substances appropriate to the world.  Poisons are available as well, but carefully presented and subject to local laws.

Security Measures

The above-ground store is physically well built and protected. Building materials are laced with powdered silver and cold iron.  All of staff have weapons and alchemical devices readily at hand to defend the establishment if needed.

Subsurface Establishment (The Imps Apothecary)

The underground operation is known through the underworld as The Imps Apothecary (in reference to Eth the Homonculus).

The lower establishment been sealed off from the upper establishment - the shaft that once linked them has been closed off by stone melded by magic.  It is accessed through specially concealed secret doors within the sewer system of the town.

Magic and non-magic defences

Much of Hachnar’s initial investment of time and gold was devoted to making the location as detection and intrusion proof as possible.  To that end, the walls are shielded by thin layers of lead and silver, and cold-iron nails are imbedded into the outer walls at 6” intervals.   More active magics are also used to conceal the location of Hachnar himself.

Hachnar has either constructed or purchased a large number of automatons of all description, including a scrap-iron golem which guards the main laboratory.  Unless activated, it is scattered through the lab as simple debris (treat as an Iron Spike Golem).  Other types include small dog-sized bipedal constructs with glass spheres filled with alchemical substances for heads.  Hachnar makes no use of undead or demons in his defences.

Staff

Hachnar T’ Velstrad- See the full submission.

Eth (Ethamar)(Homunculus of Hachnar)

Eth is identical to Het in most aspects, apart from knowledge and social contacts.  Eth does all of the interaction between underworld contacts and Hachnar, and even these are often through ‘cut outs’.  Eth is distinguished by a huge ring of keys used to open the various storage compartments in the Parlor.

Melric Styr - Assistance Alchemist

Melric is a heavily scarred and somewhat crippled young man.  He rarely talks and often breaks into coughing fits, the results of inhaling too many vapors.  He has been involved in many lab accidents, and is alive only through strange luck.  Currently he only assists in less volatile and dangerous work.

Gronus Thakwire - Assistant Alchemist

Gronus is the current workhorse of the lab. A prematurely bald, beardless dwarf, his exceptional toughness has proved a boon in his current line of work.  Gronus is also exceptionally cruel, and in truth engineered many of the ‘accidents’ which have crippled Melric.  Gronus eventually wants to kill Melric, for nothing more then heartless amusement.  In truth he is the most evil being in Hachnar’s business, Hachnar included.

Ledrick Ostimer - Lab assistant and craftsman

Ledrick is a very capable jack-of-all trades who does much of the fabrication of normal items, glasswork and other manual labor in the lab.  Being a very large and strong person, Gronus has not harassed him.  He tends to hyperfocus and would be unlikely to notice intruders when working.

Campaign Usage

These establishments can serve multiple roles in a campaign, possibly more then one at the same time.

Employer/Buyer

Depending on their contacts and world view they could be employees of either establishment or supplying exotic monster parts.

Customer

The most likely scenario is the PCs seeking goods from either establishment - again, depending on their contacts.

Criminals

Some heinous act has been perpetuated by one of Hachnar customers and this may lead them to investigate the business.

Its not easy being green…

The enchanted outgassing portal has directed waste into a sensitive area (Elves village, Druid Grove, etc).  The injured parties contact the PC’s to investigate and stop the emissions.

Mother Lode

The PC’s may attempt to rob the joint, but may find it a more difficult nut to crack then they thought..

It is not really a field, but an arena of sorts for local games. 

If approached from any direction but the west, it appears to be a huge steep mound. It is four stories tall and too steep to easily climb. The sides of the mound have grass and prickly plants growing upon them.  The top of said mound has a number of poles suitable for running up banners and flags.

The Mound is actually a tall "U" shaped pile of Earth.

The West side has a building butted up against the hill (closing the U). It is the Field Hall. In addition to two gates which allow people in and out of The Field, there is an open area on the ground floor where carters can sell their foodstuffs and goods - usually blankets.  Runners, associated with the carters, sell things in the crowd and replenish their supplies at the carts and a set of privies (The midden pit is said to be quite deep). The second and third have small changing rooms, Field Offices, the tiny Herald\‘s Box (Where they announce the events with trumpets and voice horns), and High Boxes for High People (Noble or Rich). The Storage area under The Field Hall has the various flags, pieces of the stage to re-assemble, and maintenance equipment.

The Field part of the Field is sized for The Game, with some extra distance between the People and the Participants.  There is a waist high wall that separates them.  The Field Hall hires toughs and off duty watchmen to patrol the Crowd to keep anyone from killing anyone, nor anyone from climbing over the top.  (An aside: it is amusing to see the two opposing sides (watch vs toughs) working together. It makes for a friend-foe relationship outside The Field). 

The Inside of the U is not as steep as the outside, but it has wood stairs embedded to the dirt.  There are long flattened logs serving as benches embedded into U side where the crowd sits. The logs are treated to avoid rot and bugs. It can make them oily to sit on, but that is one of many reason blankets are popular here. (Cold, comfort, and team colors, are the other reasons.)

The Field is where they play The Game. It can also be used for gladiatorial combat, tournaments/ contests, True Bard performances, plays (daytime only), and large public announcements/ meetings. (A good portion of the town can fit in here.) Most events are free, but a few require a coin or two at the gate.

The Church and the Guilds are working the town council to require "entry tokens". Your Work Master would give you a token if you were "proper enough" to attend an event. This keeps workers from sneaking off (good for guild) and keeps people from improper things (like games that the church dislikes). This is unpopular with the Field Hall, as it interferes with pay events and slows down the carter sales.

Note: The Carters have to pay for the privilege of selling here, but the festival atmosphere (and the beer) help make people loose with the crowds’ coins.

Second Note: There is a tarp that can be stretched across the flag poles at the top of the U hills, allows for usage in less then clement weather. It is not used very often.

The Food Shack is one of those little holes in the wall that you would either miss or want to avoid. Yet is is one of the best places in Antioch to eat and the best place to eat in the Docks District. Antioch is a river city and Sea Clanners travel up river to eat here. The food is really that good. It is also “the place” to have Kenditho. 

The Food Shack is a Blue Diamond Food Guild, so all its plates, bowls, and cups have Blue Diamond marks and can be traded in at any Blue Diamond food cart or the Shack. (which means there is a copper or two deposit on the bowls and such). Technically the Shack is a Food Cart, but the ramshackle shack was built around the original food cart. That was 69 years ago, so you can see the amount of build up in your mind.

The shack is literally a shack built between in an alley between two good sized warehouses. It is recessed into the alley a good ten imperial strides.  There is “seating” for patrons in the alley and in the broadway outside the two warehouses. This seating is rustic, made up of slightly modified crates and the “tables” are either large empty good spools or doors/ planks placed on crates. It was impromptu seating at one time, the dockworks adapting what was around to sit and eat. Now the seating is actually assembled from that impromptu seating, with nails, glue, and finishings.

In addition to dock workers and sailors (mostly sea clanners), many businessmen and guilders will find their way to eat here at lunch and an early diner in the hot months. It is admusing to see the well dressed and high class sitting among the “rustic” setting.

The Food is mostly Kenditho (Seafood soup), fried whitefish and chips, and some of the best fried calimari in the world. The fish fried chicken is quite tasty as well. They make a variety of broiled whitefish and the Antioch classic Beef in Brew.

The family Portius still runs the place. The Portius clan is known for is restraunts and food service across SecondLand, but few have immigrated to ThirdLand. Those few that have are the “poor cousins”, having only enough money to start up food carts. Now the Portius Clan of ThirdLand is literally the Blue Diamond Cart Guild. The three dozen Carts sell a variety of sweats, soups, and noodles across Antioch.

Travelers in the Jewel City will most likely wander in awe of its gleaming shard-towers and majestic temples, but such wonders soon lose their luster for the haughty magi that stroll its streets. Those who have made the city their home will soon find that its greatest treasures can be found in its farthest reaches.

Turn a corner off of the East Temple District, and you’ll find yourself in Ebonstone Alley, Menethor’s secret treasure. A great rush of color and sound rushes to you, as vendors hawk everything from self-sweeping brooms and crystal scepters to frothing potions and glowing toads, all accompanied by the thrum and beat of the street-bards. Lining the street are dozens of shops - enchanters, sages, alchemists, diviners, clothiers, and everything else in between. And in the center, the crowning hub of the entire menagerie, stands the Foolish Mage and Drunken Wizard Tavern.

But first, a little history. Rolan Harawier first came to the Jewel City when his spark was discovered by a visiting mage-consort, but after several years in the academy, it was quickly discovered that he was not half so strong in the power as the academy would need. After a hearing, it was decided that he should be let off from the academy to seek his own way in the world, and so it was that Rolan Haraweir became Rolan Haraweir, half-mage. For years he traveled the lands, putting his small talents with the power to work among others, but ever did the call of the Jewel City tug at his heart. And he did return to the city, and take up a job as apprentice to an alchemist. But he was not satisfied with his post, and soon moved on from job to job, never staying more than a year, until he fell into Ebonstone Alley. It seemed as much alive as it does on this day, yet at its center stood a burnt carcass of a building, a skeleton of charred timbers and ash. With coin from patrons of the Alley, Rolan set about rebuilding the timbers, repainting the walls, and furnishing its rooms, until at last stood a magnificent tavern, as tall and wide as the nearest merchant-hall, and adorned in gold and worked wood painted in the brightest colors. Yet it had no name, and Rolan did pace the stones of the alley many a week in search of a title for his tavern, until one morn, he tripped upon a stranger’s cane and fell upon the stones, where he did find a scrap of parchment before him. And upon the parchment were written ten words - “Which is worse - a foolish mage or a drunken wizard?”

When one enters the tavern, a curtain of warm air, thick with the scents of smoked meats and strong ales rushes to greet you. An immense fire can be seen roaring in a stone hearth across the room, emblazoned with the crests of the ten merchant-lords. The chairs are thick and sturdy yet gleam with the dark polish of southern woods, and the tables are decked with rich cloths of woven reds and golds. Under the din and clamor of its patrons, the strains of a sweet melody of the harp and fife can be heard drifting across the room. To your left is Rolan himself, a great bear of a man, with a rounded ale-stomach and a short beard, yet quick on his feet for a man of his age. He stands before a great rack hung with a dozen meats, breads and cheeses, and stacked with a score of vintages and ales, attending to his patrons with a fervor as great as the day he first opened his doors.

The patrons of the Foolish Mage and Drunken Wizard tavern are as varied as the streets they come from. A wizard with a beard as long as his flowing, sea-blue robes pores over his cup of wine as a boistrous young mage entertains his female companions as he waves about a baked drumstick as if it were the sword he claims to have held. The regular patrons include such esteemed individuals as the city’s chief architect (a half-mage himself), several high members of the jewel academy, the head of the east watch, and a multitude of high priests from the East Temple district. Among those respected persons mix individuals held in equal regard in Ebonstone, such as Barandar, the bard with but one name, who regals any who wish to listen with tales from across the lands, and Goadric Ironhand, an immense yet gentle guard, who firmly helps those whose business has interfered with the tavern to find their way to the street. Both receive free boarding and meals for their services.

Rolan himself is an immensely satisfied individual, and thanks the gods for his current situation with every free minute. Although unmarried, he has a great fondness for children, and still hopes to find a woman for himself, although he does not believe it to be possible at his age. He is one of the most reliable source of news in the city, as he retains each patron’s tale to pass on to another. However, no matter how profitable his tavern, he is still greatly in debt to the merchant-lords who founded his tavern, and each crest upon the mantle is a burden he wishes to cast off. While he is not desperate, he has made a recent habit out of gambling after-hours, which, although it has won him more gold than he has lost, is a regrettable practice he fears may do him in. He also has a weakness for magic items and gimmicks, and the song you hear is made by a flute that plays itself, and a harp that plucks itself, both costing a considerable amount of coin. Around twenty years ago, a wealthy mage paid Rolan several bags of gold to change the name of his tavern to the “Drunken Mage and Foolish Wizard”, as the mage found it insulting that magi should be foolish and wizards only intoxicated. However, due to the fact that several patrons left the tavern in indignance, upon the mage’s death several years later, the sign was promptly switched back to its original form.

As of now, the tavern remains the most popular frequenting spot of any who wish to enjoy good food, good ale, and good company in Menethor. Knowing a few spells won’t hurt either.

Footnotes and Sidenotes - To avoid confusion, the city in which the tavern is found is Menethor, although in most cases (and often in this post) it is called the Jewel City. To put it simply, Menethor and the Jewel City are one and the same. Secondly, a half-mage is a term used by magi to denote a person with magical powers who left training early, usually because of lack of strength in magic. However, to the common folk, any man who can weave a spell is a mage, as full and proper as any other.

The Full Goblet is a modest-sized, working-class tavern (public house), run by Hilgar.  Hilgar is a bit over the hill and shabby, as is the general establishment.  However, good solid fare at a decent value, and a regular and noisy clientele, keep the place in business, and the bar is also well-situated to bring in travellers.

The Full Goblet’s singlular claim to fame is its namesake, a magically-enhanced Pewter Goblet that automatically refills itself with wine.  Hilgar will happily regale any travellers who ask (and also any who don’t) with the tale:

“It was in me younger days - now, don’t go there! - when I was an adventurer and treasure seeker (like the party?).  We’d cornered a very bad wizard, after three days of blue bolts and gluey nets, d’mented henchmen and pet spiders, and worse.  There was he, beaten with nowhere to run, and he starts barg’nin for his wuthless life.”

“‘See ‘ere’, says he, ‘I have a stash, both magickal and moon-dane, locked away where you cannot get them without m’ help.  Let me go, and I’ll give them to you!’  Well, as we had precious little for our troubles so far, we said if he showed us the treasure, and it were worth enough, we’d let ‘im live.  An he made us swear to ‘t, which we did, and lo, sure ‘nough, he revealed an invisible door we’d like never found, and there was several things, though not so much as he’d wanted us to believe.”

“Yay, an’ this here ever-filling Goblet was the best part of my share. Strange magic on it, though. While it refills forever, far as I know, ya can only drink from the goblet isself; pour it into something else, and it goes away”. He will demonstrate; wine poured from the goblet into another glass will evaporate on contact, etc.

‘And so, to honor my good fortune, I grant every new patron one free drink, as much and as long as they wish - well, til I close for th’ night, anyway!”

At this point, several random patrons will laugh, or sigh, and others will beg for another freebie, to which Hilgar will respond with dramatic gesture: “Now, now, there, I have a ‘stablishment to run and canna make a livin’ handin out free drinks.  We’ll all share a drink on Solstice next (to general cheering) - And not afore!”

“But you, new friends, are entitled - Please, drink as much as ye wish, an I’ll finish me tale.”  At which point he will offer the Goblet and wait for a PC to drink.

The wine will smell fine, and a first taste will be good, but any deeper draught will turn to the most unpalatable taste the individual PC can imagine - for each PC, that might be anything from swamp water to a fine Bordeaux, because the goblet is indeed magical and can determine exactly the worst possible flavor.  The wine is harmless (in fact, it would keep somebody alive if they had no other water), but unimaginably vile. A very strong-willed (or severely taste-impaired) PC may actually be able to choke it down and hand off the Goblet to the next victim, but most will immediately spit the foul wine over the bar - to the great amusement of all other patrons and Hilgar.

But Hilgar is not a bad man, and after a hearty laugh, will say “Ay, and that was me answer to the wizard, sure ‘nough.  Ah, friends, ‘tis but a harmless prank.  Water will clear yer palate, and let me give you a wine or ale - of the best quality to be found, I assure you! - on the house.”  The other patrons will prove more than a match for any ‘victim’ that cannot be cajoled into accepting a practical joke with a laugh instead of a fight.

After that, the food is hearty and good, the drink is above average, the prices are not unreasonable, and the patrons are much more than typically friendly and full of useful information.  Of course, all are encouraged to spread the fame of The Full Goblet far and wide - but not the nature of the wine, of course.

Since there is only one Glass Works in the city, there is really no need for a name.  Here the Guild Master, the few masters, dozen journeymen, and thirty or so apprentices, produce glass sheets and mirrors of all sizes. The heat inside is oppressive, as most of the young apprentices and a few street folk are stoking the fires, manning the bellows, and carting fuel and glass pieces. Besides windows and mirrors (which actually take a good deal of skill to make), the various journeymen make odd money by blowing and spinning glass goblets and vases.

The Guild Master, a thin older man, has taken to designing “Glass Murals” for various religions temples, which act as a window and great works of art. It is his “devotion” to the God of Glass that compells him to beautify all temples to the divine.

Shorenor Vas remained a small farming settlement for over a century, a riverside town with more pigs than people. However, with the lifting of the fur trade embargo and the construction of a trade outpost, the town has transformed over the past forty years into one of the largest and productive trade hubs of Veldea. The town is split into two sections; the upper river heights and the under water downs. The heights are home to most residential buildings and small field farms, while the sprawling downs are packed full of warehouses, trade halls, and shops of all sorts, while the three painted timber bridges bring the town together at the river itself. The downs’ maze-like streets are populated by mostly thick, squatted and sun-dulled timber buildings, and the Golden Frog is no exception. Standing squarely in the center of the north trade street, not two house-blocks from the north gate itself, it somehow squeezes its bulky timbers in between two rival apothecaries. Faded gold paint adorns its facade, set with a carved emblem of a rising sun, and its sturdy sign sways in the street, beckoning travelers in. When one opens the door, one is instantly greeted by a deafening wall of sound, as the voices of what seems like half the town resound from the walls. A thick aroma of hearth and spice tugs at the nose, as do the scents of fine cheeses and pastries, freshly made or imported from local shops. What will tug at the eyes, however, stands in the back of the room - an enormous frog of gleaming gold stands on the floor, staring at all with its dull shine under the grand hearth. At around 4 feet tall and weighing in at over three thousand pounds, it dominates the room, serving as both a centerpiece and a clever traveler’s call.

The history of the Golden Frog is nearly as varied as its patrons. The building was first built as a trade-hall with the lifting of the trade embargoes; however, following a series of arsons, it was abandoned, then rebuilt as a warehouse, which remained mostly unused until the last twenty years, when a merchant, Evar Rotondrian, dissatisfied with trade and commerce, purchased and renovated it, turning it into an inn and tavern. With his small fortune he was able to purchase furniture, foods, and hired hands, and for several years carried a profitable business with the building, then known as the Northgate Tavern. However, in the Lastlights of the twelfth year, he came upon a great statue of a frog in a local market, and was so taken by its likeness that he purchased it, and hired a local smith to repair its dents and coat it in a layer of gold (at considerable cost). Whatever the cost, the frog paid for itself in weeks, as merchants and city goers flocked into the tavern to see this frog of “solid gold”. While it has never been weighed by any smith, and the original has kept an attitude of consistent quietness (no doubt due to weekly satchels of silver), the rumor is now an accepted fact. Evar prizes the frog as a good-luck charm and the key to its success, and within months of the tavern’s re-christening, it became the most popular frequenting spot of the city. Over the years, the immense profits the tavern has produced has given it an upscale air, although its atmosphere has not strayed far from its humble beginnings. Tapestries adorn the walls, lit by scores of candles, as three fires crackle in great stone hearths set about the room. The furnishings are all of the highest craft and quality offered by local artisans, and the food, while not exquisite, is a rather tasty lot of slop, with generous portions for a measly coin. A wine cellar stores all manner of northern vintages, while a meat rack, strung heavily with sausages, adorns the wall behind the front counter. Also behind the counter is Evar himself, a once-lean merchant gone fat over years of fine food and finer profit. His ruddy cheeks bounce as he partakes in the latest local gossip, and his eyes twinkle with a merry light as he pockets coin by the handful. He bellows the tavern’s tagline, “Good slop and a quick flop” at every new face he sees, which has become quite often of late, and complains of his health with mock exhaustion after each cellar run. A jovial man with customers, he has been known to be a hard man of coin, one to fight over each last copper though he pockets gold by the sack.

The three serving girls are all daughters of local craftsmen, and attend to their tables with a lightness of step when they can be dragged away from their gossip. A sisterly bunch, they bicker constantly with Evar in a good humor, and are well known for their numerous “encounters” with many male patrons. Mariel, the oldest, a raven-haired woman of 23, watches over the two twins, Seritha and Seribela, two cheeky and slightly plump girls of 17. All three are kept scurrying by the head cook, Haelin, the wife of Evar and quite a round person herself. Evar has never kept a guard in the tavern, as it is a bit of pride that he has always held his customers above that sort of behavior. The patrons of the tavern itself vary widely during the day. In mornings, the tavern is home to travelers and guests of the inn; middays bring prominent craftsmen and workers of the city in on lunch break, and evenings fill the chairs with the robes and vests of successful merchants, some local, some traveling through. Not many poor commoners frequent the tavern (or any taverns for that matter), but some personal friends of Evar who work on nearby farms receive a substantial discount on their meals - 100%. While the tavern stays filled week-round, it becomes packed to the rafters each leaveday and sendingday, as those are the official festdays of the tavern. Dancing and drinking abound as several local bands squeeze into the tavern to pound out thumping jigs, though the roar of the crowd nearly drowns out even the loudest fifes. As the evening progresses, guests are invited to join in with the music, and Evar himself has even belted out a few rough ballads, though not before several cups of good wine were tossed down. Additionally, every second month a great wheel is brought out of the cellar, filled with balls of countless numbers, and spun, spitting out balls with abandon. Any balls that land in the mouth of the frog are announced, and at this point, the coin flows as freely as the ale. While it could technically be classified as an illegal game of chance, the fact that the city magistrate is one of the most dedicated players rules out any “interruptions”.

However, all is not as well as it seems for Evar. Over three months ago, the he awoke to find that the Frog itself, the heart of the tavern and the key to his success, had been stolen. The thief had apparently taken the stories of the solid gold Frog to heart, and made off with the sculpture in the night. What became of the Frog once its true nature was discovered remains to be found. In a frenzy, the tavern was quickly closed down for “renovations”, as Evar began a frantic search for leads. Finding none, he commissioned a replica of the Frog from his original smith, which was promptly placed back in the tavern with none the wiser. However, coincidentally and to Evar’s utmost horror, profit immediately decreased. Because of this, he has been driven to drink on more than one occasion, and has lost much sleep to his precious Golden Frog. He has begun contacting local thieves guilds on the issue, and spent a considerable amount of his fortune on his quest. There is even an underground price circulating throughout northern thieves guilds on any information regarding the theft, which as of yet has remained fruitless. He greatly fears that he will either lose his tavern to the lack of luck, or lose his customers to the lie of a legend he perpetrated for over a decade.

None of that hinders the tavern’s charm, however. Should you find yourself in Shorenar Vas, take a left off of wing alley or straight from the north gate. You’ll find yourself most wecome.

The Silent Brotherhood is a group of monks sworn to the service of the Saint Elyrios, the Raven of Night and Silence. They customarily dress in dark blue velvet robes and black silken cloaks. The monks are sworn to silence and the ritual of initiation requires that they sew their mouths shut, save for a small section where there is room to insert food and drink. Understandably feeding is quite a chore and the monks favour porridge and soup. Many are scared by the silent men with thick black cords sealing their lips, but the townsfolk know their gentle hearts and nature. The brotherhood is not required to be chaste, but they are required to be silent and encouraged to be nocturnal.

The Hostel of the Silent Brotherhood is a small hostel in the dock quarters of town. It occupies a portion of an old wooden building, worn, yet carefully maintained by the diligent hands of the brotherhood. The only notice given of its presence is a painted sign above the doorway, which depicts a dark raven with a nimbus.

The interior is Spartan and modest, but the beds are soft and the location the safest place one can sleep. The monks are kind and serviceable and will go to great length to provide their guests with all manner of comfort. There is only one drawback: No one is allowed to speak and the monks even enter guests’ bedrooms to subdue any snoring. They utilize herbal concoctions called Mathewa to do this, which they drip on their guests’ lips.

Hostels such as this are the brotherhoods sole source of income and they usually maintain small altars in the cellar where they can worship The Raven in silence. This Hostel is no exception.

The Hostel is popular among scribes and scholars who value silence. In addition it is valued by those who are on the run, for the brotherhood consists mainly of skilled warriors adept at fighting with staves and maces. None can violate the sanctity of the Hostel or enter without alerting the monks, who are bonded with the sanctified building.

The Main Sail Smiths is a business of renown in the Known World.  The shop is the premire sail maker for the Northern part of ThirdLand.

This business started out as the only Sail Makers (SailSmiths in the local parlance) in Antioch. Ships moving along the Antioch river can go under sail most of the time, so they needed sails.  Eventually sea going ships stopping in Antioch needed sails.  The business florished and spawned similar "shops" in Antioch. For a time, The Main Sail Smith shop was both a shop and the Guild Hall for the SailSmiths.  Now, there is a modest guild home that mostly serves as a gathering place for retired clothsmiths and sailsmiths. 

What sets The Main Sail Smiths apart is the trademarked fabric it makes its sails out of.  The trademarked weave of these sails is difficult to do, but makes for intensly strong fabric. Others try to duplicate it, but no one completely succeeds at it. Many SeaClans have taken to buying some of their sails here. Thus you will find Main Sails across the Known World.

The Main Sail Smiths is housed in several buildings along the road between the Makers and the Dock districts in Antioch. The buildings are traditional Antioch (neo-tudor, two story townhomes). While they all appear seperate, the buildings of that block are all linked by the back.  Many of the middle buildings have their second story knocked out, so sails can be hung from the roof to the floor.  Above the main sales area, the owners family lives.  The dozens of other employees either crash in the storage areas or take rooms in other areas of the city.

The shop is currently run Marcus Excellius the fifth known as Marcus Sail-Smith, the fifth generation in his family to run this shop. He is a tall man with strong hands. That seems to be a family trait. Other than his keen wit, he is really quite unremarkable.

The Purple Bowl
This is a very nice place in a very bad part of town. This is where the upper echelons of the Shadow Class (criminal society) dine. An occasional noble or merchant might find their way here, either on a dare or for a secretive meeting. The fare is fine. The fare is also prohibitively expensive for the neighborhood, it is even expensive for most of the city, yet the place is well patroned. Note: the house sauce is Xoct sauce 308 (more accurately Xoct’s Sauce).

The proprietor, Valgelous the Chef, once sold food to the Nobles and the Rich. He was the Chef for a number of finer establishments, catered parties, and was even the Prince’s personal chef for a time. But the mighty often fall. After a series of “indiscrete incidents” ruined his name, he found he was no longer in demand by the rich and famous. So he began to provide food for the rich and infamous. “Gold is still Gold, no matter the source”, he has been heard to say. He opened the Purple Bowl in a less reputable part of town. The criminal and secretive classes have treated him very well. He also knows they are not the hypocites the Rich and Nobles are. They are honest thieves, rather than lying self important brigands with a veneer of respectability. 

The Purple Bowl appears to be a grungy tavern in a less that savory part of town. Once you get past the grungy bouncers in the antechamber, it opens up to a very nice dining establishment. It is not quite equal to the Noble clubs and salons, but it is ranking. The lighting is dim. The booths are high backed and very deep (allowing for some shadows). They provide discrete dinning. They are also bolstered with fabric to deafen the sound. It is quite quiet here.

The food is exceptional. The house sauce is Xoct’s Sauce. The wine list is not quite to Valgelous’s standard, but he is working on it.

He does “support the community”. Though he demands that his clients be clean and well dressed (as well dressed as they can be), nobody is turned away. (“No pretenses of nobility here. People are what they are.”) The lower and middle echelons of the shadow class can dine here as well (as well as middle classes who have the cash); there are simpler and cheaper menu items here. (The current bowl d’noir is The Bounder’s Special which consists of a bowl of noodles, rice batter fried chicken, and Xoct Sauce. Note: Bounder is the current slang for a cat burglar. It comes from bounding from roof to roof. ) Even the beggers and street kids can get a hand out from the back door.

Oh yes, the dinnerware is a near royal purple with a very thin gold ring trim. As are all the cups. One should not steal from here, as those in power over criminals will become slightly upset.

Note: Regular clients can purchase small bottles of the Xoct sauce (as they call it here) that they are making locally.

The Highway of D’hald stretches across the kingdom of Stalimsoth, winding through forests, plains, and over the raging River To’dekan. Fourty miles west of the To’Dekan Bridge, there is a ramshackle, cone-shaped structure of rambling balconies, porches, roofs, plaster, wood and stone walls, surrounded by a low stone wall that is slowly crumbling beneath vines. The sign on the gate post reads "The Red Rakda", and is painted with it’s namesake, a goat-like desert animal. The inn is constantly bustling with activity, and the grounds swarm with herds of sheep, pigs, rakdas, and people. The main room of the Red Rakda is a large circular room, with a bar and stage, roaring fireplace, and tables for twelve travelling parties. The bartender is also the innkeeper, an energetic, bright-eyed wood-elf named Duarotangu. The staff of the inn is jovial and even-tempered, and always punctual. The bar serves a wide variety of alcohols, including mazte, grog, mead, ale, and zulzt. The food is good, though not ground-breaking. The cheapest rooms in the inn are around the kitchen and central room, on the ground floor. The rooms rise in cost and comfort with the floors, and the third floor rooms are often used by travelling dignitaries and ambassadors.

Many think that Duarotangu must devote his entire existence to running the beloved establishment, however, this is untrue. Unbeknownst to most, the wood-elf is an active agent of the Blue Cloaks, a secret organization devoted to defeating evil, and his inn is a clandestine meeting spot for other Blue Cloak operatives. Certain rooms on the second floor have secret alcoves and doors in which Blue Cloaks may stow secret messages, dossiers, and items, and with which they may access the secret meeting room beneath the Red Rakda’s storage basement. Every Third-day of the week, a human Blue Cloak operative named Tereshon deposits a pouch of gold pieces in a secret alcove behind a stone in the fireplace of the main room. Most of the staff think that Tereshon is merely a satisfied customer, but one of the waitress wenches, named Shawen, has figured out the Blue Cloaks’ secret, and will sell what she knows to a wealthy bidder…

The Returning Gem has three parts. Through the large grilled window, one can see a variety of goods in the main shop. By the door, there is a counter where the clerk will take sales and answer questions. (There is a loaded crossbow under said counter). It is an diverse mix of goods. The source of these good is found in the cages, along the right wall of the main shop.

In the Cages, the proprietor Craigius Salescrafter, sits and surveys his domain.  Here he will loan money to those who want it. He takes their items as collateral. If they default on the loan (do not repay it in 36 days), he will then sell said goods.  The amount of the loan is based upon 40-50% of the worth of said item. The item is then sold in the store for approximately the item’s worth. Some people do not take the loan chit, only wishing to unload merchandise.

Cragius will not deal with those he thinks stole said merchandise.  He is a shrewd judge of character. Occasionally he will "set up" amateur and foreign thieves for the Guard, when they try to pawn more things.

In The Back is where the "exceptional merchandise" is displayed, items of great worth or historical significance. You can only be invited "in back" if they believe you have both the inclination to buy and the money. For certain items, he will hold auctions in back for a handful of buyers.

"The Rotten Bastard? You sure? Well, it’s your skin. You’ll find it on Dresil’s street, across from where the Temple of Sutheric used to be…"

1. Introduction
2. Physical Description
3. The Staff
4. The Regulars
5. The Occasionals
6. Common Events
7. Uncommon Events
8. Major Plots
9. Supporting Information

1. Introduction

A dive of legendary proportions, only the stout of heart or those with nothing to lose come here.  A no-go zone for law enforcement, little attention is paid to the goings on within.  If a few criminals get killed or injured within, big deal.  The proprietor, Myech, pays his taxes and additional ‘fees’ to keep the local law happy - or at least out of his hair.

No food is served at the Bastard, only ale and strong spirits.  Asking for wine or mixed drinks here is not advised.

2.  Physical Description

The Rotten Bastard is not a pretty place, looking more like a jail then a watering hole.  The thick stone walls, tiny, barred windows and even an old pillory in front, complete the image.  It is the pillory which is usually used to help outsiders find the place, as the tavern’s sign, portraying a black mustachioed man tormenting a pilloried prisoner, is long since gone.

The single door is heavy, iron bound, and bears numerous stains - blood and worse. It does not open easily and creaks loudly.

Once one’s eyes have adjusted to the darkness inside, one of the first things that stands out is the large jar of teeth siting on the bar. Of course, before one’s eyes adjust, one is overpowered by the smell of beer, sweat and blood in the air. 

Welcome to the Bastard.

The Bastard is a dangerous place for a fight, even discounting the patrons. It has numerous ‘features’ that increase the dangers of a bar fight.

1. Large, unscreened fireplace equipped with fireplace tools. These are secured to the fireplace by 6’ long chains.

2. A ‘coat rack’ consisting of sharpened Iron spikes
protruding at an angle from the wall next to the door.

3. All of the tables are crafted out of solid stone, by Redrick the Stonewizard, who uses magic to shape the tables.

4. The floor is made of large, loosely fitted stones which can be pulled up with a little work.

5. What windows are very small, barred and covered with enough grime to block most light.  They are too small for most beings to exit, even if unbarred.

Additions to this wonderful place of meyhem are appreciated, though I will be acting as editor for ideas to keep them withing the ‘spirit’ of this location.

This tavern and common house (restaurant) looks like any other quaint building in the area. It is a good sized common house, serving up to 50 people comfortably. It would be quite notable, if there was no other aromatic business nearby (like the corral and dyers). In fact nobody notices its peculiar scent except on the few holidays for the dyers.

The Stinking Rose gets its name by the primary ingredient for its food - Garlic. They serve it roasted to rub on bread, stuffing chicken, squicken, and beef, in salads, with noodles in sauce, in creme soups (house specialty), and in a variety of other recipes. The proprietor is quite mad for the stinking rose, attributing his robust health to his intake of garlic. (He owns the land that produces it locally).  He has managed to make it the local fad among the gentry, so he is doing very well despite the location at the edge of town.

The beer and drink here is top notch.  The local workers will come in for a pint or three and for lunch. They used to stay in mass after work, but the gentry has pushed them out. (Though a couple still stay at night for the fun of it). Garlic consumption, beer, and the occasional hand of cards, sums up a night here.

The sign of the Stinking Rose is quite large, with a bulb of garlic on a thorny rose stem. The name Stinking Rose comes from the words of a great bard who also believed in the power of Garlic.

Oh, yes, they smoke here, and even if they wouldn’t, the smell is deep in everything, and it would take years to fade away. Some smoke simple cigarettes made of leaves, others have fine cigars, there are common pipes and more exotic smoking accessories. Not all smoke tobacco or the local equivalents, quite a few experiment, and some of the back rooms produce strange smells indeed. New guests may (after almost choking) find their tongues considerably lighter, and heads heavier, even without drinking.

The personnel cares little for the guests; they serve what is asked for, but generally shows interest for only a few select customers. They drink little, leave good tips instead.

The patrons here are mostly higher servants of the rich and noble. Weary after a long and stressing day, they spend their free time here, with ironic remarks on other guests, and their own employers. While gossip can be found, if you listen, the servants know their duty and keep the real secrets for themselves. No one wants to loose a good job, right?

The History
The Human and Elves had skirmished and warred for most of recent time. Two peoples with so much in common, yet alien enough that they could not find a common ground to build the lasting friendship that many on both sides desired. Such a common ground had to be built, lest the Peoples of Light fall to themselves rather than The Dark Ones.

Humans also did not understand The Order of Things. The Elves had an intuitive grasp of the world’s pattern. Not only did this allow them to shape the pattern (do magic in Human speak), but made sure their creations and gathering places were in harmony with all. Humans simply did things, Human buildings sent such echos and discordance in the pattern of things.

Thus it began.
Underwood was chosen to be the designer/ creator of the Embassy. He had spent time in Human Lands.  He understood things like building, cooking, and sleep, (as much as any elf could). And, most importantly, he had watched how they built their great buildings. While these permanent blots of stone and wood upon the landscape offend the Elves and the pattern, there was sometimes great esthetics in their work. That he tried to capture.

In designing the building Underwood took great care in choosing the materials and the treatment of the materials. The design, though mixing human and elven ideals, would be have to be mostly wood. But there were issues with that.

To meet elven sensibilities, there should be few straight lines and there would need to be "comfortable" wood here, preferably in large amounts. A number of trees were choosen for the project. Most were fine grain pines. A few trees "with character", i.e. knots, were included so there would not be such a homogenous look. A variety of finishes would help mix the wood effects. The removal of so much living wood was a problem for some Elves. Just gathering supplies for the embassy almost stopped the project.

Natural stone was an ideal substitute as a building material, but totally unsuited for a larger building. Underwood thought long and hard and choose weathered granite set in the wall with only the weathered face exposed. This treatment would someday become the standard for rustic buildings using masonry in all the lands. This made it seem more "natural" and lacking the artificialness of smooth sided stone it disturbed the flow of things less. More stone was added to the design, almost too much for Elven comfort. 

More wood was the cry. However, that much wood (even with the increased amount of stone) and this much fire made too much risk for the Elves involved. Something that would not burn, yet was still as comforting as wood had to be found. After many attempts, a solution was found. Mystically shaped stone was then designed to imitate wood in color, form, and texture. This wood that was stone was used for most of the large supports, framing of the stonework, and large exposed pieces. They help support and contain the building.

With the supports and large elements of enchanted stone wood for safety and support, there could be warm worked wood throughout the embassy. Most of the interior has wood trim, wood floors, wood panels, wood handles, wood furniture, wood plates and eatingware, and so on.

Underwood’s blocky masses of the building that stepped up the structure to the penthouse gave the building a physical presence in architecture that was parallel to the presence of Great Stone Domes in nature. It echoed the grandeur of the Great Earth Water Valley. Underwood succeeded in his assignment of designing a building that fit with its magnificent setting.

The Embassy was built in the east end of the Great Earth Water Valley. Sited in a meadow, the building’s large scale is diminished by the awesome beauty of the sheer granite cliffs of the north valley wall above.

Elves aided Humans in the construction. The creation process was difficult as the two alien cultures tried to work together. Luckily, most of the human builders had been recruited from ex-warriors who had joined with the Elves at the Battle of Darkcreig. Knowing the Elves were "good folk", not the demon like things of folklore, they were able to put aside any fear, hatred, and confusion and worked with them. The process was good for both sides as skills were exchanged and initial diplomatic ideals and assumptions were created. As was understood by the Elves (and slowly learned by the Humans), the process of embassy creation did more for laying the foundation of Human Elf relationships, than simply having meetings in any court.

Once created, the Two Twines Embassy was a fine structure. Not only was it large enough for several royal retinues, it was in harmony enough for Elves to be there without pain.

The Building Itself
The building has an irregular, asymmetrical plan that is Y-shaped and contains 150,000 square feet. Primary building materials are rough-cut granite and enchanted stone. The uncoursed granite rubble masonry of the piers matches the color of the adjacent cliffs. What looks like wood siding and structural timbers between the piers is actually mystically shaped stones, shaped and colored to look like horizontal redwood siding and large rough milled timbers. The stain on the shaped stone, similar in color to pine bark and redwood lumber, reinforces that illusion that the stone is wood.

The building is massed into several enormous blocks with a six-story central block and wings of three stories. The multiple hip and gable roofs are finished with green slate and further break up the building’s form, making it appear as rough and textured as the surrounding landscape. The building has balconies and terraces at several different levels that add a spatial interest not only to the exterior but also to the visitor experiencing the interior of the building.

The Embassy contains approximately ninety rooms for guests and staff, various public spaces and meeting rooms, an enormous dining room, and utility spaces. The principal entrance to the building is through a porte-cochere on the north side of the building. The log and wood entrance contains painted decorations in geometric patterns of the ancient Elven, setting a tone for the interior. (Ancient Humans had similar patterns though The Humans seldom know that.) This entrance serves mainly as a utilitarian space to funnel people to the building’s interior, and to the views of the grassy meadow to the south and the impressive vistas, seen from most of the rooms. The main entrance is more subdued than noteworthy; the most impressive views of the hotel are from the southern meadows.

The Embassy is lit by an odd mix of ElfLights, HearthStones, and candles. His humans are unable to manipulate ElfLights and HearthStones, they tend to be only in open common areas. (The ElfLight’s warm glow is well complimented by the light of candles and fireplaces). In fact, personal rooms were originally heated by Hearthstones, but that policy changed. Humans were fearful of the items since they could not control them and they could be set to "broil" anything in the room (or turned off to freeze someone) by any Elf nearby. The Elves apologized and the rooms now have extra blankets, fireplaces, and warm air from the common rooms via nearly hidden vents. (Small Hearthstones are available from the staff for Elven or magical guests).

The north wing of the Embassy contains the First Hall (i.e. Lobby), decorated with floor mosaics of Ancient Elven designs executed in brightly colored rubber tiles. The cornice is stenciled with Crol-Elven-design paintings (geometric patterns reminiscent of South West Indian patterns). The First Hall continues the Ancient Elven designs with sawn-wood reliefs on the elevator doors and an abstract mural based on Crol-Elven basket patterns over the fireplace in that room.

The Great Lounge’s 24-foot-high ceiling has exposed girders and beams painted with bands of Ancient Elven designs. The exposure of the ceiling’s structure gives the spatial impression of a coffered ceiling. The enormous fireplaces at opposite ends of the Lounge are cut sandstone. The wrought-iron chandeliers and Imperial tapestries hanging on the walls, and the wood furnishings.

Other Imperial rugs, primarily replacements, are on the polished wooden floor of the Great Lounge. The floor-to-ceiling windows in the Great Lounge have 5x6-foot stained glass panels at the top, with handsome designs based on geometric patterns, but like many of the other interior elements done with a flatness similar to Art Deco architecture.

Directly off the Lounge are two grand rooms and the solarium that overlooks the southern meadow. The two rooms have murals that run the full length of one wall and depicts local flora and fauna in a style reminiscent of medieval tapestries.

The large dining room (6,630 square feet) has a gable-roofed ceiling 34 feet high at the ridge. The walls are massive granite piers interspersed with 11 floor-to-ceiling windows with the exception of the partition wall between the kitchen and dining room which has a six-foot wainscotting of wood panelling with plaster above. The sugar-pine roof trusses are supported by mystically shaped stone "logs" again painted in imitation of the real thing. Original wooden furniture and wrought-iron chandeliers (Human Gifts) remain in use.

Changes shared
Originally the dining room was a "human space", a large hall with long tables and orderly chairs. While perfect for the Humans, the Elves felt out of place in this rigid orderly space. To make the Elves more comfortable, the Humans suggested they should make changes. So they did. There is actually a small stream with a tiny waterfall running through the room. There is a bridge over it near the middle of the room. There are dozens of extra "trees", mystically shaped stone "logs"  supporting the roof now. They have additional greens added to them, making thems seem more natural. There are even three miniature trees planted in the room, as well as a few dozen ferns boxes, to add to the Elven feel. There are glass panes in the ceiling, allowing for more daylight. Now the smaller tables are nestled in made landscape. It is like you are outside or in a natural space. Yet it is still warm.  (See http://www.santacruzpl.org/history/tourism/brookdal.shtml )

Also included within the boundaries of this dominion are the meadow directly south of the Embassy, the stone gatehouse marking the entrance to the property, the coach house, horse enclosures, the small pond and walkways at the building’s entrance, directly north of the porte-cochere.

The Embassy is based on the Ahwahnee in Yosemite. If you need help visualizing it…  http://www.webportal.com/ahwahnee/ OR http://images.google.com/images?q=ahwahnee&hl=en&btnG=Search+Images (image.yahoo.com search ahwahnee)

Plot
Plotlines 1: Early Days: A problem pops up with someone being harmed by the heating system. The rooms are heated by Hearthstones. Humans were fearful of the items since they could not control them and they could be set to "broil" anything in the room (or turned off to freeze someone) by any Elf nearby. SOmeone may turn it off by accident or attempt mischief and turn it up. Freaking the humans out.

Plotline 2: Early Days - The Elves are uncomfortable in this huge rigid dinning hall that is comfortable for the humans. it gets to the point where dignitaries will not eat with Humans… creating a round of insults. Someone needs to find a solution.

Plotline 3: Elves sleep on "the ground" or a floor mat. People start getting touchy about having the wrong kind of sleeping arrangements, especially if the place is overcrowded.

Plotline 4: A human party is snowed in, trapped here for various reasons. (The Elves try not to laugh at the Humans lack of nature craft). The supplies here are running a bit low, as they were not expected to stay.

Plotline 5: An important human staying in next room mere existance is disturbing the kzwan of an Elven functionary. The Human will not move, nor will the Elf. The two need to be seperated.

Plotline 6: In a related events, Humans keep disturbing (or trying to disturb) Elves kzwaning. While Kzwan, they appear to be staring off into space or even sleeping (while sitting, standing, or so on). Servants ask questions of them, others looking for them actually touch them. One Elf was so angered by this breach of personal zamba (a concept no Elf seems to have a good translation for), that he assaulted several humans in his immediate area and proceeded to attack others. Both sides seek greivences and see themselves as "in the right".

Plotlines 7: Some human child picked a number of flowers in the south meadow. The Elves are all up in arms about the disturbance.

Plotline 8: (Optional) A group of Human Clerics have come to the Embassy with another party. The Clerics have been against these monsters for centuries. To make matters worse, certain holy items can cause Elves pain and Holy Water can be a weapon against them. This has created a great deal of tension in the Elf population here. Yet the diplomatic mission they are attached to is important.

Various Plotlines: Diplomatic missions of all sorts come here. Humans who don’t like each other might be here at the same time bringing Embassy to the Elves. You will have Human vs Human diplomatic shuffling, occasionally dragging the Elves into it.

There are a lot of touchpoints here between the two species. Unseasy truce, alliances only to fight Dark Ones, totally alien mindsets. Any number of misunderstandings can arise. These can make what would be a simple diplomatic scenario into a complicated one. The PCs, of course, will have to help mend fences and such.

Other options would the the traditional Mystery (Murder or Theft) and any number of Espionage related scenarios.

It is an unassuming brick building. However, it is made assuming because it is surrounded by more traditional timber and plaster buildings. There are no windows and a very plain door. On the door is incribed the name of the establishment Zenorcans.

If the building is examined carefully, you will find magical runes of protection carved into a few of the bricks.

When you enter the building, you come into a nice parlor with one other door, a heavy door made of metal. Often there is a pretty young girl who acts as a hostest and receptionist for the couriers and business associates. This heavy door is the actual entrance to Zenorcan’s proper.

The heavy door must be opened from the inside. This door leads to a short narrow hallway with a similar door at the end. It also must be opened from the inside.  Once through this guantlet, you reach the storage area and offices that makes up Zenorcan’s. 

Zemorcan’s is a jem wholesaler. The original Zemorcan is long dead, his great grandson (and relatives) are still running the establishment. Many Orcenti Warriors and a few burly Zemorcans serve as protection for the establishment and the couriers who carry deliveries to and from the building. Much of the family (those on duty) live in the second and third story of the building.  Half the guards and Orcenti live in the basement area.  The other half live in rooms across the street and in a few places nearby.  They will quietly follow any couriers who deliver to or from the building. They will also follow anyone who make inquiries at the door.

Note: The pretty hostess is never a family member and is considerd completely disposable.

Zemorcan’s arranges for gems from a variety of sources (most Northern Dwarventi) to be delivered to his heavily reinforced establishment. They will occasionally keep gold and silver loads safe as well. All deliveries are kept on the sly. Most people do not know that Zemorcan’s exists or that this is its address.