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Klassyempire's Profile

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- Adept Tinkerer of Page Scratching

For Next Level: 64xp of 540xp complete.
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Articles | 50xp

''It was somewhere just outside of Whitespyre...''

A short story teasing potential characters, setting and plot elements for a world-building project I've visiting on and off for several years. 

Regions:
Sister Cities
Westlands
Felldart Territory
Needle Mountains
Halëfas Forest

Mentioned towns/cities:
Westermeet
Whitespyre
Ross

Establishments:
The Horn and Sheaf Inn

Characters:
Ulimë the elf
Hainault the half-elf

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Guilds
“ What a narrow street! The bowed windows of the upper floors encroach on the view of the bowed windows opposite, making it all very dark and shady down here in your carriage. You feel it slow down and stop, and there are raised voices outside. Craning your neck out of the door you see a smug cartsman ahead, whose cart is blocking just enough of the narrow street to make your passage impossible. He appears to be waiting for you to move, but your driver is hurling abuse at him and your horses are getting restless...”
ephemeralstability
“ Recently, agents of a necromancer's guild known as the Guild of Morticians have been seen slinking around the graveyards in the metropolis of Jeffsport. They have been seen with many small undead creatures, leading to speculation that someone may be digging up the corpses and selling them to the Guild of Morticians. The Jeffsport Civil Authorities Office and various splinter groups thereof, including the famous Blue Lampsmen (the Jeffsport city guard), have issued a bounty of 100 silver pieces for information leading to the capture of whoever is selling the corpses to the necromancers, and a 30 gold piece bounty on any member of the Guild of Morticians.”
CaptainPenguin
“ Stormbound, the ship rolls hard over to once side. All that is not strapped down is tossed violently overboard in a splash of freezing water. There, on the horizon- a tower. Squat, it stands alone on a tiny island. However, it's the only land in sight, and any more of this ferocious storm will crush the boat to splinters. Taking shelter within the ornate entryway of the squat tor, the party notes with interest that no signs of life break the silence of the stone tower. As they take another step forward, they realise why. Traps. This is the fabled tower of Brenji, a rich merchant who wished none to share his enormous wealth. He constructed this tower to store his gold- trapped and ready for any potential thieves. But the ingenious pitfalls and scything walls are not the only dangers within the silent walls of the building. A guardian, left behind by Brenji, still stalks these very halls. A rattling hiss echoes somewhere from below...”
Incarnadine
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