Old Ways IC
In the booming border town of Threshold, the twenty-third day of Yarthmont began much like every other day in this last month of spring. In Old Town, situated on a small island in the Windrush River, the city's poorer residents awaken and some of the town's more questionable enterprises fade into the final bits of pre-dawn darkness. West across the twin bridges lies the rest of town, with its well-spaced homes and buildings, full markets, any many and sundry shops. Threshold comes quickly and eagerly to life and why shouldn't it? It was growing and expanding, drawing resources from the vast surrounding woods, large lake to the north, and even an occasional mine in the nearby hills.
On the east side of town, caravels begin the journey downriver to Kelvin and the Capital, Specularum and dockhands start loading the next vessel. Nearby, merchants unpack their wares drawn from as far south as the Capital and from as far north as the Cruth Mountains. On the far north side of town, fisherman were up early to troll Lake Windrush. Across the river, a logging camp is already in full swing as loggers have loaded carts with axes, saws, and hooks, and they are head out for the eastern woods.
Just as you are getting your own day underway, you receive a small scrap of parchment. Pressed into a palm by a scurrying peasant boy, slipped under an inn-room door, placed before you as you finish your morning prayers. The note is neatly lettered and stamped with a green tree symbol. You have been summoned by perhaps the second most powerful man in town.
I have need of your services and offer a rare opportunity. Please join me at noon at my manor. ~Lord Bost
Constable Roland by Balford
Who in this world is sadder than the Ice King?
Last edited by Roland St. Jude : 09-25-2010 at 04:11 PM.