Friadoc
Explorer
As Spring wanes, giving way to Summer, a chill morning dew holds the reeds of Camlin shore in its embrace. Although the Sun has barely crested the horizon the docks of the trading posts and outfitters are already bustling with activity, as those who ply their trade upon the Yondabakari River set to push off and continue their way down toward Wartle or up toward Whistledown. With tomorrow being Sunday, a day of rest, many of the plonking crews are of mind to finish the first days of Sarenith at their destination, instead of a camp or way stop.
Other barges and craft are also making their way to and by Camlin Shores, obviously having started their mornings early, too.
By Absalom Reckoning it is the year 4712, the Age of Lost Omens, and much is as unknown of true portent and sign. While the lands abound with machinations and ill-tidings, many say that Down Camlin Way is an idyllic pleasantry of good folk who work hard and are quite accepting of other honest people. Be it shore or sod, forest or field, Camlin folk deal fairly and work the environs around them.
The air is weighty with dew and mist, of which the newly risen Sun has barely begun to disperse. There's a crisp chill to the wind, but more brisk and less biting. While many folk appear to be coming and going, leaving or returning, some appear to be coming to a happenstance by a small copse of evergreens by a small fell a brief way down from the docks.
Humans, a sylvan, and fey; a common sight for the area, but still something to pull the notice of fate. Focus draws nearer to them as they draw nearer to one and other, but the question remains are they gathering together with purpose or is it simply the randomness of chance?
Other barges and craft are also making their way to and by Camlin Shores, obviously having started their mornings early, too.
By Absalom Reckoning it is the year 4712, the Age of Lost Omens, and much is as unknown of true portent and sign. While the lands abound with machinations and ill-tidings, many say that Down Camlin Way is an idyllic pleasantry of good folk who work hard and are quite accepting of other honest people. Be it shore or sod, forest or field, Camlin folk deal fairly and work the environs around them.
The air is weighty with dew and mist, of which the newly risen Sun has barely begun to disperse. There's a crisp chill to the wind, but more brisk and less biting. While many folk appear to be coming and going, leaving or returning, some appear to be coming to a happenstance by a small copse of evergreens by a small fell a brief way down from the docks.
Humans, a sylvan, and fey; a common sight for the area, but still something to pull the notice of fate. Focus draws nearer to them as they draw nearer to one and other, but the question remains are they gathering together with purpose or is it simply the randomness of chance?
