Endur
First Post
The 28th day of Marpenoth (October)
Twilight Hollow resembles most other small poor villages that dot the face of Faerun.
A stone temple dominates the village's profile. Most of the remaining buildings have wooden walls and thatched roofs. The aroma of burning pine spreads an ashen pungency through the air. the smell of a hearty roast rolls out from the local inn, and the blacksmith shop rings with the sound of metal striking metal.
The residents bustle about, performing their daily chores -- until they see you. The moment they see the party of PCs approaching from out of town, their natural rhythym falters. They stop. They stare. They whisper among themselves, and they disappear a bit too hurriedly into their shelters.
Dark clouds gather overhead and begin unleashing torrents of rain.
A cold rain drizzles down on the village, casting misery upon everything. As if on cue, a black-clad woman comes down the street at the head of a funeral procession from the direction of the temple. Her hooded cloak hangs heavy and wet. The woman carries a wooden staff so dark and knotted that it matches the expression of pain on her face.
Six pallbearers in black hoods carry a coffin. The ornate box glows with a soft magic light. The citizens of Twilight Hollow emerge from their buildings to stand in respect as the procession passes. Some hold up banners bearing the symbol of Ilmater. Some step forward to join the parade and walk along with other villagers. The funeral approaches. You hear the mourners chant in a practiced monotone.
"Sacred Ilmater, hold your child in your arms. In these dark times, watch over her and protect her from harm. We pray not for ourselves, but for her. We pray that, one day soon, her soul will know rest or return."
Twilight Hollow resembles most other small poor villages that dot the face of Faerun.
A stone temple dominates the village's profile. Most of the remaining buildings have wooden walls and thatched roofs. The aroma of burning pine spreads an ashen pungency through the air. the smell of a hearty roast rolls out from the local inn, and the blacksmith shop rings with the sound of metal striking metal.
The residents bustle about, performing their daily chores -- until they see you. The moment they see the party of PCs approaching from out of town, their natural rhythym falters. They stop. They stare. They whisper among themselves, and they disappear a bit too hurriedly into their shelters.
Dark clouds gather overhead and begin unleashing torrents of rain.
A cold rain drizzles down on the village, casting misery upon everything. As if on cue, a black-clad woman comes down the street at the head of a funeral procession from the direction of the temple. Her hooded cloak hangs heavy and wet. The woman carries a wooden staff so dark and knotted that it matches the expression of pain on her face.
Six pallbearers in black hoods carry a coffin. The ornate box glows with a soft magic light. The citizens of Twilight Hollow emerge from their buildings to stand in respect as the procession passes. Some hold up banners bearing the symbol of Ilmater. Some step forward to join the parade and walk along with other villagers. The funeral approaches. You hear the mourners chant in a practiced monotone.
"Sacred Ilmater, hold your child in your arms. In these dark times, watch over her and protect her from harm. We pray not for ourselves, but for her. We pray that, one day soon, her soul will know rest or return."
