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<blockquote data-quote="Systole" data-source="post: 6078767" data-attributes="member: 93930">The cart leaves only a few minutes behind schedule, which in Venza is nothing short of miraculous, and heads south out of the city.&nbsp; The grizzled driver has little to say to you while the broken down team of nags hauls you, a dozen crates of various sizes, and a large family with what seems like a half dozen children, all of whom seem to spend their time screaming, wailing, or -- when the mood takes them -- both at the same time.&nbsp; Eventually, the cart reaches Old Puerco Road, and you gratefully disembark and begin heading toward the Mallack farm.&nbsp; The silence of the countryside is sweet, sweet relief ... at least until the wind blows from the east.Pigs.&nbsp; Lots and lots of pigs.&nbsp; A nauseating amount of pigs.&nbsp; And over the course of the last mile, the smell gets worse.&nbsp; It's the kind of smell that will be in your hair (or your feathers) for days after you leave.&nbsp; Eventually, you crest a hill and the Mallack farm is before you.&nbsp; In the distance, you can see the partially crumbled remains of a stone tower.&nbsp; Even from here, you can see the dark, gaping hole that opens in the bottom half of the tower.A lean old farmer watches you as you approach.&nbsp; Aside from the the farm itself is made of a great number of hog wallows containing a startling number of pigs.&nbsp; The house is a simple affair with a barn attached.&nbsp; Nearby, there's a discontented mule tied to a tree, and a mule cart with a bunch of sacks in it.&quot;Guild send you, too?&quot; the old man asks, leaning against a fence.<img src="http://i1257.photobucket.com/albums/ii513/pnthffr/ivio_150_zpsfde60585.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " data-size="" style="" />...... Ivio Mallack ......[gm]Forgottenhelm has had a week and a half to show up, so we are moving on with as-is.[/gm]</blockquote>

[QUOTE="Systole, post: 6078767, member: 93930"] The cart leaves only a few minutes behind schedule, which in Venza is nothing short of miraculous, and heads south out of the city. The grizzled driver has little to say to you while the broken down team of nags hauls you, a dozen crates of various sizes, and a large family with what seems like a half dozen children, all of whom seem to spend their time screaming, wailing, or -- when the mood takes them -- both at the same time. Eventually, the cart reaches Old Puerco Road, and you gratefully disembark and begin heading toward the Mallack farm. The silence of the countryside is sweet, sweet relief ... at least until the wind blows from the east. Pigs. Lots and lots of pigs. A nauseating amount of pigs. And over the course of the last mile, the smell gets worse. It's the kind of smell that will be in your hair (or your feathers) for [I]days [/I]after you leave. Eventually, you crest a hill and the Mallack farm is before you. In the distance, you can see the partially crumbled remains of a stone tower. Even from here, you can see the dark, gaping hole that opens in the bottom half of the tower. A lean old farmer watches you as you approach. Aside from the the farm itself is made of a great number of hog wallows containing a startling number of pigs. The house is a simple affair with a barn attached. Nearby, there's a discontented mule tied to a tree, and a mule cart with a bunch of sacks in it. [COLOR=#8b4513] "Guild send you, too?"[/COLOR] the old man asks, leaning against a fence. [IMG]http://i1257.photobucket.com/albums/ii513/pnthffr/ivio_150_zpsfde60585.jpg[/IMG] [B] [COLOR=#8b4513]...... Ivio Mallack ......[/COLOR][/B] [gm]Forgottenhelm has had a week and a half to show up, so we are moving on with as-is.[/gm] [/QUOTE]

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