As I promised, I located the original campaign info that I handed out to the players. There is quite a bit of it and the large majority is copied directly from Old One's notes that he posted in his first thread. I did make some substantial alterations, particularly in that I did not use Old One's cosmology and that the non-human races are much more prevalent in my campaign world.
If anybody is interested, I still have th unaltered text from Old One's campaign background too. I don't really want to post it here in my story hour thread (mostly because so much of it is identical to what I'm about to post) but I'd be happy to e-mail it to anyone who wants it.
PLAYER'S INTRODUCTION
Your breath comes in quick gasps as you climb the last few feet to the summit of Kyndalyn’s Watch. The cool autumn air quickly dries the sweat soaking your tunic, causing you to shiver ever so slightly. Your feet come to rest atop the stacked stone cairn; nearly three spear throws long, a spear throw in width and another in height. Below you, in their granite tomb, lie the moldering remains of Kyndalyn the Fair, his brother Farinmail and their 20-odd staghounds. Here, 20 winters ago, the brothers and their faithful hounds fell protecting Glynden from a fierce raiding party of the Coritani.
Your grasp the imaginary sword at your side and swing it over your head! You shout a battle cry as you strike again and again, felling a Coritani with every deadly blow, just as Kyndalyn did all those years ago. You have heard the story many times, told late at night at Nan's tavern, as the embers from the banked fire grew dim. Heard the tale of the ranger Kyndalyn, the sorcerer Farinmail and their pack of magnificent hounds; four score and twelve Coritani crossed the Fodor River and not one returned home!
You look north and east and see the object of their defense two long bow shots or more distant. The village of Glynden lies between two rocky spurs at the southern end of the Dragon’s Tail Range. The wood smoke from the evening cooking fires curls lazily skyward above the stout stone and timber homes with slate roofs. You can make out the bell tower of the Church of St. Cuthbert, where Father Thomas must be preparing for evening vespers. Two ox-carts are straining to make it up the switchback path, under the every-vigilant eyes of the watch at the town gate.
You marvel at the crumbling, but still stout, walls and towers left behind when the 4th Cohort of the Rustica Auxilia departed for distant Emor, a decade before you were born. Here and there the walls were patched with timbers and lime cement – but they have withstood 30 winters of harsh weather and even harsher neighbors. Without those walls, Glynden would have shared the same fate as many of the other settlements of the Lost Northern Provinces, or so the elders always say.
Aquae Sulis, Ironoak, Greenspire and Bremerton have all been lost to marauding barbarians, fiendish Gnolls or other evils in the last ten winters alone. Since the legions withdrew, even the imperial provincial capitals of Lords and Roses had fallen, cast down into dust and memory. Now fewer than a score of holds remained throughout all of the Lost Northern Provinces, according the last merchant caravan to make the long and arduous journey to Glynden.
Evening is rapidly approaching, as is usual in the autumn of the North. You should be getting back, before they close the gates for the night – but you linger for a few more moments, surveying the land around your home. To the west, just under the fading sun, lay the Western Wilds; rough, densely wooded hills that are home to fierce barbarian tribes that Imperial Emor could not tame, even at the height of her power. Those tribes; the Coritani, the Nervii, the Brigantes and a score of others now raid across the Fodor River in increasing numbers, seeking to pick the bones of the Lost Northern Provinces clean. The river is at least ten days of hard walking distant and those that have made the trip swear that unfriendly eyes watch them every step.
Beyond the tribal lands of the barbarians lie the Blackpeak Mountains whose icy reaches are inhospitable to all but the heartiest of races. There are rumored to be tribes of Orcs who live there and war amongst each other and eke out a savage existence on the barren slopes of the Blackpeaks. Others say that beyond the Blackpeaks lies an ancient paradise city where the snow never falls and flowers bloom all year.
You turn to the south and spot several distant smoke plumes. There are still several fortified villas that survive, due to their proximity to Glynden. They raise foodstuffs and breed hardy ponies, which find a ready market in the town. Beyond the villas, three weeks or more on foot, is the port of Oar and beyond that, the Crescent Sea. Some of the trading caravans that visit Glynden two or three times a year travel by sea to Oar from the Eastenmarch, the Jewel Cities or even Imperial Emor herself. Most, however, prefer the longer (but safer) overland route – or so you have been told. The Corsairs of the Crescent Sea are rumored to be quite fierce and without mercy. Somewhere to the south, beyond the villas, beyond Oar and the Corsairs and the Crescent Sea is the shining city of Emor, Queen of the entire world!
You cast your eyes to the east and can faintly make out the huge bulk of Dragonspire Mountain in the fading light. The peak is lost in the misty clouds that always adorn it like a crown, even on the clearest of days. Everyone knows that a great and fearsome wyrm lives on the mountain. Several of the more permanent fixtures at Nan’s Tavern whisper of seeing the beast winging through the night sky when Seluna is smiling brightly, but only when they are deep in their cups. Rumors hold that the dragon considers the entire North to be its domain and it has destroyed no fewer than a dozen barbarian and Gnoll armies! From time to time, foolish adventurers set out to find the wyrm and steal its treasures, but none are known to have reached the peak and survived to tell the tale. The beast does not seem to take an interest in Glynden and the town returns the favor! Beyond Dragonspire Mountain, two weeks or more distant, are the Novantae Highlands where the ferocious highland clans raise their cattle, drink their mead and bash each other’s heads. Travelers say that the clansmen are suspicious of outsiders, but make sturdy friends, or terrible enemies.
Finally your gaze turns north and you shiver again as the evening breeze picks up. To the north lies the Great Northern Forest, also known as the Darkwood. Beyond that lost in the gathering gloom, but visible on a clear day are the majestic Pillars of Heaven. Even further to the north, beyond those mighty mountains according to tales whispered in hushed tones, lays the hidden Isle of the Dark Druids – the terrors that cast down the Imperial City of Roses in but a single night. The Darkwood is the domain of the fey, fierce creatures known for their deadly archery and even deadlier sorcery. It is said that they eat the flesh of their victims and hate all of the free folk with a burning and twisted hatred. Somewhere near the heart of the Darkwood is the lost city of Chrysilium, once home to the princes and princesses of the Seelie Court, or so old Sentenius claims. Of course, he is drunk half the time and asleep the other half, so who knows if he is telling the truth!
The half-smile that is playing across your face disappears as the gate horn sounds. You only have ten turns of the minute glass before the gate is closed and barred for the night. You leap down the cairn, leaving Kyndalyn and Farinmail and their hounds to their eternal watch, only to pause and look westward once more. There, far in the distance, framed by the burning eye of Pelor are the low hills of the Western Wilds. One day soon, you tell yourself, the sword at your side will not be imaginary and the barbarians’ best mind their heads! Perhaps you will brave the ruins of Lords or rid the Darkwood of the evil fey. Maybe you will travel to the Jewel Cities or the Eastenmarch or even to Emor herself. Perhaps the bards’ will sing tales of your bravery in the tavern halls one day or, you think as you glance one last time at the cairn, maybe a monument such as this will stand for you 20 winters hence. Suppressing a shudder at that last thought, you race down the slope for home – where a steaming bowl of mutton stew and a soft, down-feather tick await you. As you disappear into the darkness, a pale, translucent shape rises from the top of the cairn and watches you go. As if reading your mind, a brief smile touches the lips of Kyndalyn’s shade. With in inaudible sigh, the apparition then turns its sightless gaze westward, beginning its nightly vigil.
BACKGROUND
The Emorian Empire was the crowning glory of the Free Race’s technological, magical and cultural achievement. Its’ disciplined legions, skilled engineers and powerful battlemages helped spread the civilization of the Emorian Empire to the ends of the known lands. For nearly 3,000 years, the Empire was the dominant force in the land. However, like a mighty oak, impervious to external enemies, the Empire slowly rotted from within and toppled from its own weight.
The Empire had long seemed to roll across the land as an unstoppable force. One after another, petty kingdoms and tracts claimed by barbarian tribes were brought under the rule of the Empire and civilized. It stretched across a continent and a half as its conquests were consolidated into provinces. It grew ever northward and westward. But this vast size began to take its toll.
These newly conquered areas were often vast but sparsely populated. This presented two problems. First it required a great deal of infrastructure including roads and bridges to move the massive legions of the Empire. Supply lines were long and with much of the land uncultivated it was difficult to feed the legions and the numerous other supporting troops necessary to keep them equipped and moving in the field. The other problem was that the subjugated peoples of these regions did not always stay subjugated very well. They would often wage ferocious guerilla wars against the legions and other imperial troops. The barbarians would destroy a bridge here and kill a group of foragers there.
The costs of keeping the legions in the field year after year began to add up. As much tax as possible was squeezed from the conquered provinces, but those areas were beaten down from years of warfare already and needed time to recover. The sparse populations of these regions could not produce the resources necessary to support the imperial war machine.
At home near the core of the Empire the affluent society that had long prided itself on conquering all of the nearby lands started to feel the weight of the burden of war. Not only were taxes high to support the constant war effort, but generations of young men were conscripted into the Imperial Army as legionnaires, engineers, teamsters, or any of a hundred other jobs. Thousands of slaves were shipped into the center of the Empire to help support the agricultural industry there to help ease the manpower shortage. But this caused its own set of problems with a rise in the number of slave uprisings and the need to keep more legions available to put down these revolts.
The situation was unsustainable and a breaking point was reached some 100 years ago. Emperor Narses III desired more than anything to push into the furthest reaches of the continent, beyond the mighty Fodor River and to crush the barbarian tribes there against the Blackpeak Mountains. But the Empire was starting to fall into financial ruin. He needed to raise money and support for his campaign in the north and there was only one place that had the resources he needed: Sythia.
The Sythian lands to the east had long been conquered by the Empire and had had time to recover from war and become one of the wealthier provinces in the Empire. Sythia benefited greatly from being situated on the Bittertear Sea and conducted vast amounts of trade with the island nations to the southeast. Narses III called upon the provincial governor, Legatus IX, to invoke draconian taxes to provide him with the funds necessary to conquer the northlands.
Legatus IX had been awarded the position of provincial governor of the Sythian province because of his long time service to the Empire as a general in the northlands. When his legions returned triumphantly from their years of campaigning, Narses II gave over control of Sythia to Legatus as a reward and allowed him to retain most of his troops to be stationed in Sythia. This turned out to be a grave error.
Legatus refused the Imperial mandate to increase taxes and instead called upon his long time companions in the legions to support the secession of Sythia. He declared the independence of the Sythian Federation. All but a handful of the legionnaires supported his bid for independence and those that didn't were quickly subdued. Legatus quickly turned the huge merchant marine fleet of Sythia into a deadly weapon giving him incredible mobility and undisputed dominance over the seas.
Narses was completely caught off guard by the actions of Legatus. He had been positioning his legions in the northlands in preparation for the assault across the Fodor River. There were precious few troops in the core of the Empire to put down Legatus' insurrection. Narses issued an immediate recall of all unnecessary troops in the outlying provinces. He sent what legions were available to station along the Sythian border with orders to await support before launching an attack to retake control of Sythia.
As the legions withdrew from central Emor to array themselves on the border with Sythia, the slaves began to grow restless. Without the legions to suppress any revolts, dozens of slave uprisings began to occur, all over the heart of the Empire. In several cases, the slaves were able to band together in large enough numbers to be considered armies in their own right. They raged northwards towards their historical homelands, burning, pillaging and releasing more slaves as they went.
In a final, fatal error, Narses III pulled nearly half of the legions encamped on the border with Sythia back into central Emor in an effort to quell the slave revolts. This was precisely the opportunity Legatus was waiting for. His own legions swarmed across the border and massacred the outnumbered Imperial legions in huge numbers. He then withdrew across the border and sent word to Narses to attempt no recapture of Sythia. It is said that Narses personally killed over one hundred of his own house slaves in a fit of rage.
Narses refused to be recorded as the Emperor who suffered the first major military defeat in nearly 800 years. He sent orders for all available ships to amass at Oar to bring the legions from the northlands back across the Crescent Sea. Once again, however, Legatus was able to capitalize on Narses rash move. The navy of the Sythian Federation harried the fleet at Oar and sunk nearly two thirds of the ships that attempted the crossing of the Crescent Sea. Over two hundred thousand Imperial Legionnaires went to the bottom of the ocean wearing breastplates bearing the symbol of Emor.
Meanwhile, the slave armies had made their way to the northern coast of Emor and sacked many of the towns there, stealing fishing boats and the racing yachts of the wealthy to return home across the Crescent Sea. Many of them were also sunk by the zealous navy of the Sythian Federation. But many more returned to their ancestral homelands only to find that their once proud barbarian forefathers had been turned into humble farmers and shepherds. Some of the returned slaves who had grown up in the heart of the Empire adopted this pastoral lifestyle easily. But those who had been captured in more recent years had wild blood singing in their veins. They made their way across the Fodor River to the wild lands and established the Coritani tribe.
As for the Empire itself, the Slave Wars and Sythian Secession had robbed it of its ruling family and many of its leading citizens and it was left sorely weakened. Somewhere amid the chaos, one of Narses enemies managed to enter the Imperial Palace and slay him in his sleep. The once stable Empire was shattered by a series of vicious civil wars as one claimant after another sought the imperial purple. Legions proclaimed their own consuls and legates emperor and marched and counter-marched across the length and breadth of the Empire. After nearly a century of fruitless warfare, the Emorian Empire was a pale shadow of its former self, exhausted and impotent.
In the south and the east, province after province rose in rebellion – shaking off the mantle of Imperial Emor and declaring their independence. Emor had no strength to oppose these moves and was soon battling for its very existence. Despite entreaties from many of his subordinates, Legatus IX refused to invade the Empire. Whether because of some sense of loyalty to the land he once served or a simple lack of desire to conquer a land already in utter chaos, is unknown. He did however pass this idea on to his son Gaius I and since that day, the Sythian Federation has not expanded its boundaries by so much as a league.
In more recent years, Emperor Dartalus II has taken firm control from the various warring factions and set about putting the Empire into some semblance of order. It was his father who ordered the withdrawal of the Rustica Auxilia from Glynden some 30 years ago to consolidate the holdings closer to the heart of the Empire. The young emperor has stabilized the Empire’s borders and fought off all enemies. He has reclaimed several lost provinces, cleared the southern half of the Crescent Sea of corsairs and negotiated a lasting peace with the Sythian Federation. He wishes to return the Empire to its former glory, while avoiding the mistakes of earlier Emperors.
The Emperor is beset by perils on every side, however. The current strength of the Empire is brittle – one major defeat and all could be lost. The Empire has few natural resources left and must acquire most of it raw materials through trade or conquest. The resource rich north is out of reach to all but the boldest merchant families. Many of the Sythian warlords would love to see Emor pulled down stone by stone, but they bide their time and wait. The Corsairs of the Crescent Sea, rogue elements of the old Sythian Navy prey on merchant ships of all nations, raid coastal towns and extort ransom for captured notables.
This is the backdrop against where the adventure is set. The PCs will start in the small frontier town of Glynden, once part of the Imperial Theme of Lords. Since the last of the legions withdrew 30 winters ago, barbarians, Gnolls and others have overrun most of the former northern provinces.
To the west are the wild barbarian tribes that never submitted to Emorian rule, even at the height of the Empire. To the north is the vast expanse of the Darkwood; home to the fey and beyond that, farther to the north through a treacherous pass in the Pillars of Heaven is the legendary Isle of the Dark Druids, rumored masters of Darkwood. To the South is the Crescent Sea, across which is the fabled city of Emor – if you can survive the Corsairs and sea serpents. Far to the east, across the moors and highlands, is the Plain of Glittering Stone – once known as the Plains of Aresh – beyond that, the Eastern Barrier. Legend holds that, somewhere in that waterless waste, the Tomb of the Shadowlord lies. No living soul has ever visited the Tomb and no known tome or map marks its location. All that have sought the Tomb have disappeared in the wastes never to be seen again.
The land about Glynden is dotted with ruins - fallen towns, legion posts and forts, forgotten towers, abandoned mines and burned out villas. It is hemmed in by enemies - barbarian tribes, the Gnolls, the Dark Druids and, of course, THE Dragon. It is far from any real civilization and many goods are difficult to come by or very expensive. In short, it is a great place to start a band of would-be heroes!
Geographical Notes
To help follow things as the story unfolds, without the aid of a map, here are some geographical/regional notes. The easiest way to visualize it by geographical "bands" which go from north to south. There are 5 "bands" - the Utter North, the Northlands, the Midlands, the Southlands and the Utter South. Information on the Utter North and Utter South is very sketchy, so I won't be presenting much here, except to say the Dark Druids are rumored to inhabit a vast island - North of the Pillars of Heaven - in the Utter North.
The Northlands
The Northlands have three major areas, moving from West to East - the Western Wilds, the Lost
Northern Provinces and the Novantae Highlands.
The Western Wilds
Home to over a score of barbarian tribes - the Brigantes, the Nervii, the Coritani, the Suevi, the Allmani and others - that never knelt before the banner of Imperial Emor. Although numerous Imperial Expeditions crossed the Fodor River, they were never able to bring the tribes to decisive battle. Even though the tribes often fight among themselves, they always banded together to meet any Emorian threat.
Further west are the Blackpeak Mountains that are said to be the home of many tribes of Orcs. There is also rumored to lie somewhere in the Blackpeaks a place called the City of Endless Summer. No Imperial cartographer has ever ventured far into the Western Wilds and certainly not into the Blackpeak Mountains and so the exact extent of that range is unknown.
This area is bordered on the West by the Trackless Sea, on the North by the majestic Pillars of Heaven mountains, on the East by the Lost Northern Provinces and on the South by the Crescent Sea.
Each barbarian tribe has an animal totem and old Imperial writings tell of great bears, wolves, eagles and other beasts that would stalk foraging parties, appear at midnight in the proconsul's command tent and generally wreak havoc among the legions that crossed the river. In addition, the barbarian warriors, although undisciplined, showed no fear and would attack unceasingly, even when injured by wounds that would drop a normal man.
With the retreat of the legions, the barbarian tribes have raided across the Fodor River into the old Imperial Themes (Provinces) of Lords and Roses - sacking towns and villas, taking slaves and plunder all of value. For some reason, however, they have not attempted to cross the "Great Water" - as they refer to the Fodor River and settle the now largely abandoned lands. Sages speculate that some major taboo prevents them from doing so.
The Lost Northern Provinces
This area includes the former Imperial Themes of Lords and Roses. The former provincial capitals of Lords and Roses are but distant memories, one destroyed by a barbarian horde (Lords) and the other (Roses) destroyed by the Dark Druids - pulled down stone-by-stone in but a single night. Perhaps a score of settlements of any note still exist. Oar is the largest remaining town in the Lost Northern Provinces - a seaport with perhaps 5,000 inhabitants.
This area is bordered on the West by the Western Wilds, on the North by the Pillars of Heaven and the Great Northern Forest (The Darkwood), on the East by the Novantae Highlands and on the South by the Crescent Sea. The Dragon's Tail Range splits the area into two roughly equal portions along a North-South line.
The Lost Northern Provinces is the most isolated of all civilized areas. It requires either a dangerous sea voyage or a safer (but much longer) overland trip to reach the area from Emor, the Jewel Cities, Eastenmarch or the Sythian Federation. The Lost Northern Provinces are rich in natural resources - timber, raw ore of many varieties, furs, precious metals, gemstones and ruins.
The culture of the area is akin to Dark Ages Britain from our own history. A few isolated pockets of civilization trying to survive and keep the lamp of culture burning in the face of great odds. Much of the technology of Imperial Emor - aqueducts, indoor plumbing, luxury goods, formal magic academies and the ability to make advanced weapons and armor - has been lost. Many goods that are taken for granted on the streets of Emor must be inheirited, found or purchased for exorbitant prices in the Lost Northern Provinces.
The population is mostly human, although there are fair amounts of Halflings and Dwarves mixed among the population. As the human population has shrunk and receded into a small number of towns and villages, groups of elves have begun to repopulate the scattered forests of the northlands, but they still prefer to dwell in the warmer forests of the southlands.
The Novantae Highlands
The Novantae Protectorate never became an actual Imperial Theme. The area was too rugged and remote for reasonable Imperial administration - so several auxiliary legion posts were built, trade relations were established, a title of "Imperial Protectorate" was assigned to the region and the inhabitants were largely left to their own devices.
The region is bordered to the West by the Lost Northern Provinces, to the North by the Pillars of Heaven, to the East by the Eastern Barrier Mountains and to the South by Eastenmarch and the Crescent Sea.
Like the Lost Northern Provinces, the area is rich in natural resources, particularly mineral wealth, but the ruggedness of the terrain makes extracting said wealth and bringing it to market fairly difficult. There is also a thriving livestock industry, consisting primarily of hardy Highland Cattle, sheep and goats.
Culturally, the area resembles the Scottish Highlands and western Ireland from our own history. There are forty or fifty independent clans in the area, with each clan's first loyalty to itself. The fierce clansmen raid each others herds, engage in terrible blood feuds, drink to excess and hold regular games to show off their strength and prowess in battle. They are suspicious of outsiders, but it is rightly said that no truer friend exists than a Novantae Highlander - once you earn their trust!
The population is primarily human, with a heavy portion of Dwarves. In fact, a number of clans are made up entirely of Dwarves
THE TOWN
The Village of Glynden
Location and History: Nestled betwixt two rocky ridges at the southern end of the Dragon’s Tail range lies the mining and farming village of Glynden. It began as a collection of ragged tents around a single mine shaft over 250 winters ago. Once a part of the Imperial Theme of Lords, Glynden is one of the few holdings in the Lost Northern Provinces that has not been overrun by barbarians or the Gnolls. Glynden was once the home of the 4th Cohort of the Rustica Auxilia and has significant, if crumbling, fortifications that have helped it survive. In addition, it is not adjacent to any of the major trade routes, so it attracts little attention.
Nevertheless, Glynden has survived ½ dozen barbarian incursions since the legions withdrew 30 winters ago. Several times, the village has come close to disaster, but has recovered each time. Several neighboring hamlets have been destroyed in recent years and their survivors now call Glynden home (Aquae Sulis, Ironoak, Greenspire and Bremerton - all but Aquae Sulis within five days walk of Glynden). Perhaps 700 souls now reside in Glynden and they make their living primarily from mining the rich iron and tin deposits in the surrounding hills and through farming.
Glynden boasts a large militia (about 100 – 10 always on duty, 50 within 1 hour, 100 with 3 hours) and their constant watchfulness help keeps danger at bay. Glynden is also the home of an ex-Emorian battlemage, who was mustered out of the legions just before they withdrew – Claudius Sentenius. “Uncle Claudius”, as the village children know him, is old and forgetful, but he can still call up some magical energy when the situation is desperate (he will also tutor aspiring wizards in simple spells, but the instruction process is long and arduous, as he often falls asleep during lessons or is too drunk to make much sense). The final reason for the village’s survival is that it lies within the shadow of Dragonspire Mountain. The barbarians, Gnolls and Dark Druids all give Dragonspire Mountain a wide berth, for it has an evil reputation.
Both legends and eyewitnesses agree that Dragonspire Mountain is the home of a great and terrible elder wyrm who has resided on the mountain’s peaks for over a century. The dragon does not bother Glynden or the other few surviving communities in the Lost Northern Provinces, but has been known to descend on large groups of armed men and utterly destroy them. Several barbarian hordes and Gnoll armies are said to have perished under dragon fire and claw. Also, no one has ever successfully visited the dragon’s lair (and lived to tell the tale). Those few that have ventured close to the summit and returned tell tales of being chased away by a band of fearsome rock trolls. The trails and paths that lead to the upper reaches of the mountain are strewn with the skeletal remains of those that have sought the wyrm’s treasure and failed (each skeleton is laid out in a neat pile, skull on top, with their mundane gear stacked neatly beside it – no treasure or magical items are ever found among the remains). Some few report seeing a tall, slender tower rising into the mists on the highest peak of the mountain, but most reporting such a sight were found wandering aimlessly about the base, dazed and confused.
Curiously, the great wyrm has never bothered Glynden and most of the villagers seek to discourage would-be adventurers from stirring up trouble on the mountain.
Leadership: Glynden is ruled by a “Council of Elders”. They meet weekly in the Council Chamber located next to the market square to administer justice and discuss problems facing the village. The Council meetings are generally open to all and usually take place on the evening of Market Day. See Important Personages for those who sit on the Council.
Trade/Outside Relations: Traders come to Glynden two or three times a year, trading finished goods and luxury items for iron and tin ore, foodstuffs and the hardy mountain ponies bred at several of the surviving villas. Only large, well-armed caravans make the trip and they are normally controlled by one of the trading families. Local craftsmen of note include a decent blacksmith, a good stonemason, an excellent leatherworker and a fair bowyer. All other finished goods must be imported (chief among these is metal armor – such as lorica hamata [chain mail] and the lorica segmentata [banded armor]). Horses, especially trained war mounts, are in very short supply (and very expensive), most families use mountain ponies, mules or ox-carts for transportation.
Other travelers are fairly rare, especially after the Suevi tribe sacked Bremerton 2 winters ago. Bremerton was the closest thing Glynden had for a trading partner, but the town, four days walk to the west and north, is now a deserted ruin. Those few that survived the attack now call Glynden home. Occasionally, a bard or tinker will stop in Glynden, bringing word from Oar or the Novantae Highlands. Also, adventuring bands regularly use the village as a way stop in their forays into the North.
As often as not, the bright-eyed, eager youths that leave Glynden boasting of the deeds they will do return hard-eyed with terrible wounds and even worse tales – or fail to return at all. The jaded gamblers at Nan’s Tavern now lay wagers on who will or won’t return and those that bet against the adventurers win all too often. Perhaps two in three of the lads and lasses that pass through Glynden as fortune seekers are never heard from again.
Important Personages: There are still several veins of iron and tin that are actively mined, with perhaps half a hundred miners working the lodes. All of the miners currently work for the Brathwaite Mining Company, run by “Boss” Bigglestrom Brathwaite, easily the richest (and most powerful) man in Glynden. Several smaller operations have closed in recent months due to cave-ins or monstrous attacks. Boss Brathwaite has hired the remaining workers from the shuttered operations and actually expanded his own. Some in Glynden grumble that the misfortunes at the other mining operations were no coincidence, but Brathwaite denies any wrongdoing. Boss Brathwaite sits on the Council of Elders.
Calian Cassuvius is probably the second most important citizen of Glynden, even though he doesn’t live in the village proper. He and his family live in Castellan Cassuvius a large, fortified villa an hour’s walk south of Glynden. He is a tall man of aristocratic bearing, although almost 70 winters have stooped his shoulders a bit. Local lore holds that the Cassuvius family has held the villa for over three hundred years!
The family Cassuvius still affects the style of Imperial Emor, in speech, dress and attitude. It is said that a visit to their holding is like returning to the glory days of the Empire, 200 winters hence. They hold a lavish banquet once a year, inviting the notables of Glynden and the other local villas. Calian regularly bemoans the fact that most “necessary luxuries” are so difficult to come by these days and is known to pay well for interesting works of art. The three greatest treasures that reside in Castellan Cassuvius, however, are Calian’s three daughters – Ludmilla, Drusilla and Carmilla – all great beauties of marriable age.
The ponies bred by Calian and his charges are said to be the swiftest and sturdiest within two weeks ride. Castellan Cassuvius also produces ample wheat and barley in its high-walled fields. Perhaps four score people call the Cassuvius compound home, and they are not counted among the inhabitants of the village. Calian Cassuvius sits on the Council of Elders. Three other fortified villas still exist, held by the Jucadius, Nacalius and Octorus families. Each of these families also holds a seat on the Council of Elders.
Young Father Thomas maintains the small abbey dedicated to the Church of St. Cuthbert. It is open to all that are “welcomed” into the Church. Father Thomas has ministered to the needs of the local parishioners since Father Holthyn disappeared while returning from one of the outlaying villas five winters ago. Two Acolytes and four Lay Brothers assist Father Thomas at the abbey. Father Thomas holds a seat on the Council of Elders.
Kyndalyn the Younger commands the village militia. His father, Kyndalyn the Fair, his uncle, Farinmail, and their pack of staghounds succeeded in defeating a large war-band from the Coritani tribe on a tall hill just to the southwest of Glynden. The Coritani, over 90 strong, came at the town in the dead of night, in a heavy snowfall, just after the Midwinter’s Eve celebration. Had it not been for the watchfulness of Kyndalyn and Farinmail, it is likely that the village would have suffered the same fate as many of the others throughout the North.
Some in the village reported hearing sounds of battle, but the swirling winds made it impossible to discern the direction. The following morning, the rising Eye of Pelor illuminated a terrible sight. Atop the rocky tor, not 700 paces from the village gate, lay Kyndalyn the Fair, dead and rimed in ice, twin blades still clutched in unfeeling hands, amidst a circle of fallen foes. Kyndalyn, Farinmail and their score of hounds had all traveled to the Deathsgate – but so had every single one of the Coritani! The grieving villagers built a lofty cairn over the brothers and their faithful hounds and to this day the hill is known as Kyndalyn’s Watch.
All of these events occurred 20 winters ago, when Kyndalyn the Younger was but a child. Today he is a grim-faced young man of few words. He drills the militia hard, but is regarded as a fair leader. It is said that he rarely sleeps and spends much time patrolling the countryside around Glynden. His slightly pointed ears and straw-colored hair betray his elven heritage. Kyndalyn the Younger holds the title of Constable of Glynden and sits on the Council of Elders.
Threats/Opportunities: The greatest threats to Glynden’s survival are the barbarian tribes of the Western Wilds and the tribes of Gnolls who live in the Darkwood. Raiding bands of numerous tribes have been seen in the area in the past several moons and the Council of Elder is concerned that one or more tribes may try to sack the village, destroying it as they did Bremerton
The entire North, however, is dotted with lost ruins. Cities, abbeys, towns, towers, old dwarven holds and deserted legion forts are everywhere. Many have undoubtedly been picked clean by bold adventurers, but who knows what may still lie buried out there.
Such concerns are for another day, however. Tomorrow is the harvest feast. It is a time for revelry and fun. There will be plenty of food and games. The crops that have been harvested will be sold and stowed away for the long winter. Merchants up from Oar will be present to buy ponies at the harvest auction and will also have many goods to sell. And at night, after the children are tucked away in bed, there will be the dance at Nan's and rumor has it that all three of the Cassuvius girls will be there…
