Nymm 17, 998 YK
The town of Amrovel is relatively easy to spot from even several miles away. And for many of the people in this part of Breland, at least those who were spared mustering for the Last War, Amrovel and its sister towns will be the grandest places they ever lay eyes on. For those who have travelled extensively, however, it is just another sleepy little town.
The town is surrounded by a sturdy stone wall about fifteen feet tall. Not anything that would withstand a serious assault, but enough to hold back the sort of raids and monster attacks that might befall an area this far from the frontier. As you approach on the road leading up to one of several wooden gates, you pass a number of carts and wagons driven by all manner of folks. Amrovel, of course, is the trading hub for this region, and as such villagers from the surrounding areas are always coming here to trade. You think you might even recognize one or two of the faces you pass by, but you do not stop to engage in idle chatter. You are here on business.
Once you reach the gates, there is a short wait before the guards get to you in turn. One asks you to state your business, and you tell them you are here for a meeting with the Mayor, presenting the documentation to prove it. They let you in without too much fuss, but a meaningful glance or a comment from one of the guards on the wall lets you know that they do not want any trouble out of you. Maybe you just have that look.
All of the gate roads lead directly to the market square, and from there it is simple matter to locate the town hall. The building itself is relatively new, but mostly unadorned. The old historic town hall burned down in a fire more than a decade ago, and given the circumstances there was not enough tax money sticking around to build anything fancier. Another pair of guards, these ones dressed in the formal livery of Amrovel, stand guard at the door. They too ask your business, and when you give them the summons, they say they have been expecting you and send for someone to take you to the Mayor’s office. At about this time, you notice you are not the only one who has business with Mayor Falkur this day.
Once you reach the Mayor’s office, your guide knocks once. A greying khoravar man wearing rounded spectacles opens the door. “Ah, we have been expecting you,” he says, his tone suggesting a hint of reproach. “Please take a seat. Mayor Falkur is out for a moment, but she will return momentarily.” Once you enter, you see that the office is, like the rest of the town hall, a modest affair; but with the exception of an ornate desk in the middle of the room, with a comfortable looking chair behind it. You also see that you are not alone. More people come in, the few seats hand fill up, and soon, except for the Mayor’s empty chair, it is standing room only.
The man who greeted you, who has been sitting in a simple wooden chair next to the door and looking over some papers, looks up and says, “Perhaps you should take this opportunity to introduce yourselves to each other.” He then turns his attention back to his papers.
