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sspky
ooof my bones
The Selfphin Riverport was a remote community on the border between Harrowmore and Glentwhol. It only hosted about thirty permanent residents, although in peak season the population would nearly triple as merchants and refugees passed through the waypoint on their journey through the mountains.
It was nearly winter, and Selfphin felt like a ghost town. At this time of year, when the river risked freezing nightly, it was uncommon to see more than two ships a week. The denizens of the little community were well into their seasonal preparations. In ages past, they’d relied on divination to foretell how bitter the incoming winter would be. Since the calamity four years prior, the citizenry entered each season blindly, and wisely they always over-prepared.
Mercer stepped off a small cargo barge a little after sunrise, his pack heavy on his armour-clad shoulders. He was a tall man, with a broad frame, square face, and stern expression. He walked straight-backed, despite his weighty burdon, and held his head high.
Hailing from the south, Mercer was unaccustomed to the chill in the air. In his homeland of Kerth, snow was a rarity and the sight of the white-capped mountains that loomed over the winding river filled the old soldier with a sense of humble awe.
The Riverport was far too small to warrant much in the way of commerce. It was Mercer’s understanding that the town hall -- a large wood and stone roundhouse in the center of the community -- acted as social meeting place, general store, and local tavern.
Adjusting his leather pack, Mercer crossed the muddy main road, leaving the port behind him as he entered the town proper.
It was nearly winter, and Selfphin felt like a ghost town. At this time of year, when the river risked freezing nightly, it was uncommon to see more than two ships a week. The denizens of the little community were well into their seasonal preparations. In ages past, they’d relied on divination to foretell how bitter the incoming winter would be. Since the calamity four years prior, the citizenry entered each season blindly, and wisely they always over-prepared.
Mercer stepped off a small cargo barge a little after sunrise, his pack heavy on his armour-clad shoulders. He was a tall man, with a broad frame, square face, and stern expression. He walked straight-backed, despite his weighty burdon, and held his head high.
Hailing from the south, Mercer was unaccustomed to the chill in the air. In his homeland of Kerth, snow was a rarity and the sight of the white-capped mountains that loomed over the winding river filled the old soldier with a sense of humble awe.
The Riverport was far too small to warrant much in the way of commerce. It was Mercer’s understanding that the town hall -- a large wood and stone roundhouse in the center of the community -- acted as social meeting place, general store, and local tavern.
Adjusting his leather pack, Mercer crossed the muddy main road, leaving the port behind him as he entered the town proper.
Mianigh
New Member
A lone white figure strode through the center of the high street in Selfphin. They glanced down at a weathered map in their hands, brow furrowing against the cold winds rushing by. As the wind tore at the edges of the aged parchment, a cold shadow of murky clouds fell over the Riverport, ushering the stranger to quicken their footsteps in moving towards the nearest public building, the The Black Seal Tavern.
The buildings in this area were well protected from bad weather, like storms coming from the sea, but their age showed in the wear of the wood used in their structure. Splinters tore through the clothes and backs of those who leaned against them and doors fell partially off their hinges with every attempt to either enter or exit a home. Under these conditions, Nix fought the wind to put away their useless map into a pocket sewn under their cloak and grab for the door handle for the tavern. A shard of wood the size of a nail cut easily through the surface of their palm, but ignorant of the pain through the cold numbing their hands, they pushed onward. The door creaked and groaned as the newcomer shoved it open, allowing a cutting breeze past them into the bar. A serious of half-mumbled complaints echoed through the room as Nix made to close it behind them.
"Sorry!" they called out, voice muffled by the whistle of wind. The door was half closed though when they noticed an armored figure moving through the front-facing street casually in the tavern's direction. They were taking their time glancing around in wonderment as if this were the first time they were ever seeing mountains. In some ways Nix could relate to that. They still remembered their first time seeing snow so many moons ago. At the time it had seemed like the most unique and fanciful artistry nature had ever produce, and maybe still was... Propping open tavern door, they gave a half-smile and waited politely for this tall, dark stranger to make their way through the Riverport square.
The buildings in this area were well protected from bad weather, like storms coming from the sea, but their age showed in the wear of the wood used in their structure. Splinters tore through the clothes and backs of those who leaned against them and doors fell partially off their hinges with every attempt to either enter or exit a home. Under these conditions, Nix fought the wind to put away their useless map into a pocket sewn under their cloak and grab for the door handle for the tavern. A shard of wood the size of a nail cut easily through the surface of their palm, but ignorant of the pain through the cold numbing their hands, they pushed onward. The door creaked and groaned as the newcomer shoved it open, allowing a cutting breeze past them into the bar. A serious of half-mumbled complaints echoed through the room as Nix made to close it behind them.
"Sorry!" they called out, voice muffled by the whistle of wind. The door was half closed though when they noticed an armored figure moving through the front-facing street casually in the tavern's direction. They were taking their time glancing around in wonderment as if this were the first time they were ever seeing mountains. In some ways Nix could relate to that. They still remembered their first time seeing snow so many moons ago. At the time it had seemed like the most unique and fanciful artistry nature had ever produce, and maybe still was... Propping open tavern door, they gave a half-smile and waited politely for this tall, dark stranger to make their way through the Riverport square.
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