S
Sarky
Guest
Original poster
Continued on from the Prologue, found here: BY INVITATION ONLY No Good Deed- Shadow of the Demon Lord- Prologue
@Excession @Hair @Ragoza @Chaka @Sideris
Freedom tastes good.
After parting ways with Spite and his employers, you find yourselves at a loss for a while; No clear goals beyond a full belly or ointment to heal the wounds sustained in Callas' little fortress of horrors. Spite's intel is good, and the villages he's marked as non-hostile to nonhumans are just that, although given the volatile nature of the region nobody is exactly friendly. A succession of little communities with forgettable names go by, offering all sorts of work in exchange for food and board and in Ruin's case some repairs or sturdier metal plates to replace the rusty, pitted body parts inflicted on it. Hunting, vermin control, debt collection, shovelling cow shit, writing letters or whatever was going. One village offered almost all they had for the group to get rid of a small bandit group. Relict was looking fully human for days after that one.
And so perhaps a week and a half after gaining your freedom, you find yourselves approaching a larger village than usual. The sun burns reddish orange near the horizon, farmers can be seen finishing off their day's work outside while others have already called it a day and are heading to some tavern or other. A signpost proclaims to the world that you have arrived on the outskirts of Ashton. Abandoned and derelict lumber mills on the west side of the settlement point to a time when a forest existed in that direction. Now the only woods for miles are east, and it's fair to say Ashton's fortunes have declined somewhat, as lumberjacks were forced to learn to farm and raise livestock to replace their lost trade.
Still, the place is doing well enough to afford a wooden palisade and reasonably diligent guards. You are stopped at the gates by a pair of them. They are certainly surprised to see such an eclectic group of travellers, but there's no malice to be seen or heard. They ask for names, for any news about the direction you've come from, and whether you're looking for work or passing through.
"Right, so," the lead guard shrugs as he returns to leaning on his halberd, "Welcome to Ashton. Usual rules apply, stay out of trouble, and if you can't do that at least don't be the one to START trouble. I wouldn't think any inn would turn you away if you've coin, but probably the friendliest for non-humans is the Belching Troll, town centre. Can't miss it, big fuck-ugly stone head above the doors. If you're looking for work, there's a job pole in the square, people start turning up from dawn to look for labourers, hired muscle, that sort of thing. You're expected to haggle but don't take the piss. I guess that's everything. Oh, Sheriff's office is just to the side there, by the wee watchtower, if you see a crime, that's where to go. And the west side is rough, deserted mostly since the trees were used up. Not much on offer there unless you're looking for a knife or three in the ribs. Yeah, that's everything. Come on in, have a nice night."
Inside, the place looks and smells like most small towns. Which is to say people dump their stinking waste on the streets, where it stays until it's carted off in the dead of night. There's a pleasant bustle as people finish work and prepare for an evening's entertainment, and although you draw looks, nobody seems terribly put out by the sudden appearance of an orc, a clockwork, a goblin, a pale giant and a handsome young man who looks like he's been rather poorly.
@Excession @Hair @Ragoza @Chaka @Sideris
Freedom tastes good.
After parting ways with Spite and his employers, you find yourselves at a loss for a while; No clear goals beyond a full belly or ointment to heal the wounds sustained in Callas' little fortress of horrors. Spite's intel is good, and the villages he's marked as non-hostile to nonhumans are just that, although given the volatile nature of the region nobody is exactly friendly. A succession of little communities with forgettable names go by, offering all sorts of work in exchange for food and board and in Ruin's case some repairs or sturdier metal plates to replace the rusty, pitted body parts inflicted on it. Hunting, vermin control, debt collection, shovelling cow shit, writing letters or whatever was going. One village offered almost all they had for the group to get rid of a small bandit group. Relict was looking fully human for days after that one.
And so perhaps a week and a half after gaining your freedom, you find yourselves approaching a larger village than usual. The sun burns reddish orange near the horizon, farmers can be seen finishing off their day's work outside while others have already called it a day and are heading to some tavern or other. A signpost proclaims to the world that you have arrived on the outskirts of Ashton. Abandoned and derelict lumber mills on the west side of the settlement point to a time when a forest existed in that direction. Now the only woods for miles are east, and it's fair to say Ashton's fortunes have declined somewhat, as lumberjacks were forced to learn to farm and raise livestock to replace their lost trade.
Still, the place is doing well enough to afford a wooden palisade and reasonably diligent guards. You are stopped at the gates by a pair of them. They are certainly surprised to see such an eclectic group of travellers, but there's no malice to be seen or heard. They ask for names, for any news about the direction you've come from, and whether you're looking for work or passing through.
"Right, so," the lead guard shrugs as he returns to leaning on his halberd, "Welcome to Ashton. Usual rules apply, stay out of trouble, and if you can't do that at least don't be the one to START trouble. I wouldn't think any inn would turn you away if you've coin, but probably the friendliest for non-humans is the Belching Troll, town centre. Can't miss it, big fuck-ugly stone head above the doors. If you're looking for work, there's a job pole in the square, people start turning up from dawn to look for labourers, hired muscle, that sort of thing. You're expected to haggle but don't take the piss. I guess that's everything. Oh, Sheriff's office is just to the side there, by the wee watchtower, if you see a crime, that's where to go. And the west side is rough, deserted mostly since the trees were used up. Not much on offer there unless you're looking for a knife or three in the ribs. Yeah, that's everything. Come on in, have a nice night."
Inside, the place looks and smells like most small towns. Which is to say people dump their stinking waste on the streets, where it stays until it's carted off in the dead of night. There's a pleasant bustle as people finish work and prepare for an evening's entertainment, and although you draw looks, nobody seems terribly put out by the sudden appearance of an orc, a clockwork, a goblin, a pale giant and a handsome young man who looks like he's been rather poorly.