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My campaign is going to take the characters on a trip from Magnimar to Korvosa in a combination of land and water transport. They'll pass through Wartle, Whistledown, Melfesh and Palin's Cove. I'd love to have folks pick apart my descriptions of these towns and tell me if I'm off-base in any of the established lore or if anything that I'm inventing whole-cloth just doesn't fit.
Wartle:
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Read aloud: As you pass through a clot of swamp trees, akin to mangrove, but darker and with a red fungus that seems pervasive in the swampier regions through which you’ve passed, you see a few, small buildings. Paradoxically, as the land turns to bog and swamp, the buildings grow denser. The town before you is actually built on the swamp, most of the structures are raised up on stilts, and the road rises up out of the muck on a wood-plank boardwalk. Just at the edge of the boardwalk is a stone statue of a turtle. The statue is covered in green moss, but appears to be immune to the otherwise pervasive red fungus. Water streams out of its shell in sheets, a mesmerizing and pleasant effect.
OOC: The town of Wartle is relatively safe for a night’s stay. Room rates are cheap and the drink is served communally: a brew known as Bog Grog which is an herbal moonshine somewhere between absinthe and a wheat beer. Disgusting though that may sound, Bog Grog actually works its way into the hearts of many travellers, and some in Magnimar have actually started to import the stuff, though straining out the chunks is usually required for such export efforts.
Whistledown:
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Read Aloud: The flat-bottomed boat you have taken up-stream rounds its final bend of its journey. Ahead, lies a town of quaint, whitewashed houses, trimmed scrub and gilded leaves on trees with marbled white and black bark. At first, a handful seem to be strangely over-sized, but as you near it becomes clear that it is the bulk of the buildings which are, in fact, quite small. In the air, a faint ringing sounds in a warbling, sometimes whistling, but seemingly random tune. The crimson-and-green-haired, 3 and a half foot-tall boatmaster approaches your group as his first-mate makes for the dock and offers, “if this is your first time, I don’t recommend trying to stay in one of the smaller inns. The Azure Cup is intended for folk of your stature, and it’s a right pleasant place to pause.”
OOC: If the PCs stay at the Azure Cup, they will find the prices nominal and the food palatable, but the entertainment is exquisite. They currently host a travelling elven bard who quietly chants out the stories of his travels for most of the night, launching into an epic poem to an upbeat lute tune at the end of the evening. His playing is, as far as any lesser trained ear can tell, perfect. The stories of his travels illuminate much of the nature of the nations to the east including the constant war in Nirmathas, the watchful king of Lastwall, the undead atrocities of Ustalav, and hearty barbarians of Numeria. The poem he sings is about the creation of the Worldwound and the valiant ranks of Mendevian paladins that wage perpetual battles against the unholy wretches that it belches forth.
Palin's Cove:
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Read Aloud: Having passed south overland from Melfesh, through the small town of Baslwief and then continued to the south, you now find yourself cresting a grass-covered hill in the noon heat of what feels like a summer day. Over the rise, you see a town of slate roofs and red brick buildings. The streets are mostly hard-packed earth, but a cobblestone-paved street or two can be glimpsed in the industrial center of the town. That industrial center is also choked with a thick, dark-grey cloud of what appears to be smoke and ash pouring from the chimneys of large mill-like buildings, through whose few windows you occasionally glimpse an orange glow that could be the inside of a furnace or some glass or metal in a molten state. Near these buildings, giant machines of war: catapults, balistae and siege engines are turned on their sides and laid on barges in narrow canals that file past the mill-like buildings in orderly fashion.
As you get closer the smell of sulphur and other pungent odors waft your way from the smoky town.
OOC: This is the factory-town of Palin’s Cove which produces most of the war machines for Varisia and even a goodly chunk of those exported to nearby nations. The PCs may choose not to stay here because of the atmospheric conditions which are compounded by a series of hills to the east which trap much of Palin’s Cove’s pollution over itself. However, if they do stay, they’ll find the city boisterous, warm and overflowing with some of the most varied alcoholic imports in Varisia. In fact, Palin’s Cove has a proud tradition of being able to get their hands on anything from Wartle’s Bog Grog to sweet berry liqueurs from the dark depths of Garund! The three prominent inns of the small city vie for this distinction and each spend a sizable portion of their magins on such exotic imports.
Awesome ! Just dont forget Wartles mosquito and blackflys ;)