It was by chance that Duncan suggested you all to visit Falcon’s Hollow – 'Me good friend Colbrin has taken up retirement there, see? I’m thinkin’ I should pay him a visit – last time he sent me a letter da boy seemed somat distressed with some sickness in da village. Guess it can’t hurt just passin’ by, can it?' – he had told you all.
The ramshackle town of Falcon’s Hollow rests perilously close to the infamous Darkmoon Vale. The jagged shadow of nearby mountains casts a shroud of gloom on the desperate souls who call this place home. Many are drawn here to make their fortune cutting a swath of darkwood lumber through the lush forests of the vale. Others journey to these remote fringes to start over, piecing together their shattered lives on the edge of an untouched wilderness far from the things of man. Persecuted zealots and outcasts flock to Falcon’s Hollow. Here, these fanatics practice their strange and often deviant rites unfettered by the mores of civilization. Still others are lured to Falcon’s Hollow by the promise of great adventure. Peril and splendor await within the accursed halls of dwarven kings of old, whose glorious civilization long ago shattered and crumbled to dust.
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Actually, the place is perhaps better described as a scattered collection of several ramshackle communities rather than a single town. Enclaves of wealthy lumberlords sit comfortably on the Perch, looking down at numerous ghettos of indigents, downtrodden lumberjacks, religious zealots, and desperate settlers who in turn gaze across their fences with suspicion and distrust.
A teeming monster-fraught wilderness surrounds the hollow it is said. Danger lurks just beyond the treeline, and most of Falcon Hollow’s more canny residents realize the settlement will most likely be savaged by some horrid monstrous threat sooner rather than later. Until that day, the lumberlords do their best to snatch as much darkwood from the vale as they can. It’s only a matter of time before their heedless ravaging of the wilderness around the town draws the notice of a fierce guardian.
Meanwhile, adventurers flock to Falcon’s Hollow but most vanish into the shadows of Darkmoon Vale, never to be seen again. Even more lose their nerve after their first brush with the unholy terrors lurking in the night and end up slaving away at the cutyards or selling their swords to lumberlords who always need more unscrupulous ruffians to keep the rabble in line.
This place is a festering haven of injustice and cruelty, resting perilously close to the infamous Darkmoon Wood. The long shadow of Droskar’s Crag casts a shroud of gloom on the desperate souls who call this place home. Many come here to make their fortune cutting darkwood lumber in the lush wood, while others journey to this remote fringe to start over, piecing together their shattered lives on the edge of an untouched wilderness far from the things of man. Persecuted zealots and outcasts flock to Falcon’s Hollow to practice their strange and often deviant rites unfettered by the mores of civilization. Finally, Falcon’s Hollow lures many explorers with the promise of great adventure nearby.
The town, its people, and everything in it belong to the corrupt Lumber Consortium, controlled by the de facto leader of the town, the loathsome Thuldrin Kreed. His petty decrees and the consortium’s overpriced goods keep the people of the town prisoner as surely as if Kreed and his goons used manacles and chains. Home to fewer than 1,500 humans and a smattering of other races, most of the townsfolk care only for the paltry coins paid for their backbreaking work and what simple comforts they can buy. A few, however, understand that what’s bad for one is bad for all, and they struggle endlessly with the Lumber Consortium to improve the lives of their neighbors—and by extension, themselves.
The community thrives on a tenacious mix of greed, debauchery, and stubborn self-reliance. As much property of the Lumber Consortium as the buildings, cut timbers, and other assets in the town, the people of Falcon’s Hollow live in abject poverty and unending misery. Those born into Falcon’s Hollow (or those foolish enough to move there willingly—or even unwillingly) face lives filled with anguish and devoid of hope or betterment.
As for where Colbrin could be working as a butcher, there really aren’t many options – either the High Market, with access restricted and controlled by the Consortium, it consistently serves only those with some amount of influence in the town, selling meats and vegetables without a hint of rot on them; nicely made clothes of materials other than canvas, cotton, and leather; spices (including a popular vendor who sells only salt); and various items that usually cost more than 10 gold coins.
Otherwise, the only place you can imagine some sort of food trade going on, would be the Low Market – it is open to everyone in town, selling basically the High Market’s food leftovers (including meats and vegetables just starting to go bad), heavily salted meats, and other foodstuffs that barely survive their trip to the market. Nothing in the Low Market usually sells for more than a few gold, and almost everything is worth only coppers.
Any other questions, just shoot away.
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Duncan, surprisingly enough, most people receive your offer of a round of beer with quite some awkwardness, commenting among themselves, and some even refusing it outright - you think you even hear one or two offensive words regarding dwarves and thinking they can just go around spreading gold however they want, greedy ones and whatnot.
Otherwise, there is perhaps one or two that raise the mug to you in thanks, and down the drink you just offered them without a word.
The innkeeper, a fat reddish, balding man with a dirty apron looks at you with dull eyes for a few moments when you ask him about Colbrin, then answers - "Imma guessin' the High or Low Market? Dunno for sure mister. Will ya be wantin' somthin' ta eat?"
As you leave The Sitting Duck, a few eyes follow you, but most just ignore your passage. Moving through Falcon's Hollow is a different deal altogether however - most people turn their eyes to at least glance at you, and you clearly feel you are noticed as 'newcomers'.
Still, the place is a dismay to look at, and about everyone returns to their dealings after first glance, their menial tasks taking precedence over whatever interest you may arise - working for the next meal is more important at the end of the day.
Moving in a generally southbound direction, you eventually come upon what seems like a market, though you cannot be completely sure -under an open sky it does seem to sell products, but a single glance at the conditions in the whole place leaves you thinking twice if the place could be actually an abattoir.
Fact is, after you take a second look, you understand that what is being sold are not prime produces, but food leftovers, heavily salted meats, and other foodstuffs that apparently barely survived their trip to this place... There is a lot of activity however, though you cannot see any butcher at first glance.
After a while you do spot Colbrin, busy at his stand, between one of rotten food, and another of spoiled milk products.
Chopping meat left and right, he looks older and balder than Duncan remembered, but his arms still seem to possess much of their past strength, as he swings hard at a green looking cow's leg.
Around him a persistent cloud of flies seems to have taken up residence.
Squinting his eyes, Colbrin stares at the dwarf for a few seconds, amidst the cloud of flies - 'a keg of bear' you say? - he sketches a smile, putting the cleaver away - 'Duncan, is that you old dog? It has been forever my friend! What winds bring you to these parts?!' - he moves to greet you with a strong handshake, after 'kind of' cleaning his gory hands on an already very dirty cloth.
"Things are not well Duncan..." - Colbrin whispers, his brow showing creases of concern - "This place has sunken lower and lower, and now..." - he shakes his head - "This is no place to talk about it anyway, will you be staying in town for long? Maybe you could meet me at the Sitting Duck later on?" - the large man questions.
"I'll join you there for dinner Duncan" - Colbrin nods, swatting a fly trying to get in his mouth.
Even though it may be hard to fathom in an area so crowded such as the Low Market, you do notice there are certainly some interested looks thrown your way, perhaps due to your fiendish appearance or your evident armor.
There is definitely a fine lass that seems to be impressed by your posture. Despite the fact of herself missing several teeth, she flashes you a 'toothy' smile, almost swallowing a fly in the process.
You easily make your way back to the Sitting Duck inn, where many of the patrons seem to be engaged in conversation here and there in small groups, most of them drinking some sort of dark, fermented beverage.
The drink is a local brew of fermented darkwood leaf said able to floor an ogre in a few tankards.
Another group seems to be involved in some game of chance you cannot immediately spot, as they huddle around a table, and towards the furthest table yet another group seems to be excitedly debating something you cannot fathom from this distance, even though they are speaking louder than the others in the area.
The fat inkeeper you have met before greets you from behind the counter - "Well met again sirs, canna I be gettin' somethin' fer ye ta drink. Or maybe some o' our special dishes?"
"Ye can chose tha table ye prefer sir - I'll be bringin' tha food around in a few" - the bald man busies himself attending to your request, moving into the kitchen and yelling something unintelligible.
Shortly after you have found a suitable table, a serving wench with huge blue eyes, disheveled and matted dark brown hair, and a somewhat dirty skin approaches our table with a large platter - "Here it is m'lords" - she states flatly and without much joy to her tone, laying down four portions of baked potatoes, four mugs with a dark, strong smelling beverage, and three barley breads, while the 'main course' consists of salted meat with pickles.
"That'll be two silvers each, m'lord"
Duncan, you just need to write ['dice=Perception']d20+4['/dice'] without the '', and it will result as
As you partake from supper, a stout Colbrin appears at the Sitting Duck, entering the inn and moving directly to your table - "Evening Duncan. Gents.. Mind if I take a seat?" - the man greets you without much smiling, and pulls up a chair - "Girl, get me some ale. I feel like I've been eating flies all day" - he asks.
"And how are you my good friend Duncan? You don't look a day older" - Colbrin continues without skipping a beat, yet his voice seems tired and dragged - "Guess dwarven lot are like that, no?" - he fidgets some to remove perhaps dry meat from under his fingernails, then passes his dirty hands on his hair to pull it back - "Look" - he adds, looking at his dwarven companions - "Things are a mess. You probably already heard about it here in the Hollow... The kids are missing you see? My Mikra too!" - he gulps down much of the ale in his mug - "It's been two nights, and no one knows their whereabouts" - he raises his voice a tad higher, and some of the patrons around seem to momentarily take notice of your conversation, but eventually return to their own drinks and conversations, as Colbrin stands there staring into his mug.
"I do not know much myself Duncan - Mikra and some of the other kids have just up and vanished" - Colbrin sighs - "No one knows where they went..." - and drinks some more, clearly nervous.
"Bah!" - he snorts - "The guard doesn't care - they just dismissed it as 'kids being kids', and that 'they'll show up eventually', so they're not about to do anything about it!" - his voice sounds exasperated - "I would want to see if it were their kids!"
Colbrin turns to Lokeemon - "Well met then, I didn't think I got your name friend?" - he comments, continuing - "They were probably around in town somewhere playing with the other kids" - he shrugs - "You know kids, they tend to band together... So I don't know where they were exactly..."
"There's a whole bunch of them" - Colbrin replies, taking another swig from his drink - "They usually band around the Hollow - they shouldn't be hard to find, but they don't have one single place where they hang out I guess..."