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Showing results for tags 'village'.
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Although the ol' halfling camp was ruined by bandits and raiders, us halfling peoples are not so easy to give up! Together with the friendly big-folks of the land we've re-established a home for us all, nestled away deep within a wood farm of our own making and full of all the requirements of pleasant, comfortable life! ~A burrow in the shire~ Our sheep farm shall provide wool to all friendly travellers, our fields food for the hungry, and our woods building supplies for those who wish to settle near us! Knox bless the shire! -Mimosa Applefoot-Nimblefoot.
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A scrawny, one-armed goblin struggles to work his way through the snares, vines, and brush of the jungle. He casts a scornful glare towards the scorched lands behind him, now surrounding the Iron’Uzg, before spitting and hacking as he walks into a large web. He wipes the cobwebs away from the shiny white bone of his skull, and with a grunt of exertion, marches onward. Just past the webbing, he hears the sound of a gently running river. A toothy grin splits his branded and scarred face, knowing he draws closer to his destination. The goblin cuts down a row of vines, clearing a small path for him to squeeze through, cautious of the Gaja snake-vines the area is infamous for. Still, he knows it will be worth it as the crunch of leaves beneath his feet turns to packed dirt and planks. The breath is drawn from him as he strides up to a large notice board in the center of the path, overgrown with vines and fronds… but a patch lies suspiciously bare. In this space is a sign, declaring this region claimed, under ‘new ownership’ of some foreigner. The relief, the purposefulness that drove the goblin to reach this place, is soon replaced with a blind fury. He rips down this sign in anger and carves a single word into the board in its place; He stomps around towards the only hut that hasn’t been similarly covered in overgrowth- signs of recently being lived-in, albeit temporarily. The door is locked, but it poses no obstacle to the enraged urukim. With a lift of his stave and a muttering to Anyhuluz, Ilzgul of Destruction, he smashes the door open and storms inside. A fine layer of dust coats the meager belongings of the individual whom attempted to lay claim to the abandoned village- their abandoned village. He snorts in derision. Clearly, they abandoned their own claim- or, hopefully, were killed before they could ruin this sacred ancestral ground. Instead, as one of the last bearers of the Ways to which this village was meant to serve, he stumbles over to another hut. He rips down more overgrowth, and opens the door of the wall of the smallest, centralmost building- with a commanding view of what he has sworn to protect. He carves a series of runes into the wall, which would clearly describe his purpose here to any descendants of the founders of the village, knowing only they would be able to read the inscriptions. The Watching Eye, The Wall, The Sounding Voice, The Giver’s Box, and last, The Tower Shield. Without the rightful owners to defend it themselves, he shall act in their place. He will be a stalwart tower on the river village.
