![]() He notes the somber atmosphere and tries not to be disrespectful. ![]() He doesn’t bother trying to conceal his ears which jut out of the top of his hood in rakish angles. You haven’t seen him in the market for the last few months however.Ī ratfolk walks into the Foundry wearing a cloak pulled down slightly over his face. He has had a variety of jewelry pieces - mostly silver wire woven with interesting non precious stones. You may have seen young Yambul in the market (area 11), plying his wares crosslegged on a couple well worn but beautifully woven blankets along the road. He also carries a heavy pack, bulging with odds and ends. That has seen some use but whether on humans or ham it’s hard to tell. Then there’s the well worn chef’s knife carefully sheathed at his belt. He has a giant falchion sheathed on his other shoulder, but it looks relatively new. He wears studded leather armor a bit too tight and which is showing its wear, even though Yambul is a young man, in fact scarcely a man at all at barely 18. He’s also large as Kellid's tend to be, and solidly built. His skin, as with many Kellid, is a light brown, but his tan is fading - sure proof that his latest work has been indoors. He’s plain in his appearance with brown stringy hair and equally brown eyes. Yambul dresses in predominately dark clothing, which he hopes hides his general pudginess. You see a very young human with a few extra pounds around the middle, slouching along. Her foster siblings, a young Kellid boy working in the stove, and a half-elf girl proudly holding a metal stick exchange stares and sentences, while a rat-man is attempting to fix a ceiling fan without much success. Her worried expression leaves little doubt, the wizard has not yet returned. Val Baine, the young Kellid girl daughter of the Town Councilor, walks from table to table cleaning and bringing food to eat to the customers. The open windows of the Foundry tavern let in a pleasing breeze accompanied by the buzzing sound of the cicada. ![]() Today, many people has decided to approach to his business to see if he has returned during the night. Yesterday, it was expected Khonnir Baine would return from his second foray into Black Hill caves, but there were no news of him or his expedition. It is a torrid summer, yet more than the intense scent to sweat and sulfur that traditionally plague the complaints of Torch citizens, today no one talks about anything else than the missing flames and the failed expeditions to the bowels of Black Hill. Which is why, when the fires atop the hill suddenly go out, the town is in trouble.Ĭhapter 1: Fires of Creation by Neil Spicer The town prospers, but the bulk of its income is quickly extracted and brought to Starfall. Of course, Torch needs all the visiting trade and coin it can gather, for the taxes and tariffs the Technic League charges the Numerian town on a monthly basis are exorbitant. Traveling smiths come from across Avistan to pay for the opportunity to work with them. Torch is one of the only locations where adamantine and other skymetals can be worked with relative ease in Golarion, and its entire economy has risen around these purple flames since its fires ignited spontaneously in 4602 AR. This flame burns incredibly hot, and while it’s usually the size of a bonfire, several times a year the fires spew up into the heavens in a brilliant beam of purple violence. The town of Torch has long enjoyed a singular claim to prosperity-a violet flame that burns atop Black Hill in the heart of the town.
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