Ravenhill

Ravenhill carries the air of a hamlet resigned to its unremarkable role in the world. Nestled in a shallow valley, the settlement is framed by dense woods that seem to encroach ever closer, as if nature itself might one day reclaim it. The village is dominated by its woodmill, the creak and groan of the waterwheel a constant soundtrack to the villagers' daily toil. The mill supplies timber to the distant City League, its importance outweighing the hamlet's otherwise humble appearance.

The Inn, a squat, weathered building called The Splintered Spoke, offers modest accommodations for travelers. It is run by a wiry older man named Garel, whose sharp tongue is matched only by his skill with a steaming pot of stew. A stable boy tends to the animals, and the inn’s common room has just enough space for the occasional traveling merchant or weary guard seeking a warm fire and a dry bed.
Beside the inn is the smithy, little more than a covered forge with a stout anvil and a few tools hanging from pegs. The blacksmith, a gruff woman named Magda, spends most of her time shoeing horses or repairing tools for the mill workers. She rarely smiles, but her work is dependable, if unremarkable.
There are small grazing fields on the outskirts of the village, where ponies, horses, and oxen belonging to passing caravans or local workers can rest. A simple wooden fence encircles the fields, and a small stream trickles through, ensuring a fresh water supply.
The village’s homes are a mix of stone and timber, huddled close together as if for protection from the elements—or something more ominous. Smoke drifts lazily from the chimneys, carrying the scent of woodfires and boiled root vegetables. The air is damp and heavy, as though the swampy ground nearby struggles to support the weight of the settlement.
Ravenhill has an air of weariness, its people more concerned with enduring than thriving. Yet, in its quiet humility lies a certain charm—a fleeting sense of refuge for those who pass through on their way to greater destinations. Few linger longer than necessary, for the village’s small comforts are eclipsed by the lure of the bustling City League just two days away.

Type

Village

Location under

Willowdales

Travelling: distance (walk/trott/cart/wagon/boat)
Gallivan: 30mi (1.5d / 1d / 1.5d / 2d / n/a)
City League: 35mi (1.8d / 1.2d / 1.8d / 2.3d / 3.5du)

Defence
None
Ruler
Burghermeister (local elected)
Suzerain
None
Population
90
Race Mix
N5%
Class Mix
F6 MU2 C4 T-
Wealth
1
Source of Wealth
Farming
Garrison
0 (loyal to crown) / 0 (county horse)
Constabulary
0 (civilian law enforcers)
Religions
1
Notes
Average, mixed alignments