House Glanend Camp
The camp of House Glanend is a chaotic yet efficient collection of weathered tents and sturdy wagons, arranged around a central fire pit that blazes with constant activity. Canvas flaps and banners, patched with mismatched fabrics, bear the Glanend sigil—a coiled serpent encircling a crossed blade and coin. The symbol is boldly painted on the sides of their wagons, as if to dare anyone to challenge their claim.
The people of the camp are a rough and hardened lot, speaking in sharp, no-nonsense tones laced with biting humor. Laughter rings out from the fire, mingling with boasts of past exploits and warnings of dire consequences for anyone foolish enough to cross them. They move with practiced efficiency, ready for either a trade deal or a fight at a moment’s notice.
Weapons hang openly on hips and wagon sides, and even the youngest runner in the camp seems to carry a dagger with an ease born of experience. Their horses, sturdy and restless, are kept tied near the wagons, their gear worn but well-maintained. A watchtower cobbled together from broken crates and spare planks rises over the camp, manned by a sharp-eyed scout who seems to notice everything.
Despite the rough edges, there’s an undeniable camaraderie among the Glanend crew, their loyalty to their leader, Felicia Glanend , as fierce as their reputations suggest. The air smells of spiced stew and burnt wood, and the faint clink of coins being counted or dice being rolled hints at how Glanend makes its profit—through risk, cunning, and the strength to defend their own. It’s clear they don’t just run a coster; they command the road itself, demanding respect or submission from all who travel it.
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