Skarvenhelm

A cold, northborne breeze billows yet again, piercing the upturned collar, the tangled cloak, and the hardened steel armor of you and the other members of your small caravan; a mix of pilgrims, refugees, hired hands, and strangers. Your horses left behind long ago, you ascend the stone stairway, its carvings increasing in elegance with the elevation, step by step, forward. The solemn silence is broken only by the shivers of quivering lips, the thoughts of the drudgerous climb broken only by the regret of not bringing warmer clothing. 
Then, a glimmer, the first of many to come, outshines the newly awakened twilight stars at the of the staircase. At the top of the plateau, two shimmering twin statues protrude from the cliff's edge, each of a silver dragon sitting honorably and grand, coated in, if not carved from, that precious metal. All roads to this border town, even those from within the kingdom's borders, lead through this path; so that all may appreciate Skarvenhelm's true purpose, to welcome the lost, the weary, the hopeful. The nobility of those two silver statues is not a nobility of might or power, but that of friendship and warmth. 
The crescendo of the voyage usurps the plateau's rim, and past the twin dragons you see the town. Depressed into the side of yet another cliffside, like the concavity of a jigsaw pieces, is a break in the stone and dirt. This incision makes the seat of Skarvenhelm, and here lies the dozens of thatch roof huts, houses, and managery of other wood worked and stone hewn structures a cast of all walks of life call home, or discover their new one. The smoke of several chimneys dissipate into the sky above, a sure sign of a long overdue hearth and a hot meal to come.

Type

Town

Population

980

Owning Organization

The Holy Order of Harthenheim