Tyrluk
Lord:
Population 500
Garrison
This village of 500 or so folk doesn't welcome visitors except farmers from nearby, who come to market here once a tenday. Folk who must stop in Tyrluk for a night are advised to call on the local lord, the prodigiously fat, hard-drinking, roaring-old rip Suldag the Boar, and endure his boisterous hospitality. The villagers are apt to be almost hostile to strangers. Just why folk here don't like outsiders is something I haven't discovered, but I know they suffered at the hands of brigands and swindling merchants who were lords before Suldag for many years. There's not much to see in Tyrluk anyway: a smithy, a carter, and cottages. Most locals work for Charn the Smith or Oglul's Cartworks. At the south end of the village sits the pony ranch of Silturr Shadowshield, a producer of top-quality mountain mounts for the Purple Dragons in High Horn and anyone else with coins enough. His beasts typically go for 36 to 40 gp. As one can tell, Tyrluk's businesses can be very useful to caravans in need of new horses, horseshoes, wheels, chains, or new wagons. Locals are happy to provide these things in return for good coin of the realm but still say firmly that they don't like outsiders. Visitors are told to “camp over there,” with an abrupt arm gesture indicating the location of “there.” The place indicated is a moribund farm at the north end of town. It has four grassy fields, two good wells, and several old barns. Travelers are expected to keep to it. The villagers have provided firepits, ample firewood kept dry under cover, and privies, so why not humor them? One can go places more welcoming on the morrow. The only landmark of interest in Tyrluk lies in the trees just west of the campground the Bowshot Run, an arrowstraight track through the forest. This flat, grassy strip of land has been cleared of all shrubs and trees, and it mysteriously stays that way. It runs from nowhere to nowhere, beginning and ending in the forest without visible ruins, cairns, or anything under ground (folk have dug looking) at its ends or along its length. Its origins are unknown. Some sages hazard it might have been a ritual approach route to a now-vanished temple. Its name comes from the use made of it these days, since with trees along it marked for distances, it makes an ideal archery range. Visitors inclined to overstay their cool welcome are warned that most locals are very proficient with their bows and hunt to fill their cooking pots every few days. There's one legend of Tyrluk that bears mentioning: The village is the reputed home of the Blue Blade. In Cormyr's folklore, the Blue Blade is a famous gallant brigand who stole from rich travelers on all of the roads that traversed the King's Forest but often gave gems from earlier hauls to pretty ladies when he waylaid them. If the Blue Blade were a single real man, he would have to be over 80 winters old by now. Although every fresh act of brigandry awakens fresh rumors of his involvement, there haven't been any proven sightings of him for more than 25 summers. The Blue Blade was the original reason for war wizards being assigned to local guardhouses and ordered to accompany road patrols throughout the realm. Their seeking magic would make the career of a lone brigand foolhardy now. When I first visited Tyrluk, I assumed the village folk were trying to hide some brigand-related secret or other from me. The more I see of Tyrluk, and of younglings who’ve grown up and left it to dwell elsewhere in Cormyr, the more I think the local attitude is one of “the world is an evil place and, except for folk in need of our goods, brings us only ill.” This encourages the folk of Tyrluk to have nothing to do with the outside world and to turn their backs on it whenever it comes seeking them. Inns The Old Man's Face The best thing about this cold, dirty roadhouse is its charmingly carved signboard, which displays a kindly, smiling old man’s face. There’s nothing kindly about the interior unless you’re a local. Outsiders meet flat, unfriendly gazes and are seated at a dark, cold corner table. The Old Face serves as the villagers’ restaurant and tavern, concentrating on bad but strong beer and simple, hearty roasts and boiled vegetables rescued from wretchedness by a variety of spiced sauces. The inn’s only regular paying customers are the 14 men and four women of the local Purple Dragon garrison. The chief amusement of the locals in Tyrluk seems to be seeing which of the male soldiers will catch which of their fellow king’s women to be his wife. Landmarks
This village of 500 or so folk doesn't welcome visitors except farmers from nearby, who come to market here once a tenday. Folk who must stop in Tyrluk for a night are advised to call on the local lord, the prodigiously fat, hard-drinking, roaring-old rip Suldag the Boar, and endure his boisterous hospitality. The villagers are apt to be almost hostile to strangers. Just why folk here don't like outsiders is something I haven't discovered, but I know they suffered at the hands of brigands and swindling merchants who were lords before Suldag for many years. There's not much to see in Tyrluk anyway: a smithy, a carter, and cottages. Most locals work for Charn the Smith or Oglul's Cartworks. At the south end of the village sits the pony ranch of Silturr Shadowshield, a producer of top-quality mountain mounts for the Purple Dragons in High Horn and anyone else with coins enough. His beasts typically go for 36 to 40 gp. As one can tell, Tyrluk's businesses can be very useful to caravans in need of new horses, horseshoes, wheels, chains, or new wagons. Locals are happy to provide these things in return for good coin of the realm but still say firmly that they don't like outsiders. Visitors are told to “camp over there,” with an abrupt arm gesture indicating the location of “there.” The place indicated is a moribund farm at the north end of town. It has four grassy fields, two good wells, and several old barns. Travelers are expected to keep to it. The villagers have provided firepits, ample firewood kept dry under cover, and privies, so why not humor them? One can go places more welcoming on the morrow. The only landmark of interest in Tyrluk lies in the trees just west of the campground the Bowshot Run, an arrowstraight track through the forest. This flat, grassy strip of land has been cleared of all shrubs and trees, and it mysteriously stays that way. It runs from nowhere to nowhere, beginning and ending in the forest without visible ruins, cairns, or anything under ground (folk have dug looking) at its ends or along its length. Its origins are unknown. Some sages hazard it might have been a ritual approach route to a now-vanished temple. Its name comes from the use made of it these days, since with trees along it marked for distances, it makes an ideal archery range. Visitors inclined to overstay their cool welcome are warned that most locals are very proficient with their bows and hunt to fill their cooking pots every few days. There's one legend of Tyrluk that bears mentioning: The village is the reputed home of the Blue Blade. In Cormyr's folklore, the Blue Blade is a famous gallant brigand who stole from rich travelers on all of the roads that traversed the King's Forest but often gave gems from earlier hauls to pretty ladies when he waylaid them. If the Blue Blade were a single real man, he would have to be over 80 winters old by now. Although every fresh act of brigandry awakens fresh rumors of his involvement, there haven't been any proven sightings of him for more than 25 summers. The Blue Blade was the original reason for war wizards being assigned to local guardhouses and ordered to accompany road patrols throughout the realm. Their seeking magic would make the career of a lone brigand foolhardy now. When I first visited Tyrluk, I assumed the village folk were trying to hide some brigand-related secret or other from me. The more I see of Tyrluk, and of younglings who’ve grown up and left it to dwell elsewhere in Cormyr, the more I think the local attitude is one of “the world is an evil place and, except for folk in need of our goods, brings us only ill.” This encourages the folk of Tyrluk to have nothing to do with the outside world and to turn their backs on it whenever it comes seeking them. Inns The Old Man's Face The best thing about this cold, dirty roadhouse is its charmingly carved signboard, which displays a kindly, smiling old man’s face. There’s nothing kindly about the interior unless you’re a local. Outsiders meet flat, unfriendly gazes and are seated at a dark, cold corner table. The Old Face serves as the villagers’ restaurant and tavern, concentrating on bad but strong beer and simple, hearty roasts and boiled vegetables rescued from wretchedness by a variety of spiced sauces. The inn’s only regular paying customers are the 14 men and four women of the local Purple Dragon garrison. The chief amusement of the locals in Tyrluk seems to be seeing which of the male soldiers will catch which of their fellow king’s women to be his wife. Landmarks
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