Loose clumps of dead —now frozen— vegetation trail behind you, escaping from the soles of your boots. Looking up to the indistinct peaks of the mountains, one would see the sun glaring back. And though the white-grey, rugged snow covering face of the mountain threw off light, it seemed greedy and malicious winds stole the heat from the air long before it would ever find you.
The recessed jungle floor so generously advertised as 'a tried, true, and cheap highway through the Thickets', and the subsequent swift (and unbelievable) transition to mountainous crags and cutting winds means that only the foolhardy or desperate take this particular path into the infamous guarded lands of Falsehaven. The relatively small and unimpressive outpost seated at the gaping maw of the Northern Pass was a welcome sight to anyone who trudged up the mountain paths. For most travelers, this outpost was the first legitimate rest stop since they first entered the edge of the Thickets; a journey that takes no less than 5 days... if you're well prepared and
very lucky. After the wave of relief passes, though, the cold stares and deadened expressions of those stuck here remind you that solace and respite are still far away.
Every few days, foreigners trickle into this place. Typically, they are in small groups led by hardy mountain natives willing to lead errant valley folk. For a king's ransom, of course. Sometimes, very rarely, adventurers are both willing to brave the crags and capable enough to survive them. In either case, this outpost is one of the few land based entrances into Falsehaven. As such, any manner of folk end up here. Sometimes permanently.
A small group of travelers are shepherded to the centre of the outpost, where a coven of several hardy buildings huddle together. Two stone spires, one half destroyed, stand watch above the outpost, as firmly fixed and intimidating as the intensely frigid expressions of the people who live here. Accommodations are spartan, to say the least. For travelers, temporary dwelling can be found at the main hall. Upon entering the hall most travellers either peg the place as a meagre, but somewhat cozy inn, or a squalid warehouse turned into a shelter. Either way, the prices are exorbitant.
Luckily, each of you has been payed for by a mutual benefactor. That is, up to a certain date. The caravan you were meant to meet has not arrived yet, but is expected soon.
For now, each of you are idling in the general area. If not in the main hall, perhaps in the small clave hosted by the lone Aeon Priest meant to provide spiritual advice and technological knowledge to the locals. For the impatient, the depot is where your caravan is to arrive. Of course, there are several other buildings meant to cater to the guards and various auxiliary personnel maintaining the outpost. Or perhaps you are just now arriving with the most recent group.
In any case, none of you have been here especially long. A week at most. You might have a loose idea who the others are... but the message you received said nothing about other promissory devotees.
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Topic: [IC] Numenera: Return of Fire (Read 3733 times)