Village Stethlan, Ches 1st (The Claw of the Sunsets), 1372 DR (The Year of Wild Magic)
The two stone towers guarding the bridge that crossed the Hazur River and led into the Village Stethlan were just visible on the horizon a half mile away to the south. The quintet had put about the same distance between themselves and the small port of Bixburg where the fishing boat had dropped them off an hour or so earlier. They had spent some time browsing the small market for native trinkets and fruits while Krell attempted to replenish the contents of his stomach that he’d lost into the River during the latter part of their trip.
“I will ne’er understand human’s fascination with creatures of the sea!” he complained, dismayed by the limited options offered by the lone fry shack – fresh fish and chips fried in boar’s fat – settling for two orders of raw chips and a mug of warm Stethlan Pale Ale. “At least they know how to craft a hearty brew.”
It was the first thing all five had agreed on and they’d joined Krell in a friendly round before setting out on the road south.
The loftily-named Hazur Promenade was a packed dirt highway that served as the primary trading route for the nomadic humans that lived on and worked the farmlands and light forests of central Tashalar, and supplied the small villages and ports along the River with everything from food and drink to timber and furs. They’d passed two caravans already, both heading north back to Bixburg, neither with any news of interest on the road to Stethlan.
The woodline had been cleared fifty yards from the road on their right, the angry river flowed freely on their left and the only shadows cast were their own which grew longer by the minute as the sun was well on its way to disappearing into the west. Though it offered relatively safe passage, the potential yuan-ti raid or griffon ambush caused them to pick up their pace a bit, wanting to make the village ahead of nightfall.
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