Astonwick (Agrabash)

Large Town: Alignment: TN (NE), Population: 4,200 (60% human, 38% half-humanoid, 2% other). Languages: Orcish and Common, Religions: Pelor and Gruumsh (secretly), Authority figure:  Lady Agnes Renfrew (human female, fighter) , Father Filton Pyre of Pelor (Human, male cleric), Varrik "Silk" Morn (half-hobgoblin male, rogue /Expert). 

Astonwick, once the second city of the province, was utterly sacked by the orcish invaders and fell under the brutal rule of the fanatically devout followers of the Orcish god Gruumsh. The subjugated humans endured a horrific existence, their lives marked by relentless suffering. The priests of Gruumsh would ceremoniously sacrifice and torture their slaves, causing massive loss of life and stripping the captives of their humanity over many years of torment. Now, 6 months, after the city’s liberation, the freed slaves remain scarred by their experiences, with many still bearing the psychological wounds of their brutal past. Their behaviors, often selfish and violent, reflect the harshness of their servitude. The settlement is now under the rule of Agnes Renfrew (pictured), the Baron’s daughter, with the help of Father Filton Pyre of Pelor, who brought a congregation of devoted followers to aid in the city’s recovery. While Lady Agnes restored law and order to Astonwick, Father Filton provided healing, food, and clothing to the ex-slaves, offering them a chance at recovery.

The Old Keep, once a temple to Gruumsh, was exorcised and repurposed as a barracks. A new temple to Pelor was re-consecrated, and from the ruins of the city, Astonwick slowly began to rebuild. The former slaves were taught 'proper behavior' by the Pelorians, while Lady Agnes relied on her soldiers to act as the town watch, maintaining strict order and discipline. Astonwick had been a savage and uncivilized place even by humanoid standards, and many speculate that this is why it was left for Agnes to develop, while her father, Baron Rufus, took charge of the less troubled Howedin.

Despite its brutal history, the land surrounding Astonwick is fertile, and large plantations were established, offering good working conditions and reasonable pay for those who chose to work there. Surprisingly, these plantations have become popular among the ex-slaves, providing them with purpose and a steady livelihood. They have flourished, marking a notable success in the rehabilitation of Astonwick and its people. Astonwick’s garrison includes two hundred mercenaries from the Crimson Auxiliaries, led by the seasoned warrior Ulf Bjarne. These mercenaries are veterans from the Blood Isles and the Crimson Coast, accustomed to violence and skilled in fighting in smaller, more agile groups. Their willingness to use force when necessary occasionally puts them at odds with the more idealistic Pelorians, who prefer peaceful solutions. In addition to the Crimson Auxiliaries, there are almost four hundred warriors of the Ducal Scouts stationed in the town. Their primary role is to patrol the surrounding lands and hunt down the remaining hostile humanoid stragglers, ensuring the safety of the settlement and the wider region. Astonwick seems poised for growth due to its inclusive policy of allowing anyone and everyone to settle in the town. The Pelorians, along with the mercenaries, set an example by working tirelessly alongside the former slaves to rebuild the town and help its people heal. Though the physical health of Astonwick’s inhabitants has greatly improved, they are well-fed, clothed, and strong, the psychological toll of years under humanoid tyranny remains heavy. The stress and trauma of their past still linger, casting a shadow over the town as its people struggle to overcome their painful history and build a hopeful future.

There have long been rumours regarding the nature of the relationship between Lady Agnes and Father Filton, for the two were once celebrated adventuring companions who travelled together for years in their youth. Their obvious affection, unwavering loyalty to one another, and remarkable closeness have given rise to endless gossip, particularly amongst those who struggle to believe that such a friendship could exist without romance. Those who know them well dismiss such speculation entirely. Lady Agnes and Father Filton share a friendship forged through hardship, danger, and years of shared experience. Father Filton, whilst never seeking to hide his preference for the company of men, has little interest in courtly gossip or defending himself against idle rumours. Lady Agnes herself simply finds the stories amusing, remarking only that people often see what they expect to see. Father Filton comes from a wealthy mercantile family in Leosandria, one of the Successor States' oldest colonies. Before arriving in Harmonias he was virtually unknown in the region, having spent much of his earlier life travelling as both priest and adventurer. Unlike many influential clerics, he has shown almost no interest in politics or noble intrigue. Instead, he has devoted himself almost entirely to the restoration of Astonwick, overseeing the rebuilding of its temples, hospitals, schools, and charitable institutions. His tireless work amongst the townsfolk has earned him widespread affection and respect. Whether blessing the foundations of new buildings, tending the wounded, or helping organise relief for those displaced by the recent wars, Father Filton is rarely seen far from the people he serves. Many quietly joke that he spends more time with stonemasons and carpenters than with priests. His friendship with Lady Agnes remains one of the strongest influences upon the governance of Astonwick. Whilst she concerns herself with the security and administration of the Barony, Father Filton provides trusted counsel on matters of conscience, charity, and the welfare of the common people. Together they are widely regarded as balancing one another's strengths, and few decisions of great importance are made without the two first seeking each other's advice.

The Orc's Head Inn

The Orc's Head Inn is one of the largest and most respectable establishments to have reopened since the liberation of Astonwick. Standing behind its own stout stone wall, the inn occupies a substantial building close to one of the town's principal thoroughfares. Its courtyard contains stabling, wagon space and several smaller outbuildings, while armed guards watch the gate throughout the day and night. The inn takes its name from the grisly trophy mounted above the entrance: the preserved head of an orc warrior, still wearing an expression of furious defiance. According to the proprietor, the head belonged to one of Agrabash's particularly hated overseers, killed during the liberation. Whether this is entirely true has never been satisfactorily established, but few of the former slaves seem inclined to question the story.

Unlike Astonwick's numerous rough drinking houses, the Orc's Head principally serves merchants, officers, engineers, prosperous travellers and those conducting business with Lady Agnes's administration. Prices are correspondingly high, although the food is plentiful, the ale dependable and the rooms considerably cleaner than those available elsewhere in the town. The large common room is dominated by heavy oak beams, long tables and an enormous hearth. Entertainment is uncommon. Instead, merchants negotiate contracts, officers take their meals, engineers pore over plans and travellers exchange news from beyond the March. During daylight hours the courtyard is often busier still, crowded with wagons, horses, labourers and teamsters bringing supplies into the rebuilding town.

Security is taken seriously. Weapons are permitted, but trouble is not. Anyone starting a fight is likely to find several burly guards intervening before Lady Agnes's watch even hears about it. Thieves fare considerably worse. The proprietor understands that the inn's prosperity depends upon wealthy travellers believing that their purses, horses and merchandise are safer here than elsewhere in Astonwick. For adventurers, the Orc's Head has consequently become one of the best places in town to find employment or hear reliable rumours. Merchants require escorts, officers sometimes need discreet assistance, engineers encounter unexpected difficulties amongst the ruins, and travellers bring news from across Harmonias. The Orc's Head is therefore more than an inn. In a town still struggling to recover from years of brutality, it is one of the first places where Astonwick feels like a functioning town again rather than the ruins of Agrabash.

Details of Prices

Ironoak Armoury

Ironoak Armoury is a sturdy but rather unimpressive workshop squeezed between two older buildings on one of the town's busier streets. A weathered wooden sign hangs above the entrance, bearing the faded image of an oak tree surrounded by a ring of iron. The constant clang... clang... clang of hammer against metal usually announces the place long before visitors notice the sign. The stonework around the chimney has been blackened by years of smoke, and an assortment of old horseshoes, broken blades and pieces of scrap metal usually waits in a barrel beside the door to be melted down and reused. Inside, the armoury is cramped, hot and smells strongly of coal smoke, leather, sweat and metal filings. There isn't much room to browse. Spears and polearms stand upright in barrels, swords hang from wooden pegs, and several mismatched shields are stacked wherever space can be found. Helmets occupy shelves alongside buckles, straps, gauntlets and unfinished pieces of armour. Most of the equipment is practical rather than attractive: plain steel, heavy rivets, repaired leather straps and very little decoration. Some pieces are new, others repaired, and a few clearly have previous owners. A scarred wooden counter separates customers from the working part of the armoury. Behind it are racks of hammers, tongs, files and punches, half-finished pieces of armour, buckets of scrap metal and a large charcoal forge that keeps the entire building unpleasantly warm even during winter. An anvil occupies the centre of the workshop, surrounded by scorch marks and years of accumulated dents in the floorboards. Customers are generally expected to remain on their side of the counter unless invited through for measurements or fittings.

The proprietor is Kharzug "Khar" Ironhide, a broad-shouldered half-gnoll with ash-grey fur mottled with dark spots and deep amber eyes. His heavy features, powerful build and prominent teeth can make him intimidating to strangers, although regular customers know him as a quiet and surprisingly patient craftsman. Years at the forge have left his forearms marked with old burns where the fur grows unevenly, while his large hands are heavily calloused and almost permanently stained with soot and oil. He usually wears a battered leather apron over a simple shirt and trousers, caring about his own appearance about as much as he cares about decorating his armour. Khar is reserved and rarely wastes words. Customers entering the shop are generally greeted with a nod, a grunt, or a simple "Need something?" He listens carefully to what people ask for, gives straightforward answers and has little interest in convincing anyone to spend more money than necessary. In fact, Khar has occasionally talked inexperienced adventurers out of expensive purchases because he believes cheaper equipment would serve them better. He has little patience for boasting, haggling for the sake of haggling, or customers who mistreat his merchandise, but he is remarkably patient with those who genuinely do not know what they need.

The workmanship at Ironoak is decent, but nothing exceptional. Khar makes equipment primarily for town guards, caravan hands, mercenaries and adventurers who need something dependable without particularly caring what it looks like. His swords aren't always perfectly balanced, his armour isn't fashionable, and requesting elaborate decorative engraving is likely to earn a long stare followed by a recommendation that the customer find another smith. What Khar does particularly well is make things tough. A battered breastplate repaired at Ironoak might return with three different shades of steel, replacement rivets and an ugly patch across the ribs, but it'll stop a blade. He would rather reinforce a weak joint than hide it beneath decoration and considers armour that looks impressive but fails under hard use to be an embarrassment to whoever made it. His philosophy is simple: "A sword wins a fight. Good armour lets you survive the next one."

Khar is also particularly skilled at fitting and repairing armour. He has an exceptional memory for customers and their equipment, often remembering measurements years after someone last visited the shop. A mercenary returning after several seasons might discover that Khar still remembers that their left shoulder sits slightly lower than their right, that they prefer a loose sword belt, or that the buckle on their old breastplate had a habit of breaking. Beneath the counter he keeps a battered ledger containing measurements, repairs and brief notes concerning regular customers, written in surprisingly careful handwriting.

Most of the stock at Ironoak is ordinary equipment: swords, axes, spears, shields and practical armour suitable for guards and travelling adventurers. A few masterwork pieces are usually kept behind the counter rather than displayed openly, although Khar will only bring them out for customers he believes are genuinely interested in buying. Magical weapons and armour are much less common. When one does come into his possession, it is kept locked inside a heavy iron-bound chest concealed beneath the workshop floorboards. Khar doesn't advertise such items and generally only mentions them to customers he knows or those specifically asking after enchanted equipment. For all its clutter, smoke and rough workmanship, Ironoak Armoury has developed a dependable reputation. It isn't the place to find beautiful elven blades, elaborate ceremonial armour or racks of enchanted weapons. It is where people go when a shield needs repairing before tomorrow morning, when a caravan guard needs a sword that won't fall apart after three months on the road, or when an adventurer returns from a dungeon carrying a breastplate with a large hole where no hole should be.

A small wooden sign behind the counter sums up both the establishment and its owner: Good steel. Fair price. Honest work. That's all.

Details of the Inventory 

The Honest Scale

The Honest Scale is a small, cluttered magical supply shop occupying the ground floor of an old timber-and-stone building near the town's main market. A weathered sign above the entrance depicts a pair of brass scales beneath a silver star. There are no glowing runes, enchanted statues or mysterious lights to advertise its purpose; from the street, the place could easily be mistaken for an apothecary or particularly eccentric general store. Inside, a small brass bell announces new customers. The narrow shop is crowded with shelves, cupboards and countless small drawers, while the air carries a mixture of beeswax, incense, old parchment and dried herbs. Stoppered bottles and labelled jars fill the shelves alongside candles, chalk, feathers, powdered minerals, gemstones and dozens of other spell components. Scroll cases occupy pigeonholes behind the counter, inexpensive potions sit inside a locked cabinet, and the more valuable or dangerous materials are kept safely out of sight.

The proprietor is Brakka Thornroad, a strongly built half-orc woman with dark hair usually tied back and practical clothing covered in pockets. Her hands bear the scars of a hard life, while faint marks around her wrists remain from the years she spent enslaved. Brakka makes no particular attempt to conceal her past, but she rarely discusses the details with strangers. After gaining her freedom she spent years travelling with merchant caravans, first as hired muscle and eventually as a trader herself. Along the way she learned how to recognise unusual goods, value magical components and, perhaps most importantly, identify dishonest merchants. After years of saving and trading, she eventually accumulated enough money to establish the Honest Scale. Brakka is warm, approachable and talkative, particularly with regular customers. She remembers names, previous purchases and often the stories behind them. Adventurers returning after a dangerous expedition may discover that Brakka remembers exactly which potions they bought before leaving and expects to hear whether they proved useful. Her friendliness should not be mistaken for naivety, however. Years spent among caravan traders and mercenaries have made her difficult to deceive, and anyone attempting to pass counterfeit coins, misrepresent an item or distract her while stealing will quickly discover how observant she really is.

The name The Honest Scale reflects Brakka's approach to business. Her prices aren't always cheap, particularly for goods that are difficult to obtain, but she takes considerable pride in selling exactly what she claims to be selling. A potion bearing a label can be trusted to contain that potion, and a gemstone sold as being worth a hundred gold pieces will genuinely be worth a hundred gold pieces. Brakka is fond of reminding customers that "cheap and fair aren't the same thing."

Most of the shop's business comes from ordinary magical supplies rather than powerful enchanted objects. Spell components, parchment, inks, alchemical goods, inexpensive gemstones, first-level potions and common scrolls make up most of the stock. More valuable components such as diamond dust, pearls and black onyx remain behind the counter. Brakka occasionally acquires minor magical items from adventurers and travelling merchants, but these are uncommon and rarely remain in stock for long. She can also obtain more unusual goods through her network of merchant contacts, although special orders usually require a deposit and may take several weeks to arrive. The Honest Scale has also become a useful place for adventurers looking to sell unusual materials recovered during their travels. Brakka purchases gemstones, magical components, alchemical substances and occasionally minor enchanted objects, although she has little interest in every rusty sword or tarnished goblet dragged from an old ruin. If she doesn't recognise something, she will usually know someone who might.

Brakka maintains a quiet but close friendship with Kharzug "Khar" Ironhide, proprietor of the Ironoak Armoury. Their personalities contrast sharply: Brakka is warm and conversational, while Khar is reserved and rarely uses more words than necessary. Despite this, there is considerable trust between them. Brakka directs anyone needing weapons, armour or repairs to Khar, while he sends customers looking for magical supplies, potions or scrolls to her. They regularly exchange materials, repairs and small favours without keeping much account of who owes whom. Together, the Honest Scale and Ironoak Armoury have become dependable fixtures for the town's adventuring community. Neither shop contains legendary treasures or vast collections of enchanted equipment, but both have earned something considerably more useful: a reputation for being trustworthy.

Details of the Stock

Varrik "Silk" Morn

Few people in Astonwick would recognise the name Varrik Morn (pictured), and fewer still would consider him important. A middle-aged half-hobgoblin of unremarkable appearance, he is publicly known as the proprietor of several disreputable alehouses and lodging houses in the poorer quarters of the town. He is commonly called "Silk", supposedly because of the fine scarves he affects despite otherwise dressing like a prosperous rogue. In truth, Varrik is one of the most dangerous men in Astonwick. Silk survived the years of humanoid occupation not through strength, but through an instinctive understanding of power. Under the orcs he served variously as a fence, procurer, informer and intermediary, always useful enough to protect and never important enough to attract attention. When Astonwick was liberated, many of the old criminal leaders fled or were killed. Varrik simply changed masters, changed clothes and carried on. Today, his influence reaches through much of Astonwick's emerging underworld. He has interests in several slum taverns, brothels, gambling rooms and lodging houses, while his associates deal in stolen property, illicit moneylending, protection and smuggling. Varrik is particularly interested in information. Innkeepers, prostitutes, beggars, thieves and street children are paid for anything they overhear concerning wealthy visitors, merchants, soldiers or officials. Very few of these people realise that they work for the same man.

Silk deliberately keeps several layers between himself and serious criminal activity. Orders pass through trusted lieutenants, who deal with local bosses, who in turn employ the thieves and thugs who actually commit the crimes. Even those arrested by Lady Agnes's soldiers are therefore unlikely to know anything that leads directly to him. A Survivor Above All, Varrik has no desire to overthrow Lady Agnes Renfrew. Indeed, he privately considers most of those plotting against the new regime to be fools. Agnes has soldiers, money and powerful allies, while Astonwick desperately needs stability if there is to be anything worth stealing. Instead, Silk intends to survive her.

He has quietly imposed strict rules upon those under his influence. Lady Agnes's soldiers are not to be robbed. Pelorian priests are to be left alone. Ducal Scouts are not to be interfered with. Arson, indiscriminate murder and anything likely to bring soldiers into the poorer districts are strongly discouraged. Slaving is absolutely forbidden. This last prohibition has nothing to do with morality. Varrik remembers perfectly well what Astonwick was like under the orcs and knows that even the rumour of renewed slave trading would bring Lady Agnes, Father Filton and half the garrison down upon the underworld. Anyone attempting to establish such a trade therefore tends to disappear remarkably quickly.

Silk's philosophy is simple: "Lady Agnes can have Astonwick. I only need the parts she doesn't see."

Despite his caution, Varrik is thoroughly unpleasant. He is vindictive, greedy and entirely without compassion when his interests are threatened. Those who owe him money are given opportunities to pay. Those who cannot may find themselves working in one of his establishments until the debt is settled. Those who steal from him are beaten or mutilated. Those who betray him simply disappear. Varrik nevertheless dislikes unnecessary killing. Bodies attract guards, priests ask awkward questions and frightened witnesses sometimes become surprisingly talkative. He prefers threats, debt, blackmail and carefully demonstrated violence. A merchant who refuses to pay protection might first find his warehouse burgled. The second warning might involve a broken hand. There is seldom need for a third. He is particularly skilled at discovering what people want or what they fear others discovering.

 Varrik is lean with angular features, pointed ears and narrow yellow-brown eyes that reveal his hobgoblin ancestry. His black hair is beginning to grey and is usually swept back from his face. He wears a short beard and maintains the permanently amused expression of a man who knows something everyone else does not. Silk is unfailingly polite when circumstances permit. He enjoys good ale, expensive food and gambling, and habitually carries a tankard when conducting business in his establishments. He rarely raises his voice.  When Varrik becomes quiet, his associates know someone is in serious trouble. Unknown to Lady Agnes, Varrik occasionally acts in ways that benefit her rule. Violent gangs that threaten his businesses are eliminated. Dangerous fugitives sometimes find their whereabouts anonymously reported to the watch. Attempts by outsiders to establish competing criminal organisations are ruthlessly suppressed. Silk therefore provides a crude form of order within districts where Lady Agnes's authority remains weakest. This does not make him an ally. Should Agnes ever discover the true extent of his activities, Varrik knows perfectly well what would happen. He therefore cultivates respectable intermediaries, keeps careful records only in his head and makes certain that no single captured lieutenant can reveal enough to destroy him. For the moment, Lady Agnes is rebuilding Astonwick above ground. Varrik Morn is quietly rebuilding something beneath it.