She had left the
mountains behind and having them at her back was a welcome relief. True, the
mountain folk were a taciturn, self-reliant lot, but they could also be hidebound
and mistrustful of outsiders. The
dwarves of Orvald, in particular, were fine examples of such folk. Malora had
skirted the dwarven city, traveling by night, even though it meant having to
walk her horse rather than ride. The further west she traveled from Fallen
Baramir the more the road deteriorated. Riding a horse at night was an
invitation to disaster.
Now, the Greytooth
Mountains were at her back, as were the watchful eyes of the Everwood. She had
never managed to spot her observers, but she had known they were there,
shadowing her along the road.
She was past the
border of the wood, now, traveling along the Old Road at a decent pace. Her
maps from the Adamantine Archive were current and fairly accurate. The road
beyond the mountains seemed a bit better maintained and, ahead of her, lay a
community that the Chief Archivist had assured her would be welcoming.
According to her maps,
Ilok's Junction would be her last chance to swing south and take the New Road
west. If she continued west, she would be committed to taking the Old Road and
there were no guarantees regarding its safety or condition.
Still, a less traveled
route was preferable to her in this country. A solitary drow, traveling alone,
would attract enough attention and distrust. A drow woman, traveling alone,
would invite a broader range of threats and a greater chance of violence.
Best to take her time
on the Old Road, trust to the notes the Chief Archivist had given her, and
avoid knives in the dark. Or worse.
The countryside was
pleasant. The road passed through gently rolling hills. The forests alongside
were neither dark nor menacing. At least, not any more so than any forest was.
She did not sense eyes on her, watching her every move, making her itch to
fling a dagger into the leafy shadows.
That was a good thing.
The road skirted the
edge of a dense wood to the South when Malora spotted plumes of wispy smoke
rising ahead of her. Telltale signs of civilization, or what would pass for it.
Out of reflex, she took inventory of her weapons, made sure she could draw her
rapier with no difficulty, then took a breath and continued.
Her first impression
of Ilok's Junction was not favorable. She rounded a bend in the road and came
upon a dilapidated log house, long abandoned and given back to nature. The roof
had collapsed and the forest seemed to be doing its best to devour the
structure in vines and mold. She passed it, warily, wondering if the Chief
Archivist's notes were out-of-date. Perhaps Ilok's Junction was abandoned now,
or become a haven for bandits.
Scowling, Malora
pushed such thoughts away. If Ilok's Junction wasn't what she had been told to
expect, she would adjust accordingly. She always had and she always would.
The road continued, a
wide dirt track flanked by sparse woodland on either side. Smoke continued to
rise ahead of her and, when the wind shifted, she caught the stink of hides
being tanned.
So, she thought.
Someone lives here yet and probably not bandits.
Nevertheless, her
gloved hand slid to the hilt of her blade.
A little further
along, Malora spotted the cabin. It was made of hewn logs with wooden shingles.
There was a single story and, at a glance, Malora knew its interior was a
single room. She spotted an outhouse behind the structure.
Standing in front of
the structure was a man. He was human, with a weatherbeaten complexion and a
shaved scalp. He wore buckskin trousers and leather boots. His naked torso was
the color of teak, crisscrossed with fine scars and adorned with tattoos. A
necklace of teeth and stones hung about his neck.
As Malora approached,
the man was in the process of scraping a large deer hide which he had stretched
across a sturdy wooden frame. He glanced up at Malora's approach, but never
stopped his work. The air was filled with the sound of the blade scraping the
taut skin.
"Well met,
stranger."
Malora inclined her
head. "Well met. Is this Ilok's Junction?"
"The outskirts of
it," said the man. He jerked his head toward the west. "Keep
following the road. You'll run into the Junction proper."
"Thank you."
The man grunted,
"Safe travels," and kept on working.
Gently, Malora nudged
her horse forward.
Well, she thought.
Perhaps the Chief Archivist's notes aren't out of date after all.
The man's words were
dagger-true. She ambled into Ilok's
Junction as the sun was hanging low on the western horizon.
It wasn't a town, she
realized, or even a village. It was a hamlet. She saw the peaked roofs of other
log cabins. Most seemed small and cozy. There was also a wooden palisade, its
fifteen-foot high walls sheltering what appeared to be an inn. The palisade gates hung open and, as Malora
guided her horse toward them, she spotted a scowling elf-man standing by them.
He stood with arms
crossed, watching her with poisonous eyes. She held his gaze until he turned
his head and spat on the ground. Malora
ignored him and studied the building in front of her.
It was bigger than she
had expected, a sprawling two-story affair made of stout logs and mortared
stone. Two chimneys rose from the slanted roof, spewing white smoke into the
late afternoon sky. Bright golden flowers grew in abundance around the base of
the structure, and the front doors were painted a brilliant shade of red.
As Malora slid off her
horse, that bright red door swung open. A small matronly figure, swaddled in a
light cloak despite the heat, emerged from the interior. She walked, leaning
heavily on a gnarled wooden cane.
"Well met, traveler.
Welcome to the Junction Inn. Would you be needing a room?"
"Aye,
mistress," said Malora. "If you've got one."
"You've caught us
between trade caravans," said the woman. "You'll have the place to
yourself. Mostly." She lifted a hand, white as milk, and crooked a
finger. "Come inside. Let's get you
settled. I'm Walfora Redflower, the mistress of this establishment. Welcome to
Ilok's Junction."
Ilok's Junction is a hamlet of about nine families
approximately fifty-two miles west of the dwarven city of Orvald. The Greytooth
Mountains and the Everwood Forest are east of the Junction, while the Nemular
Forest begins to the west. The Old Road
skirts the southern edge of this woodland while the New Road diverges from it
at Ilok's Junction, heading south and west.
The largest structure in Ilok's Junction is the Junction Inn(1).
It is also the best defended, situated behind a fifteen-foot high wooden
palisade. During times of danger, the entire town can, and has, taken shelter
in the Inn.
Other prominent structure in Ilok's Junction are the Temple
of Ariel(3), Omir Moonrhyme's forge(4) and Neverene's Goods(5).
Most of the remaining buildings are residential dwellings (2,
6, 8, 11, 12). Some properties have been
abandoned (7, 9, 10, 13, 14) and have fallen into disrepair. Whatever could be scavenged from these
abandoned homes has been by the remaining residents.
Ilok's Junction is the last chance travelers have to leave
the Old Road for the New Road. There isn't another opportunity to do so for
almost two hundred miles.
During the warmer months, and into late autumn, trade
caravans from Orvald and more isolated communities pass through Ilok's
Junction. Many overnight at the Junction Inn, have damaged vehicles repaired at
Moonrhyme's forge and purchase supplies at Neverene's.
Remarkably, Ilok's Junction owes allegiance to no local lord
or city-state. It is an independent community, handling their own affairs and
meting out their own justice.
Occasionally some local lordling attempts to annex the Junction but its
relative isolation, and the fierce tempers of the local residents, usually ends
such schemes.
