North Warnborough
The Village
North Warnborough is located between Urbem Ascalon and the Freywold.
"Nestled a short distance away from the Building - only twenty minutes' worth of a leisurely walk once Residents clear their long, gravel drive - sits the quaint village of North Warnborough. It can be seen in its entirety once one clears the last stand of trees - a settlement with a Saxon feel to it.
The land is divided into three visually distinct portions. There was the village itself, in which the people live in houses built of wood or stonework. Around the village are a few small enclosures, or grass yards, for rearing lambs and baiting farm stock; this is the common farmstead. Around this is the arable land, where the villagers grow their wheat and barley and other vegetables; and around this lies the common meadows, or pasture land, held by the whole community, so that each family can turn their market-ready sheep into it, subject to the regulations of the elected mayor, whose duty it is to see that no one trespasses on the rights of his neighbor, or turns too many sheep into the common pasture. Around the whole village lies the woods and uncultivated land, which is left in its natural wild state (and currently covered in ash), where the people cut their timber and fuel, and pasture their pigs in the glades of the forest.
The village church stand at the edge of the hamlet, with a carefully made fence around it, in order that no swine or foul beast might desecrate the graves. Surrounded by the churchyard, with its yew tree and lich-gate, the church bears a strange icon in place of the Christian cross. All the houses within the village proper have thatched roofs, and chief among the other dwellings stands the Mayor’s Hall.
At the village center - clearly seen by those coming down the gentle slope - sit the market and the village inn. The market is usually be bustling by mid morning. Smoke lazily drifts from the blacksmith's chimney; his yard contains not only a horse but also an old 1950's Ford Plymouth and what looks to be a petrol station."
The village, an incorporated municipality of Urbem Ascalon, has fewer than 5,000 inhabitants. Most of them are abhuman/metahuman/supernatural beings. Ayla Mercer, a confident and outgoing Cervitaur, is the current village mayor.
A variety of business establishments can be found in the Burrows. Small shops selling clothing or other household items, a tiny library, a petrol station (the price per gallon is out of this world!), and the inn's pub support the rural community.
North Warnborough is located between Urbem Ascalon and the Freywold.
"Nestled a short distance away from the Building - only twenty minutes' worth of a leisurely walk once Residents clear their long, gravel drive - sits the quaint village of North Warnborough. It can be seen in its entirety once one clears the last stand of trees - a settlement with a Saxon feel to it.
The land is divided into three visually distinct portions. There was the village itself, in which the people live in houses built of wood or stonework. Around the village are a few small enclosures, or grass yards, for rearing lambs and baiting farm stock; this is the common farmstead. Around this is the arable land, where the villagers grow their wheat and barley and other vegetables; and around this lies the common meadows, or pasture land, held by the whole community, so that each family can turn their market-ready sheep into it, subject to the regulations of the elected mayor, whose duty it is to see that no one trespasses on the rights of his neighbor, or turns too many sheep into the common pasture. Around the whole village lies the woods and uncultivated land, which is left in its natural wild state (and currently covered in ash), where the people cut their timber and fuel, and pasture their pigs in the glades of the forest.
The village church stand at the edge of the hamlet, with a carefully made fence around it, in order that no swine or foul beast might desecrate the graves. Surrounded by the churchyard, with its yew tree and lich-gate, the church bears a strange icon in place of the Christian cross. All the houses within the village proper have thatched roofs, and chief among the other dwellings stands the Mayor’s Hall.
At the village center - clearly seen by those coming down the gentle slope - sit the market and the village inn. The market is usually be bustling by mid morning. Smoke lazily drifts from the blacksmith's chimney; his yard contains not only a horse but also an old 1950's Ford Plymouth and what looks to be a petrol station."
The village, an incorporated municipality of Urbem Ascalon, has fewer than 5,000 inhabitants. Most of them are abhuman/metahuman/supernatural beings. Ayla Mercer, a confident and outgoing Cervitaur, is the current village mayor.
A variety of business establishments can be found in the Burrows. Small shops selling clothing or other household items, a tiny library, a petrol station (the price per gallon is out of this world!), and the inn's pub support the rural community.
Known Figures
Ayla Mercer, a Cervitary, Mayor of
Gresh, a Minotaur
Griselda, a Harpy
Ignatius Jones, the village Blacksmith
Jalo, a Centaur
MacDoma, a Bean Nighe, proprietress of MacDoma's Books
Margaret, proprietress of the Moon Under Water Pub
Old Sam, a strange old hermit-wizard
Ayla Mercer, a Cervitary, Mayor of
Gresh, a Minotaur
Griselda, a Harpy
Ignatius Jones, the village Blacksmith
Jalo, a Centaur
MacDoma, a Bean Nighe, proprietress of MacDoma's Books
Margaret, proprietress of the Moon Under Water Pub
Old Sam, a strange old hermit-wizard
Places of Interest
Orwell's The Moon Under Water Pub, by Miss Margaret
The architecture and fittings are uncompromisingly Victorian. Games, such as darts, are only played in the public bar so that in other bars you can walk about without the worry of flying darts. The pub is quiet enough to talk, with the house possessing neither a radio nor a piano. The barmaids know the customers by name and take an interest in everyone. It sells tobacco and cigarettes, aspirins and stamps, and lets you use the phone. A snack counter where you can get liver-sausage sandwiches, mussels (a specialty of the house), cheese, pickles and large biscuits with caraway seeds. Upstairs, six days a week, you can get a good, solid lunch—for example, a cut off the joint, two vegetables and boiled jam roll. You go through a narrow passage leading out of the saloon, and find yourself in a fairly large garden.
MacDoma Booksellers, by MacDoma of the Bean Nighe
The book shop was as still as a coffin in a crypt. To enter was to feel the need to hush.This was the shopkeeper's magic at work. A body couldn't enjoy his reading when surrounded by distracting noise.
Bright light radiated from glass globes suspended by silvery chains. Shelves stretched from ceiling to floor, rising up ten feet or more, and these were packed with books. More rested on tables, or on the seats of chairs, or were stacked man-high on the floor. The topics widely ranged. Entire stacks seemed dedicated to cooking or animal husbandry, while others contained the history and literature of cultures spanning the universe. Magic tomes lined an entire wall, concerning themselves with everything from wart removal to curses. The "Book Dealer of Ominous Foreboding", otherwise known as MacDoma's Books, dealt predominantly to the Freywold, although its owner conducted much of her exotic trade in Ascalon itself.
MacDoma herself sat on a high stool behind a long counter. The Bean Nighe eyed Primordial as he entered, and Amanda from where she stood at the door, the creature's solitary nostril flaring to take in their scents. Thin lips pulled into a grin marred by a large tooth protruding on one side. She drew a green shawl closer to her weedy body.
"How may I be of service, dears?" the kindly voice coming from the creature contrasted with her hideous form.
Orwell's The Moon Under Water Pub, by Miss Margaret
The architecture and fittings are uncompromisingly Victorian. Games, such as darts, are only played in the public bar so that in other bars you can walk about without the worry of flying darts. The pub is quiet enough to talk, with the house possessing neither a radio nor a piano. The barmaids know the customers by name and take an interest in everyone. It sells tobacco and cigarettes, aspirins and stamps, and lets you use the phone. A snack counter where you can get liver-sausage sandwiches, mussels (a specialty of the house), cheese, pickles and large biscuits with caraway seeds. Upstairs, six days a week, you can get a good, solid lunch—for example, a cut off the joint, two vegetables and boiled jam roll. You go through a narrow passage leading out of the saloon, and find yourself in a fairly large garden.
MacDoma Booksellers, by MacDoma of the Bean Nighe
The book shop was as still as a coffin in a crypt. To enter was to feel the need to hush.This was the shopkeeper's magic at work. A body couldn't enjoy his reading when surrounded by distracting noise.
Bright light radiated from glass globes suspended by silvery chains. Shelves stretched from ceiling to floor, rising up ten feet or more, and these were packed with books. More rested on tables, or on the seats of chairs, or were stacked man-high on the floor. The topics widely ranged. Entire stacks seemed dedicated to cooking or animal husbandry, while others contained the history and literature of cultures spanning the universe. Magic tomes lined an entire wall, concerning themselves with everything from wart removal to curses. The "Book Dealer of Ominous Foreboding", otherwise known as MacDoma's Books, dealt predominantly to the Freywold, although its owner conducted much of her exotic trade in Ascalon itself.
MacDoma herself sat on a high stool behind a long counter. The Bean Nighe eyed Primordial as he entered, and Amanda from where she stood at the door, the creature's solitary nostril flaring to take in their scents. Thin lips pulled into a grin marred by a large tooth protruding on one side. She drew a green shawl closer to her weedy body.
"How may I be of service, dears?" the kindly voice coming from the creature contrasted with her hideous form.
Sheep Procurement Recipe
Ten to go upon the fields so green
Nine to catch them along the stream
Eight to creep through hoary wood
Seven to rope them into brood
But the six go forth into the dawn,
Faces long and faces drawn,
To keep the nasty adults at bay,
To distract them all
And lead them away.
Remember, if asked to be one of six... always take the right fork.
Nine to catch them along the stream
Eight to creep through hoary wood
Seven to rope them into brood
But the six go forth into the dawn,
Faces long and faces drawn,
To keep the nasty adults at bay,
To distract them all
And lead them away.
Remember, if asked to be one of six... always take the right fork.