Drizzle. It was a word the locals were familiar with. Weather from inland met with the Welsh mountains in the west. Weather from the sea rushed in over the Cheshire plains, curling around the mountains... and these climate quirks always seemed to resolve as a fine rain, gently but firmly soaking the rolling green hills. Rivers and streams curled down towards the endless farms in the distance, and the occasional burst of sunlight raised a faint mist from the drying mud... but mostly the air was wet, and the sky was grey.
The main road pushed through here, a grey-brown line cutting from Drayton to Crewe. It was a dull road... bordered by a muddy verge, lined with the tracks of hundreds of farm carts, dotted with brown puddles and grey stones. There was nothing interesting about the junction here, either... no sign, no marker, just a second half-cobbled track that split off and vanished into the nearby hills.
Following the track would... if one were accepted... abruptly lead to the town. A river ran down one side, too narrow for much more than a rowboat, but presumably deep as it fed nearby farms. The buildings were crowded together, clearly old, a melding of medieval and gothic architectural styles that seemed almost out of place in the deep country town.
The main street sliced the town in two, shop fronts lining both sides... a barbers, grocery, apothecary, newsagent, all of the little stores that one would expect to find in a busy town. Narrow alleys led to craftsman's studios and little stalls, each shielded from the rain by heavy canvas. Life bustled through the streets, even in the drizzle, inhabitants hurrying about on their business, pausing to chat in sheltered gaps, hopping over puddles and dodging a carriage or two as they crossed the road.
A large church dominated the head of the main road, and a large building... presumably the 'town hall'... loomed over the small square in the town center. Other landmarks that quickly caught the eye was a solid square building that housed the town bank, and a low, squat building that was a surprisingly large Watch house.
The town looked, aside from its few quirks... normal. Certainly not the home of the dark rumors and twisted legends that trickled through the lands.
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OOC Link:
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CondorBoH - Niles Woodstock
Spoiler (click to show/hide):
The Editor Is An Ass. Practically the reporter's motto as long as there'd been newspapers, the editorial desk had been a bitter battleground for every eager journalist, watched over by a harsh, demanding deity... and the editor of the Times was certainly not one of the minor pantheon. He'd sent you here. Perhaps you'd annoyed him... it certainly didn't seem like a 'real' story, chasing insane rumors in the middle of nowhere. Yet one could not argue, and here you are, trying not to get mud on your sensible shoes, trying to ignore the almost-rain, eyeing the narrow 'road' that the carriage drivers had all refused to take you along. It'd cost a full half-shilling just to get this far, and there was no guarantee that the paper would cover the cost, if this turned out to be a wild goose chase.
Still, in for a penny. It was a long trudge along the winding road until you got to a small rise and could actually see buildings peeking above the distant hills... and at that point, something caught your attention. Or rather, the lack of something. There had been no bird calls, no distant cows lowing, no bleating sheep or shepherds calls... just the wind. Until now... you can hear a single trill, repeated again and again. It's off somewhere to your left.
exalted - Rob (Rebecca Warrick) Smith
Spoiler (click to show/hide):
Finding the town had been difficult. Most people had never heard of it. It wasn't on any map you'd checked. Only the insistence of the Subaltern who'd passed on the message and a rough, hand-written set of directions had gotten you this far, to people who'd even heard of the place.
The main road had been empty, the first carriage you'd spotted being one that vanished into the distance as you climbed out of your own. The driver didn't say a word, just goaded the horses into movement as if he was hoping to catch up with the distant shape... leaving you on the side of the road, damp and alone.
The track ahead almost called to you. Somehow you knew your father was at the end of it. The knowledge felt rock-hard, like a crystal sitting in your mind. Perhaps it was the anticipation, or perhaps the tiredness of your travels, but somehow the road felt endless, like you'd been tramping for days, although the sun overhead was barely into the afternoon... as best as you could tell through the damnable clouds. It was a long way from the hot lands you'd recently been in.
And now you could hear a distant voice, somewhere up ahead. Or was it singing, or birds? Too faint to tell. There was a figure there, standing on the rise, looking across the hills towards the town.
