Old World» Dusthill

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Frontier town at the edge of the western wastes.

Even though it’s the largest of the frontier settlements scattered along the edge of the western wastes, calling Dusthill a “town” might be giving it too much credit. The town center (such as it is) consists of ten or so buildings—the town jail, the tavern, a handful of shops. (There are no “streets” to speak of.) Loosely scattered around this core are a number of homesteads. The total population is not quite a thousand.

There’s no government in Dusthill—no mayor, no town council—because there isn’t really anything for a government to do (and the sorts of people who come out to the frontier aren’t keen on being told how to run their lives, anyhow). Anyone can come, claim a plot of land that isn’t occupied, build a house; anyone can trade or do business with whoever they like. That doesn’t mean that Dusthill’s lawless, though; there’s a sheriff here (elected by the locals, though word is that he runs unopposed every time—nobody else wants the job), and folks won’t tolerate antisocial behavior. Mostly, though, people just mind their own business.

With two exceptions, all the structures in Dusthill are built of mud brick. Wood’s too scarce to build with, out here; the few trees nearby are thin, bent, twisted things, no good for lumber. Food’s a perpetual problem, too; cattle don’t thrive here, nor many other domestic animals; and the land’s no good for most crops. Some of the locals raise goats or llamas; some grow beans and other legumes; some hunt lizards (and even stranger game) out in the wastes. A caravan stops by once a month, and the people of Dusthill trade for foodstuffs, metalworks, and other needed things, exchanging snakeskins, giant lizard teeth, “medicinal” cactus flowers, and some even more exotic products of the wastes.

Locations

Abbreviations:

H
human
Hg
hobgoblin
H-o
half-orc
Tf
tiefling
m
male
f
female

The Tap

This unimaginatively named tavern is run by the taciturn Randall (m H), aided by a single serving girl named Irg (f H-o). The Tap offers no lodging—only food, drink, and occasional entertainment. The latter’s provided by Johnny (m Tf), a handsome young tiefling who, when he’s got just the right amount of alcohol in him, sings songs that’ll elevate your soul, raise your spirits, or haunt your dreams. (Usually, though, he’s either sober or fall-down drunk—and in either condition, in too dark a mood even to hum a tune.) Randall also sells trail rations, torches, and other simple supplies.

Town jail

Unlike most of the buildings in Dusthill, the jailhouse is a solidly built structure of red sandstone. It doubles as the sheriff’s office and a meeting hall (for those rare occasions when there’s anything for the locals to discuss together). Ruven (m Hg), the sheriff of Dusthill, can be found here at all hours (even at night; he sleeps on a cot in a back room).

Barber shop

Felix (m H), the town’s barber, offers his services here. Besides the usual haircut or shave, Felix can pull teeth, suture a wound, or amputate a limb. In his spare time he makes handicrafts—cutting tools, primarily (pocket knifes, shears, shaving razors). (Felix doesn’t forge the blades himself; he buys unfinished stock from the traveling caravan, sharpens and hones them, and attaches handles.)

Cobbler and leatherworks shop

The perpetually aggrieved Khav (m H-o) and his retiring young apprentice Pierce (m H) labor here to fix boots, mend saddles, craft belts, and produce assorted other leather items. Whenever he’s not working on an order, Khav may be found drinking at the Tap.

Morris’s Herbs

Morris (m H) has an uncanny knack for giving the impression of seeming to be a kindly middle-aged man. This, of course, is despite the fact that, as far as anyone in Dusthill knows, he really is a kindly middle-aged man. His shop is always permeated with a pleasing scent of pine sap (just how this is done, with not an evergreen within five hundred miles around, is anyone’s guess), and stocks a bewildering variety of herbal and alchemical goods, from simple cooking spices to potent antivenom. Morris himself is also a skilled healer, though he wields no magic (or so he claims).

Marie’s house

For Marie (f H), her house doubles as a workshop—she’s a seamstress by trade, though she also takes in washing for the other locals, sells jars of preserved and pickled products from a small garden she maintains, and does miscellaneous other odd jobs. Marie’s teenaged son Terence (m H) lives with her, though he’s rarely seen in town (what the boy does to fill his time is anyone’s guess).

Gorem’s house

Gorem (m H-o) the hunter lives here with his two children (Lur, m H-o; Hannig, f H-o). He’s a quietly serious man with a demeanor that some find menacing. Gorem knows the wastes better than anyone, as he makes a living selling the skins and teeth of the giant lizards that call the wastes their home. He spends much of his time on the hunt, and returns to town only rarely.

Wizard’s tower

Rising three stories high from the dusty plain east of town, the “tower” is easily the tallest structure in Dusthill. In more civilized lands, it’d hardly rate the name, being a rather squat-looking, un-decorated stump of the same mud brick as most of the town’s buildings. The wizard (m H) who lives there is almost never seen in public; nor does anyone seem to know his name. All manner of stories are told of him, most of which are quite obviously false.

Temple

It’s a strange sort of temple, to be sure: an arrangement of giant-sized sandstone pillars, a half-circle and one apart, each sculpted by the wind into bizarre forms that seem, in the light of dusk or dawn, to suggest figures frozen in some otherworldly dance. The priestess Margarita (f H) holds weekly prayer services (dedicated to Pelor) here—and she is no less odd herself. Margarita’s house is nestled against a great pillar of rock, not far from the temple; the locals seem to have a strange apprehension of the place.

Cemetary

In the old days, when bandits, gnolls, and wild creatures claimed many who came out here, the cairns and gravestones of this desolate burial ground swelled quickly in number. Nowadays, safety in numbers has made Dusthill as safe a place as any along the frontier, and the cemetary’s population grows more slowly. There’s always plenty of room for new arrivals, though.

The old man’s place

The hill that gives Dusthill its name stands to the west of the town, shielding the town center from the dusty winds that blow in from the wasteland. Squatting on the hill’s flat top is a dwelling of unsettling appearance: walls built from the bones of some great monster, with skins thick as armor stretched between them; skulls of small animals hanging from protrusions and spikes; the ground around the hut strewn and studded with sharp rocks and half-buried stakes. Here lives the old man (m Tf), who is said to be a warlock, and to consort with evil powers. Strangely, the locals seem to feel that his presence is a charm of good luck—though none dare ascend the hill to call on him.

Ulwai’s farm

The locals avoid this place (which is located a mile outside the town center), though from afar it seems little different from the other homesteads in Dusthill’s vicinity. Ulwai (f Hg) lives here with her daughter (no one knows the girl’s name, as Ulwai permits no one to meet her). Ulwai herself is well enough liked, and is always treated with politeness when she comes into town to trade.

Rumors

The following rumors may be heard in Dusthill, if one hangs around and chats with the locals. Some may even be true.

Categories: Group One · Locations