After much restorative work, our map of the Brambles Forest is presentable once again. A bounty of 50 silver stag coin will be awarded to whomever catches the possum responsible for so much scat all over our map collection.
The illustrator of this map is none other than our own Merri. Taken as she is to surveying the forest on a regular basis, she saw fit one summer to create a likeness for the tavern.
The Brambles Forest is an aulde wood in the western reaches of a region known commonly as the Northern Brambles(the forest was named first, so really it's all those stuffed robes in the Capital's cartography schools who lack originality in naming).
The Ivy Crown Tavern
It goes without saying that our most humble and prestigious public house is the beating heart of the region. The Red Fern Road that stretches east to west through the Brambles Forest brings traders, academics, farmers and adventurers alike. On any given night a patron will find cold drink, warm fires and occasionally good music.
Perry Turner, a root farmer and part-timer philosopher of little renown, once said 'the hearth is to we folk what candle be to summer moths. It draws us in, comforts and sustains us.' So we treat our fine establishment. Let none leave hungry, thirsty or in want of a story.
Moon Abby
The collection of opulent spires and halls perched on an island in Crane Lake was not always the center of academics it is today. Ages ago, it was known as Cider Hall and was used as a summer retreat for members of a lesser noble family, the Purewaters.
As the story goes, Killian Purewater, the house's patriarch, had a near unquenchable thirst for Bogram's Stout, served proudly at the Ivy Crown. Each summer he would spend countless nights at the Crown, drowning in pints of the bitter. As nobles are want to do, he never paid but accumulated a tab. I say tab but it was more akin to a national debt by the end.
When Killian eventually passed on, debtors from all around called on the Purewater family to settle up. The owner of the Ivy Crown at the time, Saoirse, came round to their estate in the Stag Highlands to collect. Apparently there was such a profound embarrassment at the extent of Killian's drinking habit that they quickly offered Cider Hall in exchange for Saoirse's hasty departure and discretion. I'm not Saoirse so I can speak on it all I like.
Well one bad debt deserves another, so after Saoirse got into a heap of legal trouble with the Alchemy Colleges of Ivy Wood, she handed over the keys to settle the issue. They in turn converted the once regal halls into a practical atelier for celestial alchemy, now called the Moon Abbey.
The caretaker today is a single eccentric by the name of Jon Corvus who is all too eager to share in his knowledge of celestial alchemy with any who traverse the lake. The tall towers are home to enormous telescopic contraptions and delicate mirrored structures. So popular is the Abbey with budding students of alchemical arts that we have a two drink minimum before we give directions.
Mines of Fennex
To the north of the tavern is a peculiar set of ancient ruins known locally as the Mines of Fennex(named for the mountain range they're tucked into). The origins of these ruins are not known and have been the subject of numerous archeological, geological, theological and coprological studies, all inconclusive.
The inside of the mines are a maze of tunnels burrowing deep beneath the mountains. An end to them has never been reached, thus the hypothesis that the channels are part of some ancient sub-terrain highway, utilized by a long dead civilization.
I've taken a few trips into the mines myself over the years. The tunnels are a sight to behold as they twist and dip through the stone. Some are tight passageways lined with gilded carvings while others are enormous halls supported by gargantuan pillars of black onyx. I've found feasting halls, forges and empty libraries, a cold echo of peoples lost to time.
What is known for certain is that every other moon some creature of magik will come wandering out of the mines. The trolls and unicorns I can handle, but do you have any idea how disruptive a pack malnourished goat men can be to a newly planted field of carrots?
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