Blackstock

Blackstock is a rugged, old town located in the heart of the Ivorian Heathlands, between Turin and Arboran. The town is home to the Rook's Hold, a powerful bronze castle that serves as the base of operations for Dominus Rawlin, the King's Blade and right-hand man to the Eastking. Blackstock is a place of great martial tradition, and its warriors are known throughout the region for their skill and bravery. The town is built around a large training ground, where aspiring warriors come to hone their skills and prove their worth. Blackstock is also a place of great beauty, with rolling hills, verdant forests, and crystal-clear streams. The people of Blackstock are proud of their heritage and their traditions, and they are fiercely loyal to the Eastking and his kingdom.       City of Blackstock     The capital of Dresdon’s inland heart, Blackstock rises where two rivers meet, its streets climbing a grassy hill crowned by the Rook’s Hold, ancestral fortress of House Rawlin. Banners bearing the bronze bull ripple from every gate and tower. The air smells of river mud, woodsmoke, and the sweet rot of autumn crops. Soldiers in bronze-etched armor patrol stone walls built for war, while merchants, minstrels, and craftsmen fill the markets below with life and noise.  

Upper City

Districts

The Sheathe

Atop the windswept hill, the Sheathe watches the land like an old warlord unwilling to rest. Bronze banners whip against stone battlements, and every step echoes with the weight of the Rawlin legacy. The air smells of iron and cedar oil, the scent of a place both regal and ready for war. Servants move quietly through courtyards where hawks perch and horns rest silent, awaiting the next call to arms.   The oldest and most fortified part of the city, home to the Rawlin Clan and their sworn captains. The cobbles here are slick with history and blood alike.   Rook’s Hold: A grand fortress of layered stone and bronze, with banners of the bull fluttering from every parapet. Seat of Dominus Rawlin, the Bronze Bull.   Hawk Lord’s Mantle: A wind-battered bastion with man windows to recieve letters from across the realm, Maelor resides over wnd trains the birds that roost here. The Courier Pigeons frequent this tower to retrieve mail that entere the city.   The Overlook Terrace: Stone battlements offering a view of both rivers’ meeting; executions were once held here during the Fracturing War.   The Bull Hall: A great feasting hall where war councils are held, filled with antler chandeliers and old banners from the Six Heroes’ Age. The Blackstock council of retired captains reside here, they are known as the Whetstone, as they sharpen the King’s Blade.   Dominus Rawlin, the Bronze Bull   Dominus Rawlin, lord of Blackstock and commander of the Bronze Battalion, is a man whose presence bends rooms. Broad-shouldered and scarred from countless campaigns, his voice carries the gravel of battlefield commands. Despite his martial bearing, he walks the corridors of the Rook’s Hold like a farmer inspecting his fields — proud, pragmatic, and always watchful for rot. His bronze-inlaid armor is polished daily, not for vanity, but for dedication and structure.   Serra Vyn Calder   A tactician of the Rook’s Hold, Serra is known for her crisp speech and unblinking gaze. Her strategies are infamous for turning defence into art — once using the river’s flood to drown an invading company. She records every maneuver in illuminated script, each victory bound and sealed beneath the keep.   Maelor the Hawkkeeper   An elderly man who tends the message hawks in the upper towers. His hands tremble too much for quills but remain steady when binding tiny scrolls to the birds’ legs. He mutters names of soldiers long gone to the wind, believing their spirits guide the birds home.  

Warden’s Wreathe

Heleen’s Crumbled Watchtower Houses of Old Ivoria  

Lanternlight

The Tannery Lanes: Stinking but profitable, where leather from the Heathlands is processed.   Vellum Suedeshop Pale Hide   The Steelbridge Keep: Guard post ensuring tolls and levies for the northern bridge.     The Shrine of the Unburnt: A humble chapel built over an old house that survived a great fire — a local miracle.   Harl Donwick   A leatherworker with scarred hands and a sharper temper. Harl crafts the Rawlin army’s harnesses and breastplates, swearing that each bears “the sweat of honest labour.” He drinks little, works late, and keeps his brother’s ashes in a jar above the hearth.   Lysa Reddin   Lysa runs The Pale Hide, a tannery known for soft leather gloves dyed the colour of river clay. Her father died of the Black Rot years ago, and she still leaves a lantern lit on the banks each dusk — in case his spirit needs to find its way home.   Jonar Pike   A trader and smuggler whose boots never match — one leather, one cloth. His laugh hides fear; he’s been paying the Order of the Red Blade for “protection.” He dreams of fleeing north but never makes it past the outer gate.  

Brass Bulwark

The Brass Bulwark gleams each morning as the sun rolls over its burnished rooftops, turning the district to gold. Here, officers and clerks march between halls of record and narrow estates draped in family crests. Discipline hums through the streets like a quiet drumbeat — polished boots, counted steps, and the low murmur of order holding strong. When night falls, the clatter of cups in the Banner Court drowns out the silence of those who never returned from campaign.   Named for the bronze sheen of its rooftops at sunrise, this quarter is home to the city’s officers, soldiers, and retainers of the Rawlin court.   The Captain’s Gate: Where soldiers pass beneath carved bull horns before descending to their posts.   The Banner Court: Small plaza lined with inns and armories for visiting captains.   The Hall of Measures: Civil offices, mint, and record-keepers under the oversight of the Warden of Tithes.   House of Heirlooms: Museum of the Rawlin line — displaying weapons, horns, and ancestral relics from the Third and Fourth Eras.   The Bronze Barracks: Heart of the Rawlin army — every soldier trains beneath the eye of the Bull sigil.   Captain Othen Garrow   Commander of the Gate garrison, Othen’s armour bears dents that no polishing can hide. He believes in drills at dawn, fairness in coin, and mercy after surrender. He keeps a small brass figurine of a hawk on his desk, polished each morning before roll call.   Marralyn, Gatewright   Marra oversees the mechanisms of the portcullis and keeps the gears greased with rendered ox fat — a Rawlin tradition. Her daughter Joan paints sigils across the gate doors each festival, claiming the colours repel ill fortune. Soldiers swear they work.   Jo’ric the Spiked   A blade ogre quartermaster, quiet and broad as the wall itself. He never forgets a supply count or a face. When not tallying rations, he trains rigorously. His family are Oathblades, sworn through generations to the Rawlin Clan, he is incredibly loyal to Dominus. Atop his temples are two horn protrusions that are dark green, giving him his nickname.   The Bronze Battalion   The standing army of Dominus Rawlin, sworn to the Bull Standard.   The Bronze Battalion forms the beating heart of Blackstock. Soldiers train in the shadow of the Rook’s Hold, their armour lacquered with the bronze gleam that mirrors their lord’s epithet. To serve is both duty and prayer — the battalion honours Dhara through discipline and unwavering strength. Among them, the Whetstone, a cadre of veterans, advises Dominus directly. Every member bears a scarred bull crest over their heart, earned only after surviving their first campaign. Off the field, the Battalion polices the city’s outer gates and oversees grain and trade caravans, ensuring the flow of resources remains under Rawlin control.  

Riverbind

Riverbank Dyehouse Smelted Bell Pub  

Farrier’s Row

Shield Square Coppergate       Pellor Brast, Master Farrier   Pellor’s shop hums with the rhythm of hooves and hammer. She breeds horses for the Rawlin riders, each beast named for a star. Her arms are corded with strength, her smile rare but radiant when a foal stands for the first time.   Nedric Vane, Stable Jester   A wiry man with hay in his beard and stories on his tongue. Nedric entertains travellers with ridiculous horse tales that always end with him as the fool. His laugh echoes through the stalls — a reminder that even beasts deserve joy.   May “Wrong Way” Trundel   A matron who tends the foaling sheds. Blind for ten years, she identifies every horse by sound alone. Riders visit her for luck, asking her to whisper the true name of their steeds before battle.  

Old Burh

Old Burh   The remnants of the first hillfort, now a tangle of ancient stone homes, leaning taverns, and narrow stairs. Once the heart of Blackstock before the rise of the Rook’s Hold.   Hadrik Lowen, Keeper of Stones   Hadrik is a stooped old mason who spends his days tracing cracks along the oldest walls, whispering their names like old friends. He claims the stones remember who built them and grieve each time mortar is replaced. Some call him mad; Dominus Rawlin pays him quietly each month to keep the walls “listening.”   Merris Wold, Candle Matron   In her crooked shop near the lower gate, Merris sells candles molded in the shapes of animals, martyrs, and soldiers. She says each wick holds a wish; some customers swear hers burn with strange-colored flames. When storms roll through, people light Merris’ candles to bring their family home.   Cal Dorn, Drunk of the Burh   A washed-out bard whose songs have outlived his sobriety. Cal can recite every verse of the Charge of the Bronze Bull, though his voice cracks on the last stanza. He sleeps in the old watchtower and claims to have seen Dominus standing atop Heleen’s Watchtower on nights when no torches burn.  

Hillmarket

No hour is still in the Hillmarket. Hammers ring, barrels roll, and the market bell tolls from dawn until long after dusk. It is here that the pulse of Blackstock is loudest — laughter mixing with the curses of merchants and the scent of meat and forge smoke thickening the air. A soldier’s pay vanishes fast in these streets, traded for ale, company, and fleeting peace before the next march beyond the walls.   Renn “the Bell” Darnic   A former brawler turned tavern owner. His establishment, The Smelted Bell, rings with stories, songs, and the occasional table duel. Renn broke his hand years ago in a fight with a Rawlin captain — now he boasts that the captain’s jaw still clicks when it rains.  

Copperrun

  Tomas Flintwheel   Once a smith for the royal guard, Tomas now forges armour for merchants’ guards and tournament hopefuls. His forge is a constant thunder of hammer and laughter; the walls shimmer with beaten bronze. He keeps a hidden drawer of blades marked with the Bull sigil — not for sale, but for loyalty.   Vera Tamsin, Copper Scribe   The district’s chief ledger-keeper, Vera’s ink-stained fingers dance across parchment faster than most men draw blades. She taxes fairly but remembers every name and every unpaid debt. Her small home smells of oil, parchment, and cold tea left too long beside the window. On square cut of brass, she stamps final counts onto slabs that are kept under lock and key to ensure the towns coin is accounted for.    

The Holdfast

  The Bull Gate: Main southern gate, where every caravan to Turin passes beneath bronze effigies of charging bulls.  

Lower City

 

Ferryman’s Way

  New brick and old ambition define the Ferryman’s Way, the youngest and wildest part of the city. Smoke clings to its narrow streets where merchants and mercenaries rub shoulders in uneasy friendship. Every tavern here has a tale of something bought, lost, or burned. At night, the bridges glow with lanternlight from across the river, and those who dream of rising high come to bargain beneath the arches.   The city’s pulse — a maze of taverns, markets, and workshops where the clamour never ceases.     Stockwater Market: The city’s largest bazaar, specializing in leather, smoked meats, and forest goods.   The Red Cask Tavern: The soldiers’ favoured haunt, known for mead brewed with applewood smoke.   Guildhall of the Stockwrights: Carpenters, wainwrights, and boatbuilders’ guild.   The Bridge Market: Known for imported luxuries, foreign wines, and illicit wares.   The Broken Pike: Tavern for mercenaries and hunters returning from the western woods.  

Stoneward

  Iron discipline lives in the Stoneward. The clang of shields, the thunder of hooves, the barked orders of drillmasters — this is the sound of Blackstock’s strength. The walls are scarred from past sieges, yet the soldiers polish them as if the city itself wore armour. Recruits bleed here, learn here, and rise here beneath the watchful eyes of their lord. To pass through the Stoneward is to walk among the Bronze Bull’s living legacy. At the base of the hill, this fortified zone defends the city’s approach.   Brassgate: New recruits spar here in front of the public.   The Armoury of the Rook: Stores weapons and siege engines from the Fracturing War.   The Drumline: A courtyard where signals are given across the city with great hide drums.  

Steerwall

Cattleman’s Keep  

Gillslick

  The rivers carry Blackstock’s wealth and its whispers. The Gillslick district is a restless tangle of docks, ferries, and shouting fishmongers where ropes creak like old songs. Nets hang to dry beside painted shrines to Dhara, and the waters glint with bronze coins tossed by sailors before each voyage. Floods come and go, yet the people here stay — rough-handed, loyal, and as enduring as the tides themselves.   Ferrin Olt, Dockmaster   Ferrin is a man carved from driftwood — sun-cracked skin, heavy eyes, and a heart that beats to the tide. He knows every barge captain by name and every lie they tell. At night, he hums river shanties too old for memory.   Calla Tern   A fishmonger and rumour broker who runs a stall beneath a rusted awning. Her knives are sharper than her tongue, and that’s saying something. She sells salted fish, pickled gossip, and occasionally truth.   Venn Duscall   Venn, a ferryman with one leg and a thousand debts, rows pilgrims across the water for prayers instead of coin. He claims the river forgives what the gods will not. Most believe him, or want to.   Placed right at the river’s edge, forming the commercial heart of Blackstock. The smell of fish, tar, and rivergrass defines this area.   The Netstrand: A long boardwalk with fishmongers and net-weavers calling out their daily hauls.   The Ferrystone Bridge: Heavy stone bridge carved with bull heads, often patrolled by Rawlin guards.   The Tidehouse: Counting hall for fishing tithes, doubling as a rowdy sailors’ tavern after dusk.   The Water’s Edge Shrine: A riverside altar to Dhara the Liberator, protector of free folk and waters.  

Turag Rest

Riverspan Fields   Beyond the fortified wall stretch the farmlands that feed not only Blackstock but the smaller hamlets nearby. Here the Rook’s banners fly beside scarecrows, and superstition runs deeper than law.   Osric Fen, Fieldwarden   Once a Rawlin scout, Osric now keeps watch over the outlying homesteads. His dog, Crindle, is more scar than fur, and the two move like shadows across the fields. Osric swears the Black Rot is creeping north again, though no one listens until he leaves dead crows hanging at crossroads.   Hedra of the Stillwaters   An herbalist who lives where the river bends. Her hut smells of moss, crushed mint, and stormwater. Farmers come to her for poultices, priests for dreams. She never takes coin — only stories, and only those spoken under the moon.   Tovin “the Plow” Greer   A giant of a man with dirt-caked hands and a voice too soft for his frame. Tovin built his own plowshare from a melted Rawlin shield, saying the bronze “cuts the earth clean.” He keeps a shrine of old helm crests above his barn — not trophies, but memories of the men he buried.  

Greenfield Quarter

  Stretching across the lower slopes east of the river, this quarter feeds the city — farms, orchards, and grazing lands kept in order by Rawlin reeves. The smell of hay and baked grain lingers in the air.   Reeve Corryn Harrow   A former soldier turned land reeve, Corryn oversees the grain quotas for the Bronze Battalion. His face is lined from sun and battle alike, but he treats his farmers like kin. When a storm destroyed last year’s harvest, he melted his medals into ingots to sell and give the farmers a chance at harvest.   Essel the Millwright   The youngest daughter of a long line of wheelwrights, Essel can fix any gear or pulley with her eyes closed. Her hands are scarred from years of lye and oil, yet her demeanour is unshakeably gentle. Locals say the mill hums a tune when she works — an old lullaby her mother used to sing.   Marin Beld, Alewife of the Golden Loaf   A broad-shouldered woman with a laugh that shakes the rafters. Her brewery sits at the edge of the Quarter, and soldiers march from Bronzegate just to drink her “Grainfire Ale.” She names each new cask after a lost farmhand, so the fallen are toasted nightly.  

Cloistered Rise

The Cloistered Rise sits in the hill’s shadow, where the city grows hushed and reverent. Bells from the Temple of the Ox mark the hours, and the scent of parchment drifts from the scriptorium. Stone paths twist through gardens of wind-bent grass and white flowers planted for the fallen. In the quiet, the whispers of prayers mingle with the soft murmur of leaves — a calm heartbeat beneath the roar of the city above.   Quiet and windswept, filled with gardens and cloisters for priests, monks, and scholars.   The Temple of the Ox: Dedicated to the gods of harvest, prosperity and luck.   The Silent Garden: Cemetery for fallen officers of the Rawlin army.   The Scriptkeeper’s Hall: A modest scriptorium that copies historical texts and family records. The bronze ingots stamped with the town treasury records are stored here.  

Stonewashed Row

 

Farthing Downs

    At dawn, the Farthing Downs wake before the rest of the city. Farmers and brewers walk the dew-wet paths, their breath misting in the cool air as the smell of barley and sweet yeast drifts from the brewery halls. Children chase dogs through the stubble fields while the bells from the Bullrun Fields sound faintly from the hill. It’s the gentler heart of Blackstock — humble, honest, and vital — feeding both soldier and sovereign alike.   The most grounded district, home to hardworking folk who keep Blackstock fed.   The Bullrun Fields: Training grounds for the cavalry, doubling as grazing pastures when not in use.   The Barleyhouse Brewery: Renowned for its sweet amber ale — the “Bronze Brew.”   Old Braid’s Orchard: A local favorite for fruit and cider, managed by three generations of the same family.   Threshman’s Walk: Narrow path following the river where old harvest festivals are still held. Farmers set up their market stalls near this path.  

Wainslow

  Leather, sawdust, and sweat define the Wainslow. Every workshop hums with the rhythm of craft — tanners scraping hides, smiths sparking fire, wheelwrights arguing over timber. The air is warm with labour, and pride here is a tangible thing. It’s said that no man goes to bed hungry in Wainslow, only tired, and that each strike of the hammer sounds a promise: that Blackstock will never break as long as its people endure.   Named for the wagons and carts always trundling through its lanes, this is where Blackstock’s trade thrives.   The Bronze Hoof Forge: Premier smithy producing the armour and weapons for Rawlin’s soldiers.   Old Mill Row: The creak of waterwheels powers half the workshops in this district.   The Wheelwright’s Yard: Repair hub for merchant wagons heading to the Ivorian roads.                                                                                                                                 Influence Level: 18     Faction: Rawlin Clan   Disposition: ???   Alliance: Bleak Sea Pact   Allies: Addikus Windslayer (Dead) Most of the 22 Ivorian Clan Leaders   Enemies: Arabella Cowan   Religion: Shoreez   Wealth: ???   Resources: ???   Military: ???   Ambitions: Does not seek leadership but the Clans want it. He fought alongside Addikus in great battles in Ivoria. When Addikus closed the doors of Arboran, Dominus kept the clans from warring. Family: Widowed 17 years ago from Krisin Zinar. They married young but she got sick and passed away after a stillborn. Arebella Cowan sought an alliance with Dominus but was rejected. His one child died alongside his wife in a tough stillborn pregnancy. Secrets: The Clansmen of Ivoria hold Dominus as high as they did their Eastking before Addikus shut his doors for 28 years. Only Rudelf Windslayer could claim their favour over the sworn soldier of the Eastking. After a year of mourning in Ivoria, Dominus is very likely to garner enough votes to surpass 50% as he is a distant relative. If a challenger takes enough of his vote, Dominus Rawlin would be very formidable in the Tenth Eastern Moot Tournament and represent himself. He married young but his wife got sick, they had one still born child. Dominus rose through the ranks as he used his battles to hide his grief. He has moved on but now focusses on his people more than himself.     started as an upstream boating village in Eastern Coast   Blackstock Dresdon Province Ivoria Terra Elf Church of Dhara 12792 164   a ceremonial post guarding the seat of Ivoria, ever since Arboran was abandoned.