A small village of some twenty families a week’s travel north of Parthos along an overgrown cart path. Sitting in a dead end mountain valley, and lacking any resources of note, it would be quite forgotten were it not for the Battle of the Crimson Crossing.

Bloodford stands where a camp of one of the warring factions had been raised. Those survivors of the ill-fated battle and a number of camp followers who couldn’t or wouldn’t head south before winter huddled for shelter from cold and beast behind a hastily erected palisade and what huts the army had built. Come spring, many left gladly, but the rest stayed to make a home for themselves among the abandoned buildings.

In the decade since the battle, Bloodford has become a quiet, largely self-sufficient village. The population has increased only a little, leaving a good number of the buildings empty. The villagers lead simple lives, tending their fields and herds, raising their children, and come nightfall they amble inside the palisade so the restless corpses left on the battlefield wouldn’t bother them.

Bloodford has little in the way of services. There is no inn, but the Dancing Cockerel tavern has decent local brew and a comfortable loft for visitors. It is also where you can find the “Captain” Rodrik, who keeps the peace in the village. The sturdy shrine of Asta the Kindler serves as a village hall of sorts and has been tended by a shy young caretaker by the name of Rebecka ever since the venerable priestess passed away last winter. For what goods you can’t barter for at the tavern, there’s Brun the blacksmith, a most distinctive young dwarf.


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