A tight cluster of buildings surrounded by a tall, wooden wall, LLorkh is the second largest town in the Gray Vale, next to Loudwater, which lays two days riding to the west. Like Loudwater, Llorkh lives on trade, but it is not the agricultural hub. Instead, Llorkh sprang up around a series of copper and iron mines some two hundred years ago. The Spellplague destroyed most of its major buildings and devastated its population, but after nearly a century, the town has grown like a mushroom.

While the mines located at the center of the town have all but dried up, Llorkh’s close proximity to the foothills of the Graypeak Mountains (a day’s ride to the east) means that mining is still an important trade. Mining troops head into town every few weeks and load their minerals into merchant barges that travel west down the Grayflow River, headed towards Loudwater and Daggerford on the Sword Coast.

For the last seven years, Llorkh was ruled by a robber-baron dwarf named Kromza. Over the previous decade, Kromza had bought up most of the trade and infrastructure buildings in Llorkh, making him a necessary part of most any business. After a unianiomous vote from the town’s various guild leaders, Kromza became the lord of Llorkh. Vicious, greedy, and overbearing, Llorkh did not prosper under his reign. Crime was rampant, taxes were high, and incessant fees and burdens kept workers poor and in debt.

Kromza recently met his death when a hobgoblin warband, the Black Fists lead by the cambion (half-devil) Vesuvius, sacked Llorkh. A band of mercenary adventurers confronted Kromza at the doorstep of his manor and offered him a chance to surrender or flee. Kromza refused and then attacked the adventurers out of spite. The dwarf died and Llorkh was his no more.

Vesuvius was setting himself up to be the new lord, but the same group of adventurers who had joined him on his assault on Llorkk decided that they’d had enough of his scheming ways. Vesuvius met his end at the hands of the same group that had killed Kromza.

Now Llorkh is at a crossroads. The old lord is dead, and as the presumed new lord. A warband of roughly 150 hobgoblins still patrols the streets and claim the town as their own. The Black Fists have deferred leadership to their traditional warlord, and rumor has it that a messenger troupe left to the east, carrying word to more hobgoblins about the successful conquest.


The Gray Vale Group Novem5er