Grindbone

The forest suddenly opens up onto a lovely view, and from the edge of the forest you see a village, beautifully built on a hill next to a river. Downstream from the village, a mill is ponderously paddling its wheels in the river, grating and creaking unceasingly as if struggling to escape. But neither the mill nor the wretched cadavers nailed to its wooden walls or bound to the paddle wheels are ever going to leave Grindbone.
There is a din from the village behind the palisade. Shouts. Songs mingle with wails and moans. The site would have been sweet but for the sounds.
Hunters whisper of Grindbone, the village of slavers and thieves that lies beyond the forest. Many have heard the cry of the village’s mill from the river but few have dared to approach. It is said that the millstones grind the souls of the enslaved to dust since slaves have no use for spirituality. Some come to Grindbone through compulsion, others in exultation. There, those captured by the cruel arrive. From there, those sold by the greedy leave.

Type

Village