31st of Raedmont, The Year of Our King Seven Hundred and One
(Evening, 701 AT) No precipitation. Low 44. High 61.
It finally stopped raining. The day has been dry, with traces of blue and sun making appearances throughout. Maybe its a sign of hope. More likely, the skies are indifferent the suffering of men.
Evening is falling as you approach the Village of Brokenhollow. A settlement at least twice the size of Black Oak, it rests in a river valley surrounded by craggy farms. The village partisans encircle it, with the small river running through the middle. The entrance is via a crude drawbridge that is laid down over where the river runs between the timber walls. A standing platform on the outside of the walls meets the lowered drawbridge on the inside to form an odd, broad platform to cross the waterway.
Smoke rises from hearthfires into the cloud-scattered skies indicating signs of busy life.