Address: On the corner of two busy streets in a shopping district
This bakery follows the cyclical nature of the neighborhood through the process of baking. Changing in name, appearance, menu, and smells throughout each day, this bakery is well-known for its delicious, lovingly crafted baked goods. Locals have learned which foods are available during which cycles and make sure to stop by as soon as cookies, cakes, pastries, breads, and more come out of the oven. Despite its popularity, there have been a few complaints about the crowds that tend to form outside when it is The Bake; people linger to enjoy the warmth radiating off the building and the delicious smells emanating from inside, even if they aren't buying anything.
True name: The simple joy in combining yeast, flour, water, and salt to feed your people
As the river shifts, whole ecosystems of clams and unfamiliar mollusks are exposed. The Crowder family has followed these shifting waterways for generations, plucking the freshest bivalves and trivalves from their sandy homes before they go from mollusk to dry husk. Mixed with hydroponically grown veggies and the city's freshest cream, Crowder's Chowders give even the couriers of Immoria's wealthiest citizens reason to slum it in the Warrens until the ladle hits the bottom of the pot.
Address: Their operation is mobile, so if you want a cup, you best find the river and follow your nose.
curious if you have compiled a list of best practices and systems for gmless co-op ttrpging. (not necessarily solo). i am trying to figure this out for my group of friends
Title The gong, The Dinnerbell-ring, That blasted nuisance
The inventors of Brasspool are notorious for neglecting good habits in pursuit of their clockwork dreams. So, a health conscious inventor created the gong, a brass obelisk that when struck would send out ultrasonic waves reminding all it was time to eat. Unfortunately this works no matter how recently you have eaten, so it quickly became open to abuse by nefarious restauranteurs and muffin-wives. The watch have had to post a guard to keep troublemakers at bay and the vomitoria from over-use.
Address The gong is to be found in a sunken recess in the middle of an overgrown park, now neglected but once celebrating some sort of victory or event. This makes it hard to police as some cunning rascal is always sneaking past to start a new rush hour for the local food trucks.
Address: At the river's edge and the end of Broadway.
Description: Song, music, stories, and noise in general can be heard coming from the great building that started its life as a large mill at the end of Broadway - the main road that runs through Tangent. The mill and tavern sits securely at the river's edge. Its massive water wheel always spinning as the river passes by. Those on the other side of the river only ever hear the slow creaking of the turning wheel, and the noise from the massive building is only a barely audible murmur that sounds as if it is originating within the hearer's head rather than from the building across the water. Just as the smells of the various meals being prepared stir long forgotten fleeting memories with no real source.
Inside the tavern, there is always a musician, storyteller, or performer of some sort entertaining from the small stage positioned along the wall opposite the water wheel. It is rare for any given performer to appear with any regularity, but the guests are never wanting for some form of entertainment.
The various servers are always busy serving guests at all hours of the day. Every meal comes with a small loaf of freshly baked bread of whatever flavor happened to tickle the baker's fancy at the time. And the building itself is always surrounded by mouth watering smells that tug at the stomach of anyone that ventures close to it. Some guests stay the night, but most only come for a meal and a show before stepping outside and finding themselves back in Immoria at the point they had found their way into Tangent.
Behind the building-length bar is the kitchen and below is the great grain mill and the stores of raw grains waiting to be ground along with the finished flours and meals waiting to be transported to various customers around Tangent.
At the back of the kitchen is the door to the backyard with its numerous drying racks with curing meats, smokers and grills preparing various meats for the guests, and a modest sized garden with various vegetables used to supplement the imported vegetables that occasionally make it to the tavern.
Next to the door is a line of ovens used to keep the fresh loaves of bread in full supply.
A small staircase in the kitchen leads down to the mill as well as up to the home of the owner and his family.
Along the front wall of the main room is a small staircase that leads up to the handful of typically vacant guestrooms. Obviously built as an afterthought as the partially block some of the large windows that line the front of the building.
True Name: It had a name once, but it has since been forgotten; although, when pressed the owner sometimes recalls it, but it is only a fleeting thought that stays stuck to the tip of his tongue.
Address: Just past the Wheat Block Granary on the far side of the north dock.
Description: In the burned out remains of a Gear Ship dry dock the copper paneled pavillion tent covers up the burned walls and during inclement weather the dining area. The cafetiera style eating hall uses long planks of slightly burned wood as tables with huge gear teeth for seating. The food is plain fair of hearty soups cheap ale and its specialty a mixed citrus oatmeal mash that sailors believe keeps them from the sea shakes.
True Name: The name is hidden in the sound of dozen languages spoken in true enjoyment of a good meal
Address: A modestly sized pub, tucked in a side street just off a main drag. Not hard to find if you know what you're looking for, but it doesn't catch the eye.
Description: The Shuttered Lantern is a favorite haunt of people who get up early and stay up late. It's only open when the sun isn't up - and there are plenty of rumors about why - and so it caters to dockworkers, students, artists, artisans, and other people who tend to find their leisure in the dark hours. The beer is middling quality, middling price. But the food! The food is exquisite. People say it's the only place to get something that tastes like home, wherever your home might be. Somehow biting into one of the buns makes you think of your grandma, the one you liked, even if she never made a bun in her life. The kitchen is wreathed in secrecy, and the proprietor keeps it tightly locked most of the time, only adding to the mystery of how they make food that tastes exactly like you need it to.
True name: The slight shimmer in the eye when you feel at home after a long, long time away.
Deep under the neighborhood of the Warrens are ancient, damp tunnels, home to the region's mushroom farms. These farms provide bushels of wholesome, flavorful mushrooms to the central neighborhood Spore Market. But in the odder corners of the Warrens, under the influence of entombed, anachronistic relics, less wholesome, but far more interesting, fungi are available.
The true name of the Spore Market lies in the smell of damp earth, and the irrepressible love of life found in the people of the Warrens.
Landmark: The Dough/The Rise/The Bake/The Bread
Neighborhood: The Eddies
Address: On the corner of two busy streets in a shopping district
This bakery follows the cyclical nature of the neighborhood through the process of baking. Changing in name, appearance, menu, and smells throughout each day, this bakery is well-known for its delicious, lovingly crafted baked goods. Locals have learned which foods are available during which cycles and make sure to stop by as soon as cookies, cakes, pastries, breads, and more come out of the oven. Despite its popularity, there have been a few complaints about the crowds that tend to form outside when it is The Bake; people linger to enjoy the warmth radiating off the building and the delicious smells emanating from inside, even if they aren't buying anything.
True name: The simple joy in combining yeast, flour, water, and salt to feed your people
Landmark: Crowder's Chowders
Neighborhood: The Warrens
As the river shifts, whole ecosystems of clams and unfamiliar mollusks are exposed. The Crowder family has followed these shifting waterways for generations, plucking the freshest bivalves and trivalves from their sandy homes before they go from mollusk to dry husk. Mixed with hydroponically grown veggies and the city's freshest cream, Crowder's Chowders give even the couriers of Immoria's wealthiest citizens reason to slum it in the Warrens until the ladle hits the bottom of the pot.
Address: Their operation is mobile, so if you want a cup, you best find the river and follow your nose.
True name: River milk
curious if you have compiled a list of best practices and systems for gmless co-op ttrpging. (not necessarily solo). i am trying to figure this out for my group of friends
this is an excellent question! let me do some research and I will do a newsletter issue on this. cheers.
Landmark The Gong
Neighbourhood Brasspool
Title The gong, The Dinnerbell-ring, That blasted nuisance
The inventors of Brasspool are notorious for neglecting good habits in pursuit of their clockwork dreams. So, a health conscious inventor created the gong, a brass obelisk that when struck would send out ultrasonic waves reminding all it was time to eat. Unfortunately this works no matter how recently you have eaten, so it quickly became open to abuse by nefarious restauranteurs and muffin-wives. The watch have had to post a guard to keep troublemakers at bay and the vomitoria from over-use.
Address The gong is to be found in a sunken recess in the middle of an overgrown park, now neglected but once celebrating some sort of victory or event. This makes it hard to police as some cunning rascal is always sneaking past to start a new rush hour for the local food trucks.
True name: The ache of salivation
Landmark
Neighborhood: Tangent
Title: The Filthy Lilt
Address: At the river's edge and the end of Broadway.
Description: Song, music, stories, and noise in general can be heard coming from the great building that started its life as a large mill at the end of Broadway - the main road that runs through Tangent. The mill and tavern sits securely at the river's edge. Its massive water wheel always spinning as the river passes by. Those on the other side of the river only ever hear the slow creaking of the turning wheel, and the noise from the massive building is only a barely audible murmur that sounds as if it is originating within the hearer's head rather than from the building across the water. Just as the smells of the various meals being prepared stir long forgotten fleeting memories with no real source.
Inside the tavern, there is always a musician, storyteller, or performer of some sort entertaining from the small stage positioned along the wall opposite the water wheel. It is rare for any given performer to appear with any regularity, but the guests are never wanting for some form of entertainment.
The various servers are always busy serving guests at all hours of the day. Every meal comes with a small loaf of freshly baked bread of whatever flavor happened to tickle the baker's fancy at the time. And the building itself is always surrounded by mouth watering smells that tug at the stomach of anyone that ventures close to it. Some guests stay the night, but most only come for a meal and a show before stepping outside and finding themselves back in Immoria at the point they had found their way into Tangent.
Behind the building-length bar is the kitchen and below is the great grain mill and the stores of raw grains waiting to be ground along with the finished flours and meals waiting to be transported to various customers around Tangent.
At the back of the kitchen is the door to the backyard with its numerous drying racks with curing meats, smokers and grills preparing various meats for the guests, and a modest sized garden with various vegetables used to supplement the imported vegetables that occasionally make it to the tavern.
Next to the door is a line of ovens used to keep the fresh loaves of bread in full supply.
A small staircase in the kitchen leads down to the mill as well as up to the home of the owner and his family.
Along the front wall of the main room is a small staircase that leads up to the handful of typically vacant guestrooms. Obviously built as an afterthought as the partially block some of the large windows that line the front of the building.
True Name: It had a name once, but it has since been forgotten; although, when pressed the owner sometimes recalls it, but it is only a fleeting thought that stays stuck to the tip of his tongue.
Landmark submission
Neighborhood: Brasspool
Title: Sally Forth's
Address: Just past the Wheat Block Granary on the far side of the north dock.
Description: In the burned out remains of a Gear Ship dry dock the copper paneled pavillion tent covers up the burned walls and during inclement weather the dining area. The cafetiera style eating hall uses long planks of slightly burned wood as tables with huge gear teeth for seating. The food is plain fair of hearty soups cheap ale and its specialty a mixed citrus oatmeal mash that sailors believe keeps them from the sea shakes.
True Name: The name is hidden in the sound of dozen languages spoken in true enjoyment of a good meal
I want to submit a landmark, if that's okay!
Neighborhood: Brasspool
Title: The Shuttered Lantern
Address: A modestly sized pub, tucked in a side street just off a main drag. Not hard to find if you know what you're looking for, but it doesn't catch the eye.
Description: The Shuttered Lantern is a favorite haunt of people who get up early and stay up late. It's only open when the sun isn't up - and there are plenty of rumors about why - and so it caters to dockworkers, students, artists, artisans, and other people who tend to find their leisure in the dark hours. The beer is middling quality, middling price. But the food! The food is exquisite. People say it's the only place to get something that tastes like home, wherever your home might be. Somehow biting into one of the buns makes you think of your grandma, the one you liked, even if she never made a bun in her life. The kitchen is wreathed in secrecy, and the proprietor keeps it tightly locked most of the time, only adding to the mystery of how they make food that tastes exactly like you need it to.
True name: The slight shimmer in the eye when you feel at home after a long, long time away.
Landmark: The Spore Market
Deep under the neighborhood of the Warrens are ancient, damp tunnels, home to the region's mushroom farms. These farms provide bushels of wholesome, flavorful mushrooms to the central neighborhood Spore Market. But in the odder corners of the Warrens, under the influence of entombed, anachronistic relics, less wholesome, but far more interesting, fungi are available.
The true name of the Spore Market lies in the smell of damp earth, and the irrepressible love of life found in the people of the Warrens.