Stinging Tree Hollow

Now that the pesky and soon to be forgotten fungus, flea and pestilence problems are behind us, The Pickled Spinster Inn of Stinging Tree Hollow, is now offering rooms to adventurers, refugees and those in the midst of a flight from justice.

We offer grand amenities for Outlanders to rest their weary heads and store recently unearthed antiquities from the constabulary until they can be properly appraised and safely carted away under the cover of darkness. Carts and absconding labor not included in the cost of a room.

We are located just down from Kingsport, across from Deep Ravenswood and upwind from the swamps. Our room rates are affordably low with a current price of zero. Not all adventurers have established themselves with pockets of coins and would like to be of assistance. We also can’t guarantee you won’t wake up dead in the morning, so this seems the best compromise.

If you are interested in accommodations before continuing the next leg of your journey, or need “sanctuary” because you are innocent of all charges, feel free to send myself or Alley Oop, a missive by post or carrier pigeon and a room shall be fumigated and prepared. Rooms come unfurnished, but the bar is stocked and both the crafting pavilion and the Public Chest of Cast Off Riches and Overstocked Items are available for your crafting needs. Not responsible for any crafting related mishaps that might arise.

For those who feel more at home and safer within the confines of a penal establishment, the Bastille of Stinging Tree Hollow is also available and comes complete with bedroll, bowl of gruel and pillory that faces the morning sun.

Serving the realm since 519 or thereabouts.

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Now that we have those incidents behind us, let us throw open the doors of the Inn to masses. Even comes with servicable bathtub and wooden ducky.

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For those that might need a little more confinement in there lives, the Bastille makes a lovely choice. Featured fumigated bedrolls, water bucket privy and spacious basement for storing items the constabulary isn’t supposed to see.

We can’t do anything about the Town Drunk next door, but he’s harmless. For the most part. We think.

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

Through my many travels of the realm, doing good deeds for the variety of citizens I meet and exacting vengeance by plundering wrong-doers for their terrible crimes, I have been rewarded with a treasury of trinkets, baubles and tokens of esteem I have accepted as generous outpourings of affection. I still question how that bandit stored a plow in his leggings, but nevertheless, I find myself at an impasse.

I no longer have the space or good decorating sense to keep all these wondrous gifts. To that end, I wish to share the wealth of my grand exploits with all who come to pay a visit to Stinging Tree Hollow.

Located at our incredibly stylish crafting pavilion, decorated by Alley Oop herself, is the new Public Chest of Cast Off Riches and Overstocked Items.

Contained within are vast stores of riches from the finest bandit camps, crypts and ruins in the land. I dare say we even have some reagents that probably haven’t expired. For those looking for a bargain, feel free to take whatever tickles your fancy and completes your decorating ensemble.

On the reverse side, if you find yourself encumbered with one too many fancy paintings, pair of leggings or bottles of wine, feel free to discreetly empty your pockets before beginning your next exciting adventure.

The chest is available night and day, so have a peek for something of benefit.

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Huzzah! Fabulous wealth and treasure for those brave enough to open the trove and look inside.

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

It was a late evening, the moon obscured by the cloud cover, my head bruised and damaged from an assault in the Serpent Spine Foothills. As I returned home, I spied an intruder, a hideous form lurking in the shadows, concealing itself, waiting for the moment to strike and do unspeakable harm to my person.

But my senses were alive, my blade ready, my reflexes practiced. And then as I leapt to encounter my foe, face this nemesis, I saw an agent of destruction the likes of which I have never seen before!

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What manner of unspeakable horror lies in wait in the shadows!

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Right, so here’s the deal. You get us to the pub and back without incident, and I will make sure you get all the breadcrumbs you can eat. Now mush!

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

In the town of Stinging Tree Hollow, there once was an innkeeper on the cusp of great financial success when he fell victim to the dangers and ravages of drink. Not through excess consumption as may be thought, but by mixing Corpse Wax into his ale at the behest of his absent-minded manservant Groggery. This misguided deed opened a doorway to commune with dark forces.

Voices came to him in the night. At first he resisted, but eventually broke down. The change manifested as large, sinister statues were sculpted in the likeness of his new headless master. With his tithe rebuked, more grand statues were built to show admiration.

Soon, the voices consumed his mind, speaking to him of terrible deeds, which he eventually acted out. One by one the guests suffered at his hands.

He plotted as they slept in their beds, roaming the halls wreaking havoc and chaos. The truly unfortunate were taken to the roof to take a seat at the bizarre altar erected to the nameless terror.

In the end, the innkeeper lost his mind and his own head, becoming a shattered wreck of a man.

Who can say what happened, but when the moon is full, you can hear the wails of his guests shrieking out in terror at his nefarious misdeeds. If you dare approach, you may see the keeper, now a tormented headless specter, reading by the fire.

Let this be a lesson. Life is too short to drink a poor ale.

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* A special thank you to Alley Oop for design help and donations to the cause

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

I’m not sure what it is, but am awestruck by it’s scale and design. Just above our local stream, Oba has begun construction on a project I can only describe as epic. I say that because I have no idea what he’s up to or the purpose of this magnificent edifice.

As you cross over the bridge you can’t help but be taken by the myriad of columns, vines and statuary all placed with such random good taste and precision as to be infinitely tasteful and decorative.

When I entered the sanctuary, I was taken with it’s cooling and relaxing aura. I also became lost by following the winding footpath laid before me. It’s a snaking course that had me going in circles around the central columns. It took many tries to realize that I need to zig instead of the usual zag to make my way out.

The statuary is extremely elegant and the columns have a majestic aged quality. I’m anxious to see the final product, assuming of course it’s not completed.

I suspect this could be the beginnings of his new vineyard or perhaps a lovely garden where we can all come to meditate upon the virtues. I would ask the man himself, but he is elusive and chooses to work under the cover of darkness.

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I say! What a marvelous bit of construction we have here!

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I believe I will have to take a look. Hopefully this is not some sort of evil labyrinth with a terrible creature at the center waiting to devour me!

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That is some fine statuary you have there. And an abundance of columns too.
I dare say, it is quite magnificent, whatever it is.

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

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