The Towne of Lastwick
Lastwick was never intended to become a destination.
For most of its history, it was simply the place where the northern road stopped pretending to be safe. Travelers paused beneath its roofs to purchase lamp oil, mend a wheel, replace a lame horse, or wait for the mountain weather to pass. Beyond the village lay an abandoned mill, the ridge, and mile upon mile of wilderness.
The origin of its name has never been settled. The most familiar story claims that Lastwick was once the final dependable lamplight visible to travelers heading north. After its glow disappeared behind them, there would be no warm hearth until they returned.
Then the Awakening began.
As forgotten wards failed and sealed ruins opened across the frontier, rumors drew scholars and treasure hunters into the north. Merchants followed them. Hired blades followed the merchants.
Before long, Lastwick had swollen into a muddy boomtown crowded with people determined to find wealth beneath stones their ancestors had possessed the good sense to leave undisturbed.
The village has grown faster than it can build. New boarding houses lean against weathered cottages. Carts choke streets never intended for heavy traffic. Cold rain turns every unpaved road into brown slurry, carrying the smells of wet timber, horse sweat, cheap ale, and the metallic bite of disturbed magic.
At the center of it all stands the Rusty Pick. It is tavern, hiring hall, rumor market, and refuge in equal measure. Expeditions are assembled over its tables. Relics change hands in its shadowed corners. Those returning from the wilderness often stop there before deciding how much of the truth they are willing to tell.
Lastwick owes its prosperity to the old places awakening around it. Every newly discovered chamber fills another rented bed. Every recovered artifact buys another round. Every missing expedition creates work for the next collection of optimists and fools.
North of the village, beneath the ridge, the stones of a buried crypt are said to weep black ice.
Lastwick continues looking south, dreaming of the day it might become a proper city.
It should be looking north.
Archivist’s Note: This record contains knowledge revealed through Chapter One.
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