Brandyburrow
Five hundred years on, Brandyburrow is exactly what it was: rolling green hills, round doors, thatched roofs, and an air that smells permanently of malt, oak, and brine. The village has grown by perhaps two hundred souls since the age of the Heroes of Southaven and considers that a reasonable pace.
Burrow Market still runs six days a week. The brandy is still the best in the province and the pickles are still, by unshakable local consensus, the best anywhere. Travelers are handed a mug before they have finished dismounting.
What has changed is the paperwork. Brandyburrow now sits inside a settled, mapped, thoroughly administered countryside, three days by good road from the nearest city, with a mail rider twice a week and a tax assessor once a season. It has been a very long time since anything happened here.
Notable
- The Pickled Sparrow — the taproom at the top of the market square. Where the campaign opens.
- The Long Cellar — a chalk tunnel under the eastern hill where the good barrels age. Older than the village. Nobody has ever mapped the back of it, and after this spring nobody wants to.
- The Bridge — a small stone crossing on the Clover road, kept in good repair, with a worn memorial stone nobody in living memory can explain.
After the Working
The barley field south of the mill is where The Alazar sets down. It belongs to the Habberdy family, who will want to discuss compensation.