Kêm

Situated to the northeast of Orm, the crannog known as Kêm juts out from the rocky foot of the Gloaming Hills and over the marshland along the east bank of the River Sarn. Home to only about 23 souls, the settlement of fisherman and weavers is not as quiet as its peers in Ur-Dan. The hamlet's proximity to the old imperial road that runs through Sourwood allows Kêm to support of very modest inn and along with it-- visitors. As a result, the locals enjoy gabbing about all sorts of gossip from around Orm.

A faded painting of a white pelecanidae adorns the inn, dubbed the Prattling Pelican, honoring a former leader of Kêm: a talking waterbird. Merchants in Orm who have had to travel to Kêm say:

Those private rooms at the Pelican may look cramped but the 4sp per night is worth it if you can snag one of the two of them. Otherwise, you are shelling out 15 cp a night to sleep next to who knows who in the common room. And pray that local halfling vagrant, 'Oothless 'Omby, has pulled together the coins to stink up the room for that night. The meals of lentil stew, fish, and bread with pond apple jam are something awful but luckily, there is plenty of halfling moonshine and cider made from the pond apples to make you forget all about it.

Those meals the merchants mentioned; they all take place at the hamlets common tables. They are the place that they swap news from around Ur-Dan with any that will listen. Each local seems to liken themselves as a expert on the tumultuous politics of the region. It is here that they also love to frighten travelers with tall tales of swamp goblins or murderous glowing lights. Lately, though, a few new elements have made it into their fishmen's tales. They tell of star fields that float between the swamp's trees or bands of beings with glowing red eyes hunting down those foolish enough to be out in the wetlands after dark. Skeptics will point to the psychotropic qualities of the ichor of crawfish the locals enjoy or the marsh dwellers history witchcraft and changling deals with elfin folk to show their untrustworthiness. The fishermen, however, point to the recently recovered body of Johan Bitterleaf as proof of what stalks out in the reeds.

Technically, these tripped-out fishers should carry these concerns to whom the swear direct fealty--the Lord of Ternax Manor by the Two Rivers. The estate, however, has fallen into serious neglect and the current master rarely-if ever- leaves the grounds or involves himself in matters beyond its walls. Instead, the folk of Kêm have brought tales of these troubles to Orm in hopes they will catch someones interest like they usually do. Due to their reputation for tale telling, none may bite and they may try entreating on the  kindness of the nearby magic-user Shrune or reach out to Bog's Hollow in mutual aid like they do so often.

Back in the fish and the wicker markets of Orm, the atmosphere surrounding these latest tales are consumed with a general cynicism for the stories that come out of Kêm. They are quick to advise any, though, that are taken with such fantasies and decide to travel to the crannog: only a fool takes a helping hand in  Kêm.  While these merchants possess such a devote mistrust of stories from Kêm, each has an unsharable faith in a tale to tell of some business partner or relative that took a few grains of advise or, worse yet, hired a guide from the hamlet only to be lost to the surrounding marshlands never to be seen again.

"When you are seated at those community tables, look close at the locals there," they say. "Those silver necklaces you glimpse hidden under their blouses and that jeweled studs peaking from time to time through their low hair, ask yourself this: how do you think these lentil and fish fed wretches afford such things?"