A 1st Edition Pathfinder Roleplaying Game Compatible GM’s Resource by Creighton Broadhurst, Fabian Fehrs, Jeff Gomez, Steve Hood, Greg Marks, Jacob W. Michaels, Stephen Radney-MacFarland, David N. Ross and Mike Welham

Village Backdrops are short, richly detailed supplements that each present a single village ready to insert into almost any home campaign. Perfect for use as a waystop on the road to adventure, as an adventure site themselves or as a PC’s home, Village Backdrop present the details so the busy GM can focus on crafting exciting, compelling adventures.

GM’s Miscellany: Village Backdrops IV comprises the following villages:

• Arcmoor (by Fabian Fehrs)

• Aubade (by Jacob W. Michaels)

• Azagirn (by Creighton Broadhurst)

• Brackendale (by Steve Hood)

• Carillon (by Jacob W. Michaels)

• Don Galir (by Steve Hood)

• Edgewood (by Mike Welham)

• Feigrvidr (by Stephen Radney-MacFarland)

• Gloya's Bridge (by David N. Ross)

• Hopespyre (by Jacob W.Michaels)

• Hornwall (by Jeff Gomez)

• Poxmire (by Mike Welham)

Arcmoor

For much of its life, the village of Arcmoor was a sleepy place, far removed from the doings of heroes, kings and warlords. All that changed, however, when an orcish horde was destroyed near the village by the hero Therald Arcmoor. Therald died at the moment of his greatest triumph, and his death—strangely—heralded great change in the village. A shrine raised in his honour has grown increasingly popular of late and Arcmoor is slowly being transformed from a sleepy backwater into a popular destination for pilgrims, visiting warriors and the like.

Recent sightings of two dragons, and their depredations, have cast a pall over the village. The fearsome pair apparently dwell somewhere in the nearby Tuskwood, and the villagers fear the dragons will bring economic (or actual) ruin down upon the village. Villagers fear adventurers flocking to the village could make the situation worse; thus far, the dragons have stayed away from Arcmoor proper but if the heroes fail to slay the scaly beasts the pair could destroy the village in retaliation. Thus, Arcmoor’s future hangs in the balance.

Aubade

Laid low by a witch's curse, life in the once-prosperous village of Aubade is lived in reverse. At dawn, the streets empty, residents remaining hidden inside during the daylight hours avoiding the sun’s caress. At night, lamps lining the village's cobblestone streets blaze to life, and the residents emerge to tend their fields and cast their nets into the lake as best they can.

While the village was once a centre of piety that drew the faithful from miles around to hear the beautiful dawn descants of the children's choir, now no one comes to Aubade. Whispers of vampires swirl around the remote region and dissuade frighten travellers from stopping at the village, where residents equally dread visitors will discover their shameful secret.

Azagirn

Eschewing the deep, dark homes of their ancestors, the survivors of the reputedly cursed dwarven clan of Azacral now dwell amid the stark beauty of high, windswept hills. But life is not idyllic for the dwarves as their ancient enemy—tribes of half-mad, homicidal trolls— ever lurk nearby. While the majority tend herds of sheep and goats with the aid of their domesticated wolves, an unknowing, accidental threat lurks within the village—a threat that could return herald the return of the ancient slaughter and bloody death that birthed the village a century ago.

Brackendale

Brackendale was once a bustling borderland village beset by savage humanoids lurking in the nearby woods and hills. Then, the village was a busy place and wandering adventurers, sellswords and mercenaries were a common sight on its streets. The arrival of the Six—a band of adventurers charged with securing the village’s environs—changed all that. Their annihilation of the goblin and orc raiders along with the completion of extensive defensives work brought peace and security to Brackendale.

But peace it seems had a price. With nothing to hunt adventurers passed by without stopping at the village; the village traders and merchants sold less and less each year and most now barely scrape a living. Now disgruntled villagers resent the adventurers that once brought peace to their little village.

Carillon

Ringing day and night, the many bells of Carillon echo through the village, a nearly constant tolling that serves as both protection from, and reminder of, the danger lurking beyond the village's borders. Deep in the otherwise idyllic Elysian Valley that is otherwise an endless bounty for the so-called village of bells, something sinister—the Hush—lurks and plots harm to the hunters who inhabit and visit Carillon. Fortunately, the noise of the bells—from the village's central bell tower, hanging on every home's doors, even sewn onto clothes or worn as jewellery— keeps the Hush away; thus the villagers trade peace for safety.

Don Galir

Last known hold of the dwarves in Ashlar, shadow-cloaked Don Galir lies hard against Lake Thraren dark, cold waters in a massive cavern buried directly beneath the human village of Wellswood. Dozens of wells, illuminating the lake’s dark, unknowable deep waters with faint shafts of light and link the lake below with the village above. Strange fungi and mushrooms grow around the lake’s shore and stranger fish dwell in its lightless watery depths. Humans and dwarves fish the lake and harvest these unique plants in an increasingly uneasy peace. Now the jealous attentions of the greedy lord of the village above fall on Don Galir and taxes slowly increase. The reclusive, secretive dwarves of the Erdikr clan work hard to fortify their hold and to attract more of their brethren to Don Galir while some secretly plot to regain their fallen dragon-infested holds lying far to the south.

Edgewood

The thriving village of Edgewood stands in the very shadow of the Shadetimer Forest. For a century, it has prospered. Wars, droughts and pestilence striking other nearby settlements never seem to affect the village, and yet tragedy mars life in Edgewood. For every year, terror stalks the village and its inhabitants die seemingly random, but horrible and gruesome, deaths. Thus, despite its prosperity, Edgewood remains a small place, and few travellers remain there for long.

Feigrvidr

Most dwarven holds are vast and ordered halls filled with solemn and stoic craftsfolk. But that’s not Feigrvidr. Some say it’s not a dwarf hold at all, but rather a lawless mining camp ruled by dwarf thugs and ruthless agents of the ruling thane.

Founded less than three years ago by Svingal Halfbeard, the ore coming from a vale carved out of the headlands of the Titan Peaks is of the greatest purity and the works coming forth from Feigrvidr’s forges are both subtle and ingenious, rivalling those of any traditional dwarven stronghold. The great wealth coming from the foot of the Titan Peaks was only the beginning, now with the discovery of ancient and abandoned giant halls deeper among the mountains’ spires adventurers are flocking to the camp, increasing its wealth and its danger.

Gloya's Bridge

Gloya’s Bridge is a village swathed in secrets. Wearing masks and veils in the streets is normal, giving a chance at unparalleled anonymity and the freedom to indulge in a variety of entertainments with minimal restrictions. Those who want a second chance flock here, in no small part because an unconventional order offers a chance for criminals to leave their pasts behind and be recognised as reformed. Yet, not everyone has the will to reform or the patience to prove it, and the work of the Merciful Order is not enough for all the foes dogging some troubled souls. The offer of a new life for anyone is an important promise to many in Gloya’s Bridge, but the richest patriarch has designs on a new, firmer order. And deep below the surface, a conspiracy threatens to dim or even extinguish this beacon of hope as it gathers the hidden secrets of dangerous and troubled people who have come here from across the region.

Hopespyre

Their beliefs considered heretical by the Church of the God of the Sun and their presence viewed as a threat to the cruel ruler of their homeland, the members of the Church of the Redemptive Flame fled and founded a new home in remote Hopespyre. The cult now wants nothing more than to live a sin-free life in their new refuge but events conspire against them. The evil elemental lord of fire has set his sights on the cult and schemes to subvert its good intentions. Ageing church leader Dagor Thursh edges closer to death each day, and a struggle is growing for the right to succeed him, its flames fanned by followers of the elemental lord who have infiltrated the village.

Hornwall

Five years ago, the bandits won. They overwhelmed the village of Hornwall, killed its citizens and looted their treasures. Then, they settled down. The bandits of Hornwall now reside within the very defences meant to keep them out. They have given up the sword and taken up the ploughshare, exchanging a life of danger for one of safety. The villagers hide their secret well, but bodies keep appearing—floating in on the current, dug up by dogs and even emerging from the thawing winter snows. And the citizens who wish to return to the old ways are murdered in their sleep by their loved ones and business owners who wish to keep the past dead and buried. If passing travellers learn the truth, they have a choice. Forgive and forget? Or avenge the uncaring dead and leave Hornwall nothing but ashes.

Poxmire

Poxmire’s disease-ravaged residents choose lingering death over execution. The secluded island village is the destination for those who have incurable, contagious ailments, and those who cannot (or refuse to) pay for curative magic. As is the nature of such places of exile, Poxmire serves as a convenient place to also send fallen political rivals and the like. A sizeable donation to the appropriate temple is enough for a declaration that a foe’s malady cannot be treated.

Despite the village’s unfortunate nature, most inhabitants are content with their lot, thanks in part to the plentiful fish supplementing kitchen gardens growing in a pleasant climate. Poxmire could have been so much more were it not for rumours of terrible, centuries-old sacrifices carried out by cultists devoted to a now-dead deity of pestilence. Superstitious people worry about sending diseased folk to a location dedicated to the spread of disease, but the lack of cult activity for two decades has allayed most fears.