:: Random Location—Benchford, Grassland Thorp ::

Waves of heat rise up from the plain, taking entire clouds worth of moisture with them. It is stifling to say the least. The trail leads straight over a short but cavernous crack in the ground, spanned at the narrowest pinch by a bridge of stone. The height is daunting, but the trip to the other side is a brief one.

The thorp begins almost immediately on the other side of the chasm, a prominent selling-house advertising "ravine tours" on a sign that swings from the porch. This house, though old, is well lit and clean. The rest of the thorp, however, is positively ancient by comparison. As you emerge into the center of the place you see a crude stone bench—dew-dappled and moss-covered—surrounded by a circular garden with flowers of cobalt blue.

By necessity, each of the few dwellings that circle the bench is also tasked for selling the goods and services of those who live there. The trail continues on the other side of the bench, between "Frida's Belladonnas" and "Benchford General Goods", and out into the wide world once again. From that direction also comes the bleating of sheep, followed quickly by the sheep themselves, led by one shepherd and trailed by another.

The bench was here first. Some say it was once a trap set by the fairies; a weary traveler would sit upon it and suddenly find himself in the Fey Realm, surrounded by spriggans ready to attack. Others said it was not a bench at all, but a ceremonial arch for a race of people so small that they wore thimbles as hats and ate blueberries like watermelons. No matter why it came to be, it is now. All that matters to the folk who live in the thorp is that the place was named for it.

Benchford had a river once, too. There was a ford and all. Then something shifted underground and (the thorp-folk say) an enormous stone man rose up and took the river with him. They had to build a bridge where the ford once was, but they still called the place Benchford for some reason. Habit, I would guess.

Not much else to say about it. The shepherds don't live there, they just use the grasslands for grazing. It's a good place to stop for shady folk. They sell some underhanded things and won't ask where you got your pawn. They're just business folk like the rest. Oh, and don't pick the flowers if you're not willing to pay or Frida will cut you.