I am as entrepreneurial as the next person who kills monsters and men for money, if not more so, and I have dealt with my fair share of corruption in my home city of Greyhawk. I am used to sliding clerks, officiants, guards, and shopkeepers a g.p. or two to look the way or keep their traps shut. Gold is like water: it only works when it circulates, and I like keeping it circulating.

Bissel is a whole other game, however. First off, it is smaller, so everyone already knows someone who can “help,” which would be great, except that because there are fewer choices, the corruption has an upcharge. A fake import stamp that would only run me five silver in Greyhawk is almost three times that amount here. Also, there are a lot of officials from a lot of different kingdoms, duchies, and fiefdoms filling up the hotels and inns. Granted, I probably have more gems and emeralds than any of these clowns do, but I earned mine, and I am not going to spend 10 g.p. a night to share a room with a snorer and sleep talker. It also is surprisingly challenging to get even the most obviously corrupt to say yes in Bissel. I’ve had shorter negotiations with a mongrelman, and everyone knows what those lawful neutral denizens are like.

All that said, there is a rock around the proverbial clock feel to the place, and for a guy like me, that always counts for something.

A place that even fewer of us end up willingly is Molag, one-time capital of the Horned Society and full-time capital to all sorts of humanoids who aren’t that awesome. The citizens are poor under the best of circumstances—why try when one’s family might be sacrificed to Nerull at the Blood-Moon Ritual?—and the recent invasion by Iuz and his minions has not led to an increase in the standard of living. Let me rephrase that: the standard of living for a hobgoblin guard or an orc slaver may have increased. But for the humans who are still calling Molag home, not so much. Throw in the antics of Durgaloth, now a potential ruler of the 6th layer of Hell, and yikes, that is a lot of different kinds of evil circulating.

Still, cambions, succubi, 8th-level clerics, and hobgoblin patriarchs have to eat somewhere, and it isn’t always going to be envicerated elves or a daintily quartered dwarf. Thus, the famous, at least regionally, Molag Manicotti. Using rothe cheese imported from the Underdark, it mixes spices from Veluna and the Tiger Nomads with wheat ground by human femur bones right here in Molag. Chefs take the ground wheat, add water with a thickening agent rumored to be blood to make the pasta. Then only the best slave labor hand fills the pasta with the cheese and spice mixture. Cook for 3-5 turns and eat heartily.

Not really my thing, but hey, I don’t like eating blood, not even my own.

I know, the Hold of Stonefist isn’t a place where a lot of adventurers end up. The Hold was originally made up of people who were “politely asked” by the rest of the Rovers of the Barrens to move along, and, my friends, they haven’t gotten any better. Imagine a nation of unorganized bullies, led by an hereditary semi-insane strongman, and that is a fairly accurate representation of the Hold.

Although its capital has about 2,000 citizens, I am more interested in the second city of Bastro (population 1,700). Located on White Fanged Bay and the headwaters of the Frozen River, it has a slightly more dynamic economy because of the opportunity for trade and smuggling. As I said above, where the nation is led by a group of, at best, neutral evil thugs, there isn’t a lot of desire for upward mobility since pretty much anything that Mronf the Merchant manages to accumulate can be snatched at any minute. However, even thugs need goods, and not every axe, chain helm, or gaudy ring can be produced locally.

Thus, Bastro.

The other thing I can recommend about Bastro, other than leaving it, is the Stonefist Café. Great deals on hot coffee and mead, extremely large portion sizes, and reasonable prices all make the Stonefist Café the one place to stop when on your way out of town.

In case you haven’t looked at your map of the world of Greyhawk recently, far off to the west, slightly above the Yatil Mountains and slightly below the lands of the Tiger Nomads, lie the Yecha Hills and the community of Yecha.

 Some important things to know when visiting Yecha: 

 It will be challenging to get there. The Tiger Nomads are named after a giant killer cat for a reason. Before the party gets to them, they will need to work through the Wolf Nomads, and while I would rather deal with a wolf than a tiger any day, as a people, neither group is particularly easy to deal with.  

The town itself is cosmopolitan for the area but do not go in expecting a wide array of food and drink options. If Korron Bladewielder likes yak stew and fermented giant sheep milk, then she will be in gustatory heaven. For those of us who like a little more variety in our diets, or at least getting liquored up off some of the more sophisticated beverages, be prepared to pay a fair amount of silver, gold, or platnium.

 I don’t know how to say this politely, so I will just say it. The humans in Yecha smell. I don’t know if it is the combination of what they are eating and drinking mixed with local herbs, but whatever it is, it isn’t great. The occasional demihuman I ran into didn’t have the palpable aroma, so maybe it is because of that darn human metabolism.  

Thanks to our friends over at Canonfire, I learned that there is actually a land of Llerg. Well, maybe not a land, but at least an area on the easternmost point of the Thillonrian peninsula that is not quite under the control of the Snow, Ice, or Frost Barbarians. Frankly, when none of those people want to claim it, it is probably a pretty rough place. 

But not too rough for Llerg or Llerg’s minions.

Happen to be a bear? Well, make sure to pack the bags and head to the coast of Thillonria. Why? Well, you and all your bear friends gain an extra hit dice just for living there. That is how powerful Llerg’s mojo is. Just an adventurer who likes killing ice or snow trolls? Come on over: the land of Llerg has plenty for you to whet your blade on. Best or worst, depending on if one’s species, there are apparently eight Guardians of Llerg who roam around the wilderness. Previous to being turned into bears, these Guardians were between 8th to 12th level clerics of Llerg, all of whom retain their spellcasting powers, in addition to being able to claw, rend, and do whatever else bears do.

Hail Llerg.