First there was the Lonely Inn. Built at a crossroads to serve travellers, it stood there for generations, growing both in fame and in size. Gradually others moved into the area. Some came to earn a living servicing the Inn or it's patrons. Others intended to travel further but just stuck there.

These newcomers found it more convenient to build a short way from the Inn, close to the river where the land was fertile and the forest less dense. Ramshackle huts gave way to wood and then to stone; indicators of permanence and solidity amongst the fledgling citizens of what now deserved to be called a village. A wandering elf with more soul than many of the residents decided 'the houses near the Lonely Inn' wasn't sufficient as a label and named the place Nanthalion. With it's naming, it gained pretentions and came to be known as a town.

No one is sure when StormBringer arrived in the area. Maybe he had always been there. Certainly the oldest resident couldn't recall a time when he had not been owner of the Inn. So when he began constructing his empire, it seemed natural that Nanthalion should house many of the official structures and the town grew faster. Dwelling places spread out into the surrounding forest and beings from many races were to be seen walking the cobbbled streets.

From huts to houses; from hamlet to capital city, Nanthalion had arrived and had assured itself a place in history.

OOC Note:

The town of Nanthalion is home to many of the shops used to supply essential and not so essential items used in roleplay. But this isn't some modern day city full of multi-floored department stores. Nor is it a grand place like Minas Tirith. In looks it has more in common with a small medieval town, with the sturdier structures built of stone, but also with much wood and thatch used still in construction.

Nanthalion Town

Life is not easy out here in the marches
That border the empire, that buffer the State
From badlands and bandits and dark desert raiders
Protecting the folk from a horrible fate.

If you talk about races - there are quite a number
And each one has some quirk or style of their own:
Winged ones and furred ones, dwarven and elven
Some of each race calls Nanthalion home.

There are minos and centaurs, and magical beings,
Sithians winged'; with glittering skin,
Fae of all colors and odd dispositions
And humans of every description come in.

If you want to talk towns that have all that is needed
To make the folk happy and give them good cheer
We've shops of the finest, and trade flows through freely
And there is no Inn better than the one we have here.

I'd like to tell you it's is a place of good friendship,
But such a fine liar I'd ne'er hope to be...
We've cut-throats and brigands and ravaging strangers
No telling the sights that you're likely to see.

Walk carefully then in the heart of Nanthalion
A hand on your purse and your eyes open wide,
Don't be taken off guard by a face or an offer
Don't let down your guard and let strangers inside.

I see by your look that you're wanting to ask me
Why good, honest people would live in this place,
The question's a good one, and the answer is simple:
Few other towns would bear to look on our face.

We're outlaws and brigands and sex fiends and runners,
We've worn out our welcome in civilized lands,
And made us a home lost out here in the marches
To keep ourselves out of more troublesome hands.

If you need a thief, slaver or assassin,
You'll find that we can supply all of your needs.
For most kinds of work from the high to the lowest,
For the right kind of payment, you can buy the deed.

If we sound like a place that might pique at your interest
Come visit and see what you think of the place,
Come gamble and drink and enjoy our fine women,
And see if it won't put a smile on your face.