Plank

Nestled in the northwest corner of Lygos, pressed tightly against the Dragonfang River River and the looming city walls, lies the Plank District—a maze of sagging wooden structures and labyrinthine alleyways. Its name comes from the patchwork planks that make up not just the rickety buildings, but the uneven walkways spanning muddy streets, creaking docks, and makeshift bridges crisscrossing stagnant canals.

The air here is thick with the mingling scents of river brine, smoke, and unwashed bodies. The streets are narrow, choked with throngs of desperate souls—refugees, dockworkers, hawkers, and those simply trying to survive another day. Shadows fall heavily even at noon, cast by overhanging balconies and leaning tenements that seem to clutch at each other like drowning men.

Crime festers like an open wound. The City Watch rarely patrols beyond the district’s fringes, and where law falters, power flows to those ruthless enough to seize it. Slumlords rule from crumbling estates, their authority enforced by street gangs and cutthroats. None are more feared than the Hellish Maulers, whose headquarters lies hidden among the crooked lanes, a den of violence and blood-soaked loyalty.

Beneath the district’s rotten façade thrives a shadow economy. The black market pulses like a dark heartbeat, its stalls and secret cellars dealing in forbidden magic, stolen relics, and lives bought and sold without hesitation. Secrets change hands as easily as coin, and nothing is beyond reach—for a price.

The Plank District is also the reluctant refuge of the city's displaced—chief among them the Hobgoblin Refugees, their communities woven into the district’s tattered fabric. Caught between prejudice and poverty, many find themselves entangled with the very gangs and smugglers that exploit their desperation.

For adventurers, the Plank District is both a goldmine and a grave. Here, alliances are fragile, opportunities are laced with danger, and every shadow might conceal a knife. Lygos may be ruled from gilded halls, but its soul is bargained for in the Plank.

1. Drizzek “The Guttermouth” (Drunken Drow)

A wiry drow with tangled white hair and yellowed eyes, sprawled in the gutter clutching a half-empty bottle. He reeks of sour ale and shouts venomous curses at anyone who walks by, alternating between slurred insults and bitter mutterings about his “glorious past.”

2. Granny Tuppin (Gossiping Halfling)

An elderly halfling woman with stooped shoulders and wiry gray hair tied in a bun. She spends every day sweeping her stoop, pausing only to tug on sleeves and ask passersby, “What’s the news then? What’ve you heard?” Her broom is more prop than tool—her real weapon is gossip.

3. Brother Paldon (Begging Monk)

A chubby, bald human monk in ragged saffron robes, smiling warmly as he jingles a wooden donation bowl. He calls out, “Spare a coin for the poor, friends!” His cheeks are rosy from the drink, but his voice is gentle and earnest, and many feel guilty passing him by empty-handed.

4. Yraath Coldscale (Paranoid Dragonborn)

A scrawny, blue-scaled dragonborn woman with sunken eyes and twitchy movements. She sidles up to strangers and whispers warnings: “The king’s spies are everywhere—they’re watching you, watching me, watching all of us in the Plank.” Her intensity makes some laugh, but others wonder if she might not be entirely wrong.

5. Razzik Bloodhand (Tiefling Thug)

A burly tiefling with red skin, a broken horn, and knuckles scarred from countless fights. He leans against alley walls offering his services in a gravelly voice: “Cheap rates. Tell me who, and I’ll make sure they stay down.” His grin shows too many teeth.

6. Khura Steelvein (Distraught Hobgoblin)

A hobgoblin woman in patched armor, crouched in the street searching with trembling hands. She mutters frantically about her lost wedding ring, asking everyone if they’ve seen it. Her eyes brim with tears, and though she looks like a fighter, her grief softens her completely.

7. Nibbin Caskwhistle (Deep Gnome Fruit Seller)

A cheery deep gnome with ruddy cheeks and a pushcart piled high with fruit baskets. He waves eagerly at passersby, shouting: “Fresh fruit! Best lemonade in Lygos!” Then he leans in with a conspiratorial wink: “It’s fermented, mind you.” His grin suggests he’s proud of the trick.

8. Laren “Little Fang” and Brutus (Half-Elf Boy & Bulldog)

A scrappy half-elf boy, maybe nine years old, with tangled brown hair and a mischievous grin, wanders the Plank with his hulking bulldog, Brutus. The dog looks jowly, happy, and lazy—its tongue lolling as it waddles beside the boy. Laren cheerfully asks strangers, “Wanna pet him? He loves people!” But Brutus’ tail wags for only one thing—sinking his teeth into unsuspecting hands. When the dog lunges, Laren doubles over with laughter, mocking his victim mercilessly before whistling for Brutus to heel. Locals know better than to fall for the trick twice.

Plank Residents

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