It was rough like its name implied, the streets twisting and knotting like some lunatic’s idea of a puzzle. Many horse trails and a single wagon road led into the town, like ropes to a tangled knot, giving testament to the constant traffic this border town attracted. The town was secluded at the edge of some low hills that sloped down gradually into dry yellow and lime colored grasslands. Roper was far from any of Operhelm’s major cities and only a few hours ride from the northern border. Elizabeth’s chestnut mount snorted heavily when she reined him in at the top of the hill overlooking the town. Hetark brought his piebald stallion to a stop on her left side, and his gaze fell warily on the town as well. “Roper looks as bad as its reputation forewarns, it should provide you with what you’re looking for,” Hetark noted. “Good, it’s about time I started taking the offensive against my enemies, I will prepare the way for my son,” she said with a thin smile of anticipation.
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