Independent burg on the doorstep of the Dwarven Mountain

Location: Outlands / Ringlands

Ironridge, now there’s a burg with tales thicker than the frost on its gates. This ain’t your ordinary mountain burg; it’s a veritable fortress standing defiant on the doorstep of realms that’d turn a basher’s blood to ice. Nestled in a valley of the Ringing Mountains and defended by walls as high as a giant’s dreams, Ironridge is a bulwark against the dark whispers and shadows that lurk beyond. The burg is located far too close for comfort to the mind flayer power Ilsensine’s terrifying realm, the beholder power Gzemnid’s foul den and the sinister dragon psychopomp Chronepsis’ mausoleum. Lucky then that it’s also on the doorstep of the Dwarven Mountain, and it’s surely only this fact that keeps the burg from being overrun by aberrations, or worse.

Ironridge is a melting pot, a place where humans and dwarves rub elbows/shoulders, though you’ll find a smattering of other planar folks who’ve got the stones to stand their ground here. The humans, they’re a hardy lot, descendants of adventurers, traders, and maybe a few runners from darker pasts. And the dwarves, they’re mostly from the Dwarven Mountain, come to trade their fine wares or seek adventure outside their halls. They’re probably here for a breath of fresh mountain air, although a dwarf would never admit to that.

Tymor and Deren, hearthrob barkeeps of the Redmarch Inn

Inside the gates, the air’s thick with the clang of the forge and the murmur of deals being struck. It’s a burg that never quite sleeps, always wary of the next raid, or wandering eye-tyrant. The iron walls of the burg are peppered with the scars of disintegration rays for a reason, see. The Redmarch Inn, that’s where you head if you’re looking to warm your bones and hear the local chant. They say the ale there’s strong enough to melt the ice from your whiskers, and the tales are as rich as the stew. And the barkeeps here, Tymor and Deren, well they’re real heart-stealers, so the chant goes.

But it ain’t all ale and hearty tales in Ironridge. Shadows weave through the streets, carrying whispers of illithid spies and tanar’ri raids. There’s talk of a portal to the Abyss, a dark maw that’s never been found, yet seems to belch forth horrors that haunt the night. Folks here sleep with one eye open, and the dwarven guards, they’re as sharp as the blades they carry.

Ironridge thrives on trade, the lifeblood that pulses through its streets. Weapons and armour, blessed with the finest dwarf magic, can be had here, but they ain’t handed over lightly, not even for gold. You’ve got to earn your gear here, prove your mettle. It’s a town that demands strength, both of arm and of spirit.

For many a cutter, Ironridge is the start of a journey, a place to gear up before delving into the mysteries of the Dwarven Mountain or braving the more sinister realms beyond. It’s a stepping stone to places spoken of in hushed tones, a bastion for those seeking fortune and a haven for those fleeing fate.

Finding Ironridge ain’t always easy, for it dances between the fifth and eighth rings of the Outlands, as elusive as the wind on the mountain. It’s a town that’s never in the same place twice, a trick of the plane that keeps it just out of reach of those not determined enough to seek it.

Ironridge, then, is a town of contrasts. It’s a place of warmth and welcome, a community standing together against the darkness. Yet, it’s also a place of secrets, of dangers lurking just beyond the light. But remember cutter, in Ironridge, you’re rarely more than one step away from either glory or a grave.

Canonical Source:

  • Planescape Campaign Setting: Sigil & Beyond [2e] p36-39
  • Player’s Primer to the Outlands [2e] p30, brief into to Ironridge
  • Dead Gods [2e] p19, Ironridge and the Redmarch Inn
  • Manual of the Planes [5e] p82, brief mention

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