(Kisani takes a look at the newly built temple)
As one approaches the town of Sandpoint, the footprint of civilization
upon the Lost Coast grows more clear. Farmlands in the
outlying moors and river valleys grow more numerous, and the
blue-green waters of the Varisian Gulf bear more and more fishing
vessels upon its surface. Passage over creeks and rivers is more
often accomplished by wooden bridge than ford, and the Lost
Coast Road itself grows wider and better-kept. Sight of Sandpoint
from either approach (south or east) is kept hidden by the large
upthrust limestone pavements known as the Devil’s Platter or the
arc of rocky outcroppings known as Whistler’s Tors, but as the final
bend in the road is rounded, Sandpoint’s smoking chimneys and
bustling streets greet the traveler with open arms and the promise
of warm beds, a welcome sight indeed for those who have spent the
last few days alone on the Lost Coast Road.
From the south, entrance to Sandpoint is governed by a wooden
bridge, while from the north a low stone wall gives the town a bit
of protection. Here, the Lost Coast Road passes through a stone
gatehouse that is generally watched by one or two guards—the
southern bridge is typically unattended. Aside from the occasional
goblin, the citizens of Sandpoint have traditionally had little worries
about invasion or banditry—the region simply isn’t populated
enough to make theft a lucrative business. Hanging from a bent nail
at both the gatehouse and the southern bridge is a sign and a mirror—
painted on each sign is the message: “Welcome to Sandpoint!
Please stop to see yourself as we see you!”
