Twisted, dead trees reach out of the earth like the clawed hands of the undead, grasping toward the sky. Draynor Manor sits crumbling and abandoned, much like the village below. The wicked Count Draynor
for which the town is named is recently dead; stabbed through the heart by a now famous member of Iron Lantern about 3 years ago (unfortunately, he succumbed to his wounds from the fight).
The Count was a terrible man -- a vampyre prince, exiled by his father
from House Drakan in Morytania and horribly weakened from his crossing of the River Salve, he descended upon the remote and secluded forest village for which he would soon be named as his new
home-away-from-home. For the next 174 years, he would officials and collect taxes in the name of keeping the community fed and alive enough for him to extract the real wealth he was after -- blood tithes.
Every full moon, many of the village's weak and young would die in their sleep, pale and lifeless with distinctive bite marks on their necks.
With the Count dead, Iron Lantern has volunteered to step in and do their best to keep the town from falling apart, but there's only so much they can do. Almost every building in town is partially crumbling.
Holes in stonemasonry haphazardly patched with rotten planks or entire upstairs sections of houses being sealed off due to collapsing roofs are so common as to have become normal. The gaunt and malnourished
wander the streets, hunger being a close companion to every man, woman, and child in town. Lamp lights reflect the worried and exhausted faces of an ill-equipped and
stretched thin Iron Lantern division. Welcome to Draynor.
Draynor is rarely visited and has never quite been notable for much, save its proximity to the Tower of Jalarast somewhere within the Dolmenwood, where Draynor also is. The looming, ancient trees cast dark
shadows down on the town, and moisture from the sea means mist and heavy fog are usually omnipresent. The entire town is swallowed in gloom, even down to the weather. More citizens try to leave every day, but
are warned against it by Iron Lantern; the Dolmenwood is quite dangerous and the journey to Lumbridge is extremely long for starving peasants to make on foot (though they do not say it, Iron Lantern want as
many people to stay as possible; someone has to rebuild. There won't be a future for anyone if those with practical skills keep leaving).
The only vegetables that seems to reliably grow in the nutrient-poor forest are cabbages and potatoes. Hunting in the Dolmenwood is done when safe, but escape for an animal is easy in such a dark, dense
woodland. The success rate isn't high. Occasionally, well-to-do traveling wizards and mages make stops in Draynor to eventually cross the border into Asgarnia, and can be sometimes counted on to offer charity in
the form of food or coin, which is the best many locals can hope for in terms of relief from their plight. Under Drakan, churches to Saradomin were outlawed. No priests have yet come to this dangerous and
impoverished place to establish one, so for now, Draynorians are left without the comfort of god or the comfort of religious charity.
Draynor isn't completely without its skilled artisans. Despite the poor state of the buildings, it has some rather impressive architecture specialists (Draynor Manor being an old but prominent example, it's a
famously beautiful building) and, uniquely, a very small Runecrafter's Guild. The Tower of Jalarast attracts spellcasters who seek to share or gain new knowledge of magecraft, and these travelers naturally must
replenish their stock of runestones. The only other reliable location for purchasing runes in all of Misthalin would be Varrock, many many miles away. Those proficient in basic magic and who have access to books
on the subject try their hand at runecraft to meet this demand; these runecrafters are usually better off than most from the business they conduct, though the quality of the runes is often questionable.
The town's most unique feature is a pathetic, disrepaired fairground still populated with abandoned stalls and stained, ripped tents. The circus came to town on its way from Port Sarim to Lumbridge; they became
lost in the Dolmenwood and cursed to never be able tnow that Drakan is dead, and its workers are going mad. Even after 8 years, it's still the only fun place in town for kids to play and the only place for
the wretched men and women in town to party and let loose a little, even if the performances in the derelict bigtop are incoherent and the caged beasts feeble and languid.
Duke Horacio of Lumbridge, the famous noble misanthrope who would rather have his men become tax collectors than defend his subjects is responsible for occasional sojourns to Draynor through the Dolmenwood as
part of a regular patrol schedule. As this task was apparently beneath him (nor could he spare guards for this task) he managed to will himself to part with his gold in order to commission the construction of a
prison to house those who break the law. Instead of Lumbridge guardsmen having to patrol, apprehend, and return with a prisoner, they could simply by arrested by one or two prison wardens permanently stationed
in the village, and then left there to be processed later.
Draynor and Horacio being the way they are, however, prisoners are often in for a wait of years inside Draynor Prison awaiting trial. Being supplied and governed by Lumbridgers means that the prisoners are better
fed and clothed than those on the outside, a fact which is not lost on an irate Iron Lantern ("the duke's inn", "that fucking place", and "the shithouse" are all common names for the place). The Draynorians were
probably just grateful to be paid to build it.