City of Reme to Eckland
Journeys in the Lost Lands
The City of Reme, seat of the Grand Duchy of Reme and capital of the Grand Duchy of Reme! A vibrant gleaming city at the apex of the Crescent Sea, travelers come from across Akados to visit its temples, merchant quarters, and to petition the Grand Duke. However, the Grand Duchy is much more than the City of Reme, and the lands beyond are likely of more interest to adventurers (not to say that the city is not full of perils and opportunities).
True, you could travel due north from the City of Reme towards the Wizard’s Wall, or head east into the relatively peaceful lands surrounding the impressive Remenos River, but smart adventurers head northwest along the Western Reme Road to the city of Eckland and the Quail Valley beyond. There one can find monsters in abundance just waiting to be slain, small towns beset by horrors, and if rumors are true, a lost entrance to the fabled Under Realms.
True, you could travel due north from the City of Reme towards the Wizard’s Wall, or head east into the relatively peaceful lands surrounding the impressive Remenos River, but smart adventurers head northwest along the Western Reme Road to the city of Eckland and the Quail Valley beyond. There one can find monsters in abundance just waiting to be slain, small towns beset by horrors, and if rumors are true, a lost entrance to the fabled Under Realms.
Points of Interest
The road to Eckland from the City of Reme is not well known outside of the Grand Duchy, which is a shame as the road is well traveled, patrolled, and generally peaceful. That is if you stay upon the road and do not venture far beyond it. The small farming hamlets and manors of petty nobles hide many secrets, and not a few dangers, that the unwitting merchants and pilgrims simply pass by.-
There are several nice inns along the Western Reme Road, the Quail and Egg, the Fancy Bucket, Mitchard’s Tavern, and the infamously haunted Screaming Miley. All of these pale in comparison to the Rampant Stallion. Situated at the fork where the Road of Horses splits off from the Western Reme Road and heads north towards Yalendir and Quintas, the Stallion sees thousands of visitors every year. It is a rambling, sprawling compound surrounded by a low stone wall, pierced by tall gates where it faces the fork and several smaller doors and gates around its periphery.
Among the various amenities on offer at the Rampant Stallion are comfortable private rooms with locking doors and chests, not just ample stabling but fenced in pasturage allows mounts to graze, the finest food north of the City of Reme (says so on the sign outside), and excellent drinks. There is a large common room, as well as group cabins to rent out back. In fact, the Stallion makes a concerted effort to provide for all travelers no matter how little or much money they have to spend. Indeed, this includes a reputation for feeding and housing poor itinerants (mind you it is simply porridge and crusts of bread, a warm spot in a shed, and weak ale).
What is not as well known is that the backroom of the Stallion is open for rent to traveling shows. Some nights it is filled with gamblers, others risqué dance troops. Admittance to these special shows is by invitation only, but sitting near the City of Reme and at the crossroads of two main throughfares through the Grand Duchy there seems to always be a good reason to be stopping for the night at the Rampant Stallion.
Among the various amenities on offer at the Rampant Stallion are comfortable private rooms with locking doors and chests, not just ample stabling but fenced in pasturage allows mounts to graze, the finest food north of the City of Reme (says so on the sign outside), and excellent drinks. There is a large common room, as well as group cabins to rent out back. In fact, the Stallion makes a concerted effort to provide for all travelers no matter how little or much money they have to spend. Indeed, this includes a reputation for feeding and housing poor itinerants (mind you it is simply porridge and crusts of bread, a warm spot in a shed, and weak ale).
What is not as well known is that the backroom of the Stallion is open for rent to traveling shows. Some nights it is filled with gamblers, others risqué dance troops. Admittance to these special shows is by invitation only, but sitting near the City of Reme and at the crossroads of two main throughfares through the Grand Duchy there seems to always be a good reason to be stopping for the night at the Rampant Stallion.
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Travelers along the Western Reme Road mention the Rampant Stallion as well as the other famous inns, often to brag about where they stayed; but they speak of the Shephard’s Folly in all but the barest of whispers. Provided they speak of it at all. Once a proud inn not fifty miles east from Eckland on the Western Reme Road, the Shephard’s Folly is now just a burned out, and long burned out, ruin. Only a fool would venture there, and even the greatest braggarts among the cart haulers and muleskinners who work the road shun claiming to have visited these benighted ruins. On clear nights the moaning of the dead can be heard echoing out of the ruins, and from time to time horrid howls can be heard a hundred yards away on the Western Reme Road.
Fifty years ago, Shephard’s Folly was as acclaimed as the Quail and Egg or the Fancy Bucket. From its tap room flowed mead and ale of the finest quality, its stable yard could house thirty horses plus room for carts and wagons, and its beds were both soft and clean. Owned and operated by the Quantus family, an old family with a lineage that stretched back to the days of the old Hyperborean Empire, the Shephard’s Folly was a name synonymous with fine dining, safe rest, and comfort.
That all ended in one horrific night. It was a clear night, by all accounts, and the stars and moons were clearly visible. The tap room was raucous yet under the stern controlling eyes of Lucretia Quantus. Every room was full, every stall held a horse, and even the stable yard was packed wheel to wheel with carts and wagons. A lone traveler, bedraggled and carrying a single staff as her only luggage, came to the back door seeking shelter for the night and maybe a crust of bread. The kitchen workers sought to oblige, and fed the stranger with leftovers and trimmings before putting her up in the hayloft.
When Lucretia Quantus found out about this she flew into a rage. She was in charge of the tap room and kitchen, and none could challenge her authority by giving away room and board without asking. The kitchen staff was berated, the stable boys as well, and the stranger was driven from the inn by Goodwife Quantus’ harsh tongue and harsher blows.
The next night, the inn just as filled as ever and the sky just as clear, everyone in the Shephard’s Folly died. Most assume that the fire that ravaged the inn and tore through the stables was to blame, but that conflagration was set to cover up the crime. The stranger had laid a curse upon the inn and all inside, and a pack of werewolves had been summoned in answer. The patrons and the entire Quantus family were torn to shreds, as were the livestock. Not even the inns dogs and cats were spared.
The werewolves now inhabit the ruin, though they are careful to perform their deprecations far away. In time even old wolves learn new tricks, and the ruins of the Shephard’s Folly have become a haven for intelligent creatures of evil who seek some human comforts. Lycanthropes are welcome, as are vampires and other undead that can hold their peace and rub shoulders with their fellows. Humans and other mortal creatures are unwelcome, save as slaves or food. All are served by the ghost of Lucretia Quantus, cursed to offer hospitality to all who come to her ruined inn.
Fifty years ago, Shephard’s Folly was as acclaimed as the Quail and Egg or the Fancy Bucket. From its tap room flowed mead and ale of the finest quality, its stable yard could house thirty horses plus room for carts and wagons, and its beds were both soft and clean. Owned and operated by the Quantus family, an old family with a lineage that stretched back to the days of the old Hyperborean Empire, the Shephard’s Folly was a name synonymous with fine dining, safe rest, and comfort.
That all ended in one horrific night. It was a clear night, by all accounts, and the stars and moons were clearly visible. The tap room was raucous yet under the stern controlling eyes of Lucretia Quantus. Every room was full, every stall held a horse, and even the stable yard was packed wheel to wheel with carts and wagons. A lone traveler, bedraggled and carrying a single staff as her only luggage, came to the back door seeking shelter for the night and maybe a crust of bread. The kitchen workers sought to oblige, and fed the stranger with leftovers and trimmings before putting her up in the hayloft.
When Lucretia Quantus found out about this she flew into a rage. She was in charge of the tap room and kitchen, and none could challenge her authority by giving away room and board without asking. The kitchen staff was berated, the stable boys as well, and the stranger was driven from the inn by Goodwife Quantus’ harsh tongue and harsher blows.
The next night, the inn just as filled as ever and the sky just as clear, everyone in the Shephard’s Folly died. Most assume that the fire that ravaged the inn and tore through the stables was to blame, but that conflagration was set to cover up the crime. The stranger had laid a curse upon the inn and all inside, and a pack of werewolves had been summoned in answer. The patrons and the entire Quantus family were torn to shreds, as were the livestock. Not even the inns dogs and cats were spared.
The werewolves now inhabit the ruin, though they are careful to perform their deprecations far away. In time even old wolves learn new tricks, and the ruins of the Shephard’s Folly have become a haven for intelligent creatures of evil who seek some human comforts. Lycanthropes are welcome, as are vampires and other undead that can hold their peace and rub shoulders with their fellows. Humans and other mortal creatures are unwelcome, save as slaves or food. All are served by the ghost of Lucretia Quantus, cursed to offer hospitality to all who come to her ruined inn.
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Sitting on an unusually tall kame not far from the Western Reme Road, Wuckley Manor looms above the flat plains between the City of Reme and Eckland. In ages past the kame has been inhabited by loreclans, Hyperboreans, and others; either as a fortress or watch post. Its proximity to the road allows anyone on the kame to see for miles along east or west and track any travelers.
In I.R. 3261 the Wuckley family acquired the fief containing the kame and had the old ruins stripped way and the top leveled. They built a large keep on the top, and as the years passed and the family grew in wealth and power, built several terraces winding down to the base of the glacial hill. The family continued to add on until I.R. 3482 when Bertran Wuckley inherited the estate from his great-aunt.
Bertran Lord Wuckley, as he is styled, proved to be a different sort than his predecessors. The power of the Wuckleys had always rested in a reputation for martial prowess, thus the granting of such an important defensive fief to them. The rolls of honor of the Grand Duchy of Reme are filled with Wuckleys, but Bertran is a man of poor health even before he reached his fiftieth year. A studious man, Bertran’s strength lay in his knowledge and wisdom, not his skill with arms. This he applied to building the Wuckley estate to unprecedented heights.
Twenty years ago Bertran faced his inevitable end as his never strong body finally began to give out entirely. This he could not allow and turning his great intellect towards the issue he sought some arcane solution. With his death looming he took a few shortcuts, and the result was not entirely to his liking. Betran Lord Wuckely lives still, after a fashion, but at a great cost. Over a century old his wizened frame is kept alive only through the most horrid of rituals involving the sacrifices of his own relatives.
At first Betran turned to his noble house’s by-blows and bastards, of which there seemed to be an inexhaustible supply. In time this source ran dry and he began on the lesser Wuckleys. Even these are starting to run scarce, and Bertran fears that his secret will be let out if there are too many more disappearances in the family, especially of those closer to inheriting the title and fief. So far he has managed to quell any investigations through political manipulations, bribes, and murders carried out by the body of mercenaries he keeps in order to fulfill his feudal obligations. Those same mercenaries are charged with patrolling the stretch of the Great Western Reme Road that runs through his fief, a task they do with heavy hands and plenty of outstretched palms. He has also paid to have rumors spread throughout the Grand Duchy that his family suffers from a curse brought on by a distant forebearer who left home to plunder distant tombs.
In I.R. 3261 the Wuckley family acquired the fief containing the kame and had the old ruins stripped way and the top leveled. They built a large keep on the top, and as the years passed and the family grew in wealth and power, built several terraces winding down to the base of the glacial hill. The family continued to add on until I.R. 3482 when Bertran Wuckley inherited the estate from his great-aunt.
Bertran Lord Wuckley, as he is styled, proved to be a different sort than his predecessors. The power of the Wuckleys had always rested in a reputation for martial prowess, thus the granting of such an important defensive fief to them. The rolls of honor of the Grand Duchy of Reme are filled with Wuckleys, but Bertran is a man of poor health even before he reached his fiftieth year. A studious man, Bertran’s strength lay in his knowledge and wisdom, not his skill with arms. This he applied to building the Wuckley estate to unprecedented heights.
Twenty years ago Bertran faced his inevitable end as his never strong body finally began to give out entirely. This he could not allow and turning his great intellect towards the issue he sought some arcane solution. With his death looming he took a few shortcuts, and the result was not entirely to his liking. Betran Lord Wuckely lives still, after a fashion, but at a great cost. Over a century old his wizened frame is kept alive only through the most horrid of rituals involving the sacrifices of his own relatives.
At first Betran turned to his noble house’s by-blows and bastards, of which there seemed to be an inexhaustible supply. In time this source ran dry and he began on the lesser Wuckleys. Even these are starting to run scarce, and Bertran fears that his secret will be let out if there are too many more disappearances in the family, especially of those closer to inheriting the title and fief. So far he has managed to quell any investigations through political manipulations, bribes, and murders carried out by the body of mercenaries he keeps in order to fulfill his feudal obligations. Those same mercenaries are charged with patrolling the stretch of the Great Western Reme Road that runs through his fief, a task they do with heavy hands and plenty of outstretched palms. He has also paid to have rumors spread throughout the Grand Duchy that his family suffers from a curse brought on by a distant forebearer who left home to plunder distant tombs.
People Along the Way
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Although she holds a small fief near the Quail River, Sir Piera Swyn can usually be found somewhere along the Western Reme Road. Her fief includes the ancestral rights to levy fines on travelers along the portion of the road that do not cross through the lands of other fiefs from the edge of the Wuckley fief to a set of ancient stones thirty miles east of Eckland. Along this long stretch of road are dozens of miles that the Swyns have long used as their own personal tax farm, levying fines for everything from inappropriate beard color to incorrect axel lengths on wagons.
Piera is different from her ancestors and takes her duties seriously. With her small entourage of a squire, six mounted men-at-arms, and nine mounted crossbowmen, she can be found ranging along the road hunting bandits, into nearby farms and forests, and even traipsing over other nobles’ fiefs to capture criminals. Once she catches the miscreants she brings them to a piece of road under her fief’s authority, tries them, and sees to their executions herself. However, one bandit has managed to elude her for years, Cleira Duchy, the bastard daughter of her errant father.
Piera is different from her ancestors and takes her duties seriously. With her small entourage of a squire, six mounted men-at-arms, and nine mounted crossbowmen, she can be found ranging along the road hunting bandits, into nearby farms and forests, and even traipsing over other nobles’ fiefs to capture criminals. Once she catches the miscreants she brings them to a piece of road under her fief’s authority, tries them, and sees to their executions herself. However, one bandit has managed to elude her for years, Cleira Duchy, the bastard daughter of her errant father.
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Fathered by the infamous knight who used and abused his authority to levy fines along the Western Reme Road, Sir Oth Swyn, Cleira was left with her washerwoman mother as a parting gift following the bold knight’s visits. Raised in poverty, her mother having lost her position as the washing maid at a fine manor when she became pregnant, Cleira had little hope for much in life. Her mother died when the girl was young and Cleira managed to find her way to the City of Reme. There she fought the other urchins for scraps and coppers, proving to be not just a fierce alley rat but one who could gather others to her. Soon she had a loyal band of fellow gutter tramps, the beginning of a gang. Small crimes in the city proved too risky and yielded little loot, so Cleira moved her gang out into the countryside.
They began by robbing small cottages and isolated peasants, but soon graduated to highway robbery. More loot meant better mounts, equipment, and weapons for the gang. Cleira was wise enough to steer clear of the troubles that most criminals ran into; namely spending their loot recklessly and getting too greedy.
Her bandit gang has grown from those scurvy youths who left Reme. They now number over two dozen hard bitten and well-armed robbers who roam the roads in small groups. From time to time they gather up for a major score before dispersing again, a tactic that frustrates pursuit. Three times she has clashed with her half-sister Sir Piera Swyn, and thrice has she escaped. However, in their last skirmish Sir Swyn’s crossbowmen shot down Cleira’s most trusted lieutenants (and lovers) Fina and Fang.
They began by robbing small cottages and isolated peasants, but soon graduated to highway robbery. More loot meant better mounts, equipment, and weapons for the gang. Cleira was wise enough to steer clear of the troubles that most criminals ran into; namely spending their loot recklessly and getting too greedy.
Her bandit gang has grown from those scurvy youths who left Reme. They now number over two dozen hard bitten and well-armed robbers who roam the roads in small groups. From time to time they gather up for a major score before dispersing again, a tactic that frustrates pursuit. Three times she has clashed with her half-sister Sir Piera Swyn, and thrice has she escaped. However, in their last skirmish Sir Swyn’s crossbowmen shot down Cleira’s most trusted lieutenants (and lovers) Fina and Fang.
Adventure Hooks
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Fineas Corbin runs a floating high stakes game of Legion, a card game popular with Foerdewaith nobles across Akados. He was running five tables in the backroom of the Rampant Stallion with clientele ranging from the son of the Earl of Quintas to the Grand Duke’s personal footmen. Money and wine was flowing and it looked like it would be a rich night, at least until five masked figures walked in with crossbows and swords. The robbers took the entire take, as well as the money on the table, gems and jewels from the assembled nobility, and one even kissed the earl’s son full on the lips before leaving. They then took off out of the Stallion’s stable on stolen horses with a sixth robber, leaping over the fences of the pasturage before pounding cross country into the night.
The robbers need to be apprehended, and the loot returned if possible. The authorities cannot be involved, not only would the Stallion draw attention to their backroom, but many of the nobles and wealthy patrons expect a certain amount of anonymity. Besides, being robbed in the backroom of the Stallion is a bit embarrassing. Payment will be in the form of a portion of the recovered loot and grateful favors from the nobles involved. Assuming no one fears blackmail enough to have vengeance delivered and witnesses silenced.
The robbers need to be apprehended, and the loot returned if possible. The authorities cannot be involved, not only would the Stallion draw attention to their backroom, but many of the nobles and wealthy patrons expect a certain amount of anonymity. Besides, being robbed in the backroom of the Stallion is a bit embarrassing. Payment will be in the form of a portion of the recovered loot and grateful favors from the nobles involved. Assuming no one fears blackmail enough to have vengeance delivered and witnesses silenced.
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Bertran Lord Wuckley needs another relative to sacrifice to keep his dying body alive for another year. Fearing that someone close to him dying might be too easily noticeable, the illegitimate relatives were so easy to have disappear without attracting attention, he has scoured the family records for some distant relative to put under the sacrificial dagger. Such a person has been found in far off Bard's Gate but getting that person to Wuckley Manor in secret might prove a problem. A problem that can be solved by a group of wandering fortune hunters, the ignorant fools, and then finally resolved by Betran’s loyal mercenaries.
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How this adventure plays out depends on the nature of the characters. If they are of the law and order types, Sir Piera Swyn contacts them. If of a more criminal bent, Cleira Duchy. In either case, one of the sisters wants to find the other and settle matters once and for all. Sir Swyn hires the characters to find out where her sister is hiding so that the lady of the house of Swyn can descend upon the bandit with the full force of the law. Cleira wants her sister caught and taken alive. The plan is to force the knight to fight one on one against the bandit in a ‘fair’ match, no warhorse, no entourage, no heavy armor, just naked steel and unfettered rage.
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