Lescatie Hex Map

As the first month of the Year of the Gazetteer comes to a close, I'm proud to present the complete hex map of Lescatie. The key and relevant links can be found below.

One hex equals three miles. The key should not be considered comprehensive; there is room for homesteads and shrines and such not shown on the map and for random encounters (and modules) to be slotted in.

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Friday Encounter: The Undying Prophet

Similar to the previous encounter The Relic Thieves, this is an encounter themed around the phenomenon of traveling holy men. As such, it may be used on the road, preferably in a settled area in between towns, or in a settlement visited by the holy man in question.

Background

Long ago, a monk named Isard was a devout follower of the most prominent and powerful religion in these lands (in the Lunar Lands, this would be the cult of Voltan; it will work best if you use whichever cult holds this position in your campaign setting). Though he belonged to a nearby monastery, he was entrusted with tending to a small roadside shrine. However, he attracted the ire of the gods when the shrine was robbed by bandits, and instead of standing in its defense, the cowardly monk traded a holy relic to the robbers in exchange for his safety (and a heavy coinpurse). For his faithlessness and greed, he was cursed with eternal life, becoming a huecuva. Now, he must wander the world, eternally barred from joining his divine masters in the afterlife.

Such a curse only filled Isard with resentment. He believed he was only doing what he needed to do in order to save his life, so that he could continue to serve the gods and bring aid to those who needed it in this world, rather than throwing his life away out of blind faith. As the years passed, Isard's hatred for the pettiness and ingratitude of the gods grew and grew. Even if he had the life he savored, he knew the gods spurned him for it. In time, he came to desire revenge - and began to style himself as a prophet to lead the faithful astray and breed discord in the cult.

The Encounter

Some way or another, the PCs should come upon a congregation of worshipers gathered around an unkempt man in simple robes preaching strange revelations - perhaps standing on a rock by the side of the road, or in the center of a village. If the encounter is used near a large town or city, the prophet will set up shop outside the walls or on the outskirts of town, so as not to attract too much undue attention. The people are enthralled by the man's words, watching his every move as though in a trance; they will not react to the PCs approaching them as though they don't notice, though they will respond if attacked or spoken to.

The prophet - Isard in the guise of a mortal man - makes bold claims, stating that his former faith has lost its favor with the heavens, and that only he speaks the truth of what the gods desire. He claims that the law of the land fears him for the upheaval he will bring, but that the teachings of the church are falsehoods forged by greedy men - perhaps even led astray by demons! Only he can lead the people to once again attain the favor of the divine!

After his sermon, Isard will invite anyone who wishes to learn more to meet him at the ruins of a shrine some distance from his present location (the shrine that he tended to in life). If questioned by the PCs, he will relate the same information as in his sermon, taking care to conceal his true nature.

If the PCs follow Isard to the shrine, they will find it consists of an circle of crumbling pillars along a track that has long grown overgrown with time. During the day, there are 2d10 members of the cult (stats as commoners) gathered here, listening to Isard preach further revelations. Once his followers are in the cult, he is willing to share "revelations" too risky to speak of among civilization - namely, that the corruption in the church reaches far too deeply for the gods to sort out on their own. The only way to restore order as the gods desire is to overthrow the church - starting with the same monastery that Isard belonged to in life!

Isard's cult meets every week, gathering at noon, when the sun is at its highest (this is because he is capable of appearing as a living human in the sunlight). There, they listen to his sermons and prepare for an uprising, training and stockpiling weapons. In two weeks, they plan to launch their attack, where they will overrun and sack the monastery, killing everyone in their path.

Further Developments

Perhaps PCs will seek to investigate Isard's claims, or perhaps they will fall under his sway and join the attack on the monastery themselves. Whichever it is, Isard himself does not believe himself to be a prophet or his words to be divinely inspired - he thinks the gods are right, he just doesn't like that. Rather, he believes that the people can be led astray by claims of divine inspiration, and that this will gather the support he needs to overthrow the monastery, in addition to spreading confusion and doubt among the faithful to sabotage the church.

The cultists do not know that Isard is a huecuva, and he takes precautions to ensure that he is not discovered. During the night, he retreats to a cave not too far from the shrine so that no one sees his true undead appearance; he keeps the location of the cave secret from everyone, even his followers. Also in the cave is a cache of 3d12x10 GP's worth of gold and jewels provided by Isard's followers as "donations for him to buy food with" - he doesn't ask for any such thing, but accepts it anyway to throw off suspicion. If asked, no one in town has ever seen him buy anything at the market.

If Isard's true nature is revealed to the cultists, most of them will be horrified and realize they were being deceived by an unholy creature. However, for each cultist who discovers the truth, there is a 25% chance they will instead believe that their prophet's immortality is a divine miracle, and this will only further convince them that he speaks the truth!

If the monastery is questioned, no one knows anything about Isard - he was cursed long before anyone currently in the monastery was alive. However, they do know of the shrine, and that the relics held there were stolen long ago. A perusal of the monastery's records will bring up that Isard belonged to the order centuries ago and cared for the shrine at the time it was robbed, but the records are not available to the public and may require persuasion (or stealth) to obtain.

If the party brings forth the story and manages to win the trust of the monastery (such as by repelling the uprising), it is possible the monks will send them to find out what happened to the relic, and if possible, to recover it. If so, the sanctity of the shrine might be restored, and it may have some benefit to grant to the PCs...

Lac Marchais

Lac du Salvarisonnes might be the most famed lake in Lescatie, with its two largest cities hugging its shores - but the largest lake in the kingdom is Lac Marchais. Fed by runoff from the great Halvard Mountains and the Upper Vardess, the lake supplies Lescatie with much of its fish. In addition, for many pilgrims taking the river from Vardessy (less popular than the overland route, as it requires a jump from the Lower Vardess to the Upper Vardess, but still common), Lac Marchais marks the end of the journey, with barges docking on its shores to ferry passengers off to the Holy City.

On the south shore of the lake is the town of Toursanne (hex 035.011), the largest settlement in the region. Its primary trade is in fish, with local anglers and those from surrounding villages plying their wares in the town market - though the surrounding lands are fertile ones, and the town grows a respectable amount of produce. Owing to the importance of the market and its relatively remote location, Toursanne is a proudly independent town, governed by a burgomaster elected from the ranks of the local guilds and boasting its freedom from the whims of the nobility.

The current burgomaster is Arnaud Dupont, the wealthy guildmaster of the Guild of the Fishmongers, which oversees all fish that are sold within the town's limits and imposes stiff taxes on those who sell fish without membership in the guild - which has put no small amount of pressure on those from other villages on the lake's shores. To make matters worse, the Guild of the Fishmongers has held the seat of burgomaster for years, leading to some members of other guilds to suspect that a guildmaster long ago must have made a pact with infernal powers to secure its power...

While the southern shores of the lake are fertile, to the north, the lake gives way to swamps and moorland, and beyond that thick forest. These lands are barren and prone to fooding, making settlement difficult, though many a shepherd can be found grazing their flocks on the tall grasses of the moors. A few hardscrabble communities nevertheless cling to the shore to sustain themselves, including the village of Motteaux (hex 037.009). Primarily subsiding on fish from the lake and game poached from the woods, the village has a rustic character that its rare visitors often find offputting, but the people are happy to hear news from the outside world and will gladly take travelers into their homes to share a meal and a bed (there are no inns in town). The population is small, but all its men train in the longbow to defend themselves against attack - however, as the village's defenders have grown older, the ranks of able-bodied archers have thinned more and more, and they may be more vulnerable than they think.

Some boatmen on the lake have reported sights of a ruined shrine sunken beneath the waves (hex 032.008), with a well-eroded statue of Seidra, the goddess of magic, standing amidst a ring of pillars carved with runes. On clear days, some say, the light of the sun glints off a golden amulet in the goddess's fingers, one that seems to never tarnish despite sitting for so long beneath the waves.

The shrine is 50 feet beneath the surface of the water, and the amulet the statue holds grants a +2 bonus to spell attack rolls and spell save DCs when worn. However, the sinking of the shrine was no accident. The runes inlaid along the edges of the amulet speak of heresies rejected by Seidra's cult and the consorting of demons. Though the amulet itself is not cursed, creatures within temples or on other holy ground will feel a sense of discomfort around its wearer, and will be less likely to trust them.

The Demon Boar of Lescatie

Art by Mike Perry

Villages and homesteads in eastern Lescatie have long been terrorized by a truly fearsome beast - the Demon Boar of Lescatie. Bigger than a horse, with tusks as wide as two large mens' arms, and driven by an unquenchable anger, the boar's attacks are never predictable, but always terrifying. Every couple of months, it emerges from the woods, lays waste to all in its path, and then retreats to the depths of the wild. Whenever it does arise, it inevitably creates a panic in its wake. Though the knights of the Order of Lescatie have established their garrisons to watch for the Demon Boar's wrath, none have managed to fell it.

No one knows where the Demon Boar came from, but it does seem to be the same creature each time it strikes, bearing the same scars from many battles. Some say it was the product of unnatural congress between a demon and a sow. Others claim that the boar was once a mortal warrior who was cursed into the form of a wild beast and driven mad in the woods. What is known is that it possesses a terrifying strength, and all weapons forged by mortal man seem to bounce off its hide. Last year, a knight of the Order of Lescatie attempted to slay the Demon Boar with a blessed lance, which remains embedded in the beast's flank to this day. No doubt the lance would be a mighty weapon - but to retrieve it would be a heroic task indeed. Someone who could end the creature's threat once and for all would enjoy a hero's welcome - perhaps even proving their worthiness to join the Order of the Lily.

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Treasure

• Sticking out of the Demon Boar's left flank is a blessed lance, containing a fingerbone of a saint and anointed in holy water. It behaves as a +1 lance, but instead gives a bonus of +3 to attack and damage rolls against fiends and undead. When you roll a 20 on an attack roll made with this weapon, the target takes an extra 7 piercing damage, or an extra 14 piercing damage if it's a fiend or undead.
• The meat of the Demon Boar has a rich taste, worthy of an emperor's table. However, one cannot consume the creature's flesh without being consumed by its wildness. They must make a DC 15 Wisdom save or fall into a berserk state for 1d8 hours. During this time, they will attack targets indiscriminately and behave as a barbarian's rage. A PC under this effect becomes an NPC under the DM's control until this effect ends (alternatively, the DM can veto any action they perform at their discretion).

Friday Encounter: Dinner with the Hermit

This encounter would probably work best if the PCs are traveling through a relatively unsettled area of wilderness, with no inns nearby. You may wish to use it as night falls, or as the PCs run into harsh weather conditions that would interfere with travel, to further complicate matters.

While walking along a trail, the party should come upon a simple cabin nestled in the woods. This is the home of Marino, a hermit and woodsman living here in solitude (alternatively, the party may come upon the hermit laying traps). If they investigate, Marino will introduce himself, noting that he makes his living as a trapper, but that he always welcomes the company of guests. He will invite the PCs into his home and offer a meal and a bed. If they refuse the offer, he will continue to pressure them, insisting that the roads are dangerous at this time (though the final decision, of course, should rest with the players).

If the PCs accept Marino's offer, he will take them into his cabin, a simple space with a dining room, a kitchen, and separate rooms for him and any guests (he claims that he gets terribly lonely in the woods and welcomes any company he can get). There is an additional door in the cabin that he keeps locked at all times (he keeps the key under the pillow on his bed), saying that it leads to the pantry and there's no reason anyone should want to be down there; if anyone attempts to enter regardless, he will get nervous and attempt to throw them out of the house if they persist. There are a number of knives and other cutting implements on the walls, all well-polished and meticulously clean - Marino explains that he has to keep them at hand for skinning animals.

The PCs will find Marino a pleasant guest for dinner. He will serve them each a meal of stewed rabbit and ask questions about their lives and adventures, taking a keen interest in their stories. After the meal, he will direct them to the guest room, where there is a communal bed for them to sleep in.

Many PCs will likely be suspicious of Marino - and for good reason. In truth, the traps he lays aren't just for wildlife. In his years of seclusion from the world, he has begun to crave human flesh - and he intends to make a meal of the party!

Marino has slipped a magic herb into every stewpot but his own (a DC 25 Perception check is needed to discern a faint smell of lavender in the stew; alternatively, detect magic and similar spells will identify an Enchantment aura in the stew). Anyone who consumes it must make a DC 15 Constitution saving throw or fall into a deep slumber (effects as the sleep spell) 1d4 hours later; the effect lasts for 1d6+4 hours or until woken by force (either by taking damage or by being roused by another creature as an action). If anyone refuses to eat the stew, Marino insists that he cooked it himself and that it would be terribly impolite to refuse such a gracious offer.

Once the PCs are asleep, Marino will sneak into their room and drag them down to the "pantry" - really, a cellar where he hides and prepares the bodies of his victims. In addition to a few dead rabbits and phesants, there are currently three dead bodies hanging from hooks from the ceiling, with varying amounts of flesh missing from each. Brown mold grows on the walls; Marino uses it to keep the bodies cool enough so that they won't spoil. In addition to the bodies, the cellar also contains 30 GP in a small chest and a barrel of the same herbs used in the stew.

If combat occurs, Marino has the stats of a cultist, using a long knife to defend himself. However, he knows he won't be able to overpower a healthy and prepared adventurer on his own, and will attempt to escape through whatever means are possible if he finds himself outnumbered. If this happens, on his turn, Marino will throw sand into the eyes of any pursuers; they must make a DC 10 Dexterity saving throw or gain the Blinded condition for one round. After this, Marino will escape through a secret door on the wall of the cellar (DC 12 Perception needed to find it) that opens into a long tunnel leading to an exit deeper in the woods.

Of course, he's sure to have left more traps in his wake, if the party finds the door and decides to pursue him...

The Wolfwood

There are many forests in Lescatie, but none that are denser or more wild than that dubbed the Wolfwood. Though local nobles, and even the royal household, lay claim to parts of it as their private hunting grounds, in truth, their authority hardly extends beyond a few select trails. Beyond those paths, the woods are so choked with trees and the routes between them so twisting that one can get lost for days, wandering aimlessly. That is why those traveling through the Wolfwood are warned to stick to the roads...and by all accounts, getting lost is one of the more pleasant fates that can befall travelers. If one must pass through the Wolfwood, they would be wise to make sure they leave it before nightfall. If you hear howling, you're already dead.

True to its name, the Wolfwood is home to many packs of wolves; it is a favored destination for wolf hunts, though even then, the beasts found on the hunting trails pale in comparison to those of the wild exterior. Every so often a hunting party will come across a wolf of unusual size - sometimes as a prized trophy of a valiant battle, but more commonly, as a story recounted in hushed whispers by those lucky enough to narrowly escape with their lives. Even those who succeed in such hunts may not be so fortunate. One story relates a lord who slew a dire wolf in the Wolfwood during a hunt and hung its head proudly above his hearth, only for him and his entourage to be dragged off by the rest of the wolf's vengeful pack as soon as they set foot in the woods again. Many stories agree that the wolves of the Wolfwood seem unusually cunning - and then there are the ones who swear they've seen one walk on its hind legs.

In truth, the depths of the Wolfwood are home to a cult of werewolves that have held court in the forest for generations. Every full moon, the cult gathers at their camp (hex 040.028) to mingle in one anothers' company and to hunt together. Many of them have lives in the villages beyond the wood, their neighbors and even their families unaware of their true nature. Others have so embraced the life of a wolf that they live in caves and under trees even by day. Many members come from the ranks of the disaffected - wanted outlaws, peasants in search of a more exciting life, young nobles escaping an arranged marriage. One way or another, they found themselves unwelcome and out of place in the company of their peers, but as wild beasts, they could all find a home in one another. Such cults are not uncommon in the Lunar Lands, and the Wolfwood boasts the largest of such groups in the northern City-States.

The leader of the Wolfwood cult is a huntswoman by the name of Primeria, who lives at the camp full-time, sleeping under a tent of deerhide. Born to an elven father and a human mother, she found herself scorned by elves and humans alike, and never felt welcome in either of their circles. She entered the employ of Patriarch Gascon III as an assassin, and managed to escape from the siege of the Holy City with her life when he was overthrown. In exile, she was drawn by the allure of lycanthropy and the power it would give her - and she sought out the previous leader of the cult, eventually coming to usurp him. Her approach to leadership is a laid-back one; she can provide advice to those afflicted with the condition on controlling the urges, whether they wish to join the cult or not, and she lets members of the cult live their own lives outside of their hunts. However, she will not hesitate to come to her packmates' defense if they are attacked. If one was to approach her with an open mind, she would even be willing to share the gift of lycanthropy to a trusted ally.

Wolves and werewolves are not the only dangers of the Wolfwood, of course, Local parlance refers to outlaws as wolfsheads (as they are protected by the law as much as a wolf is; in other words, not at all), and perhaps by fate, the forest has its fair share of bandits and brigands, taking advantage of its fearsome reputation to shield themselves from the law. Though there are plenty of gangs concerned only with robbing passing caravans or extorting travelers, other groups have other agendas.

One of those groups calls itself the Rightful Order. Formed from knights who remained loyal to Gascon and the old Patriarchate, it holds Wilmarina I as a false claimant to the title of Matriarch, and the rule of the Cult of Voltan as an illegitimate one. They escaped into the Wolfwood to avoid persecution following the revolution, and over time their ranks have grown, drawing recruits from bandits and disgruntled villagers. They have established a camp of their own (hex 046.037) for their members to train and rest. Though officially heretics and brigands, the Rightful Order conducts themselves as the paladins they believe themselves to be, following the code of chivalry and equipping themselves in knightly harness.

The Rightful Order is led by Sir Josquin, a high-ranking member of the Order of Lescatie prior to the fall of the Patriarch. For twenty years, he has been stockpiling arms and training his men in the hopes that he may live to see the "false Matriarch" expelled from Lescatie, and divine order restored by placing an experienced member of a monastic order at the head of the Cult. Though outmatched in military strength, he has faith that one day his men will be able to take up arms against the capital, and that if he truly has Voltan's favor he will be guided to victory. However, Josquin has grown old, and is now in no condition to fight, staying at the camp and passing orders to his lieutenants - younger men who do not remember the glory days of the Order. His greatest fear is that his successors will forget their heritage as noble knights and lose sight of their goals, becoming little more than highwaymen.

The Royal Vintners' Festival

As befitting a holy city of its esteem, Lescatie and its surroundings host many grand celebrations, usually performed on important holidays to ensure the favor of the gods in the coming seasons. However, there are plenty of events of a more down-to-earth nature - and perhaps the most celebrated of all is the great Vintner's Festival.

Grapes of many varietals grow readily in the valley around Lescatie, and a robust industry has emerged centering around the production of wine. Although just about every village and manor has its local blend, there are several guilds, monasteries, and noble families with long-standing traditions of viniculture, and many of these producers have grown famous across the City-States and beyond for their vintages. Such a famed industry is bound to accrue wealth and power for those involved - and, in Lescatie, this tradition has grown to support the annual Royal Vintner's Festival.

Taking place on the second weekend of Bloodmoon (the eleventh month in the world's lunar calendar, and at the tail end of the grape-harvesting season), the Royal Vintner's Festival ostensibly commemorates the feast day of Matto the Great, but barely anyone who participates has their mind turned to the divine. It marks a great exhibition of wines from across the kingdom, with the major producers sending delegations to showcase their offerings for the season. The festival is held in the kingdom's center of wine production, and on these days the fairgrounds are packed with stalls and tents from all participating wineries. The central attraction is, of course, the sale of wine - with some of the most prized and prestigious varieties only being sold to the public on this date, and for a hefty sum, many a noble house would do just about anything to secure a cask for their cellar, and the possession of even a bottle can become a status symbol. However, the event has grown over the years, and its scope has expanded to a great deal of festivities - plays and performances, sporting events, craftsmens' competitions, and demonstrations of the wine-making process can all be found under the festival's auspices.

True to its name, the Royal Vintners' Festival is attended by the royal family of Lescatie, who travel with their entourage to the site of the event several days in advance in a grand procession that draws many an eye in the towns it passes through. At the conclusion of the event, the King is presented with a fleet of wines from all of the most honored wineries participating, and only after all have been drank does he announce his favorite. The status as the King's favored winery is taken as one of the highest honors a grower in the kingdom can bear; even when the King holds little actual power, the competition for the title is a heated one, and the wines that win such honors attract princely sums in the coming days. It is noted that the King tends to judge wines more reasonably when he drinks them while sober; to that end, what order the wines are served can have as much of an effect on their placement as their actual quality.

Though they do not receive as much attention, there are also prizes for the wines favored by other members of the court, including the Matriarch. Tradition holds that the day of the Royal Vintner's Festival is the only day the word of the High Priest of Voltan is not held to be infallible, so that the faithful do not mistake drunken blatherings as divinely inspired. Surprising some, Wilmarina I did not do away with the tradition of partaking in the festival, seeing it not as a mark of decadence ill-befitting of a holy man, but as a way to connect with the people and to show she was not above their indulgence. Opinions on this are mixed.

All the same, the festival is open to the public as well, with many coming from far corners of the kingdom to partake in the affair, and to sample the wines being offered. In the leadup to the event, the roads are often packed with traffic, and many inns have sprung up along the way to cater to travelers - though even they often fill up quickly, and it is not uncommon to see people sleeping in tents and wagons along the road.

The festival is held at the fairgrounds just outside the town of Caureloc (hex 048.023), which has grown into a prospering market town thanks to the commerce brought by the festivities. Though many houses, guilds, and wineries - some, increasingly, hailing from lands beyond Lescatie - participate in the event, for the last few years, the King's favors have always been bestowed on one of two participants, both happening to be housed near the fairgrounds - the noble House of Roussel, and the Monastery of Lannuon (hex 051.023).

The noble family is run by Duchess Marceline Roussel, a stately woman who opens the doors of her castle (hex 048.025) to all visiting nobles - including the royal family, who traditionally take up residence there during the event - though beneath her veneer of generosity, she hopes to benefit from her company with the most esteemed in the kingdom and to enjoy their favor, especially to secure an advantage against political rivals. After all, the influence of a friend of the King is not to be scoffed at.

The monastery is run by Father Theofrede, a rotund, ruddy-faced old abbot who is known to enjoy the excesses of life; although the monastery keeps a vineyard ostensibly to keep the monks occupied in the labors of the gods, he has grown wealthy on the sales of the wine it produces, and hoards much of the wealth for himself, as well as enjoying a good drink of his own. Even within the monastery itself, he is often regarded as a poor excuse for an abbot - yet he is unlikely to fall out of power any time soon when he has won the King's favor time and time again, and few would dare to challenge a man of such esteem.

Naturally, with both parties trading the highest honor afforded to Lescatian vintners back and forth, they are hard at work every year trying to one-up each other and sabotage the efforts of their rivals, laying plans even months before the event takes place. Of course, there are many other participants too, and with the fame and fortune they stand to win, many would be quite eager to see themselves emerge as a dark horse champion - even if they needed to go to more clandestine routes to secure such an advantage...