Stands of towering cypress, hidden olive groves, and vines hung with dusky grapes ramble in lazy
rows across the lush plains of northern Varno. Above the Seaugustae River, Cesca crowns a gradual slope at this region’s heart, a simple community of mild folk adrift on a sea of rolling farmland.
Narrow streets wind up the Mendesanni, the hill upon which Cesca drowses. For ages residents have built upon the rise, as if wary of leaving the hill’s safety. Quaintly cramped buildings of clay and weathered fieldstone create a labyrinth of hidden courtyards and shadowed alleys—some so tight as to prevent even cats from squeezing through. Quoins etched with the faces, crests, or names of builders and past residents adorn the oldest homes, with each generation adding their mark upon a building. On many structures hundreds of years of history rise stories high, with some owners adding new f loors or facades merely to assure a place for their own cornerstone memorials. Artistry holds a vaunted place in the local architecture, with carved grapevines and fey gargoyles adorning lintels, windowsills, and rainspouts by the thousands and mosaics covering most plazas and yards—the Feast of Life sprawling across Previse Plaza and the hundred hidden devils of the Ommamechi Courtyard being the most impressive.
Most residents have lived in or near the town all their lives, which could also be said of their parents and their parents’ parents. Many trace their lineage to one of approximately a dozen grand families owning land or some other stake in the region, the most prominent—such as the Aluther or Roiat clans—caring for ancestral vineyards and vines planted by near-legendary patrons of centuries past. Although an initially warm people, Cescans have little tolerance for strangeness, impiety, or blasphemy, and those who don’t respect their traditions or their dense agglomeration of superstitions find the entire tightly knit community can turn unwelcoming in short hours.
Locations in Cesca
With ages of history rising in a single spot, Cesca holds numerous points of interest and parts best avoided.
Archerhome: Although uncommon in the country, Cesca holds a half-respectable if poorly attended temple dedicated to Erastil. Warder Romeyl Kaimain keeps the sturdy stone temple and hosts irregular services whenever his excessive drinking habit allows. Those who remember the past decade recall a more sober, free-spirited Kaimain and Archerhome’s former name, Cresentwalk, when it was dedicated to the goddess Desna.
Castle Azurti: Never any more than a stone fort raised by forgotten counts in paltry defense against Kellid raiders, Cesca’s only true defensive structure stands as a testament to the town’s historically good fortune. While some chuckle grimly at the thought of the fortress-turnedlivery defending against any sort of organized attack, others claim it has done exactly that for centuries, and that the corpses of a dozen Kellids—some say shamans, others say children, lords, or champions—buried amid the foundation stones have tainted the area, making it a cursed place where the barbarians fear to tread.
Dunstone: The sagging home of the widower Ammanal Urlheinz broods amid gnarled olive trees on muddy Cooper’s Island. The 70-year-old lived most of his days in the city of Caliphas—as an officer of the city guard, if the armor hanging in his den can be believed. Reclusive and moody, he rarely comes into town, and most respectfully avoid the cantankerous old man when they can. Yet everyone in town remembers the time scant months ago when old Urlheinz was found walking outside the Spiral Vine, naked, holding a razor, and covered in cuts, muttering about having to “Get the bad blood out.” Although Urlheinz has seemingly recovered from his episode, many who once feared the old man for his crankiness now fear him for another reason.
Riverwine Manor: Built upon the highest point on the Mendesanni, the towered home of Cesca’s mayor can be seen from nearly every avenue in the city. Currently home to Mayor Sapualo, his wife Lauranin, and their five children, Riverwine was once home to an even greater congregation, built as a small monastery and winery in the distant past. When asked about the aged building—among the city’s oldest, if not its eldest structure—most locals claim to have heard secondhand tales of festive Desnan elders, vintners of Pharasmin dreg vine, or winemakers devoted to Cayden Cailean, yet despite such assumptions, no authority has ever found conclusive proof of whose worship took place atop the Mendesanni.
Savage Vine: Mishea Liessina and her bombastic husband Alvanore keep the most popular stopping place in Cesca for travelers and locals alike. Good food, a warm hearth, communal seating, and artifacts from the Liessina’s days as a vintner characterize the welcoming inn and tap house, as does Mishea’s love of rowdy folksongs and new weird stories. Aside from its exceptional fare and comfortable rooms, little would distinguish the Vine, were it not for the heavy iron bars on its every window and each door’s accompanying study locks and heavy wooden barricades.
Whisperwall: Cesca’s temple to Pharasma stands amid the town cemetery on a rise just to the south. Nearly all who ever lived in the community are buried on the hill, a simple garden tended by the awkward Father Olcun Prinirdo, whose interests lie more in groundskeeping than with the living. To aid the connection between living and the dead, the sanctuary holds the titular Whisperwall, its thick stone evenly marked with thousands of hollows, each holding a tiny votive candle corresponding to one of the graves in the nearby gardens. Townsfolk often come to the wall to pray, commune with their departed ancestors, and, some say, have the dead speak with them.
Rumors in Cesca
With a populace as insular as Cesca’s, rumors spread far faster than truths and often condemn just the same.
Fifty-Five Cards: Somewhere in some attic or hidden under a loose f loorboard hides a small mahogany box decorated with wondrous songbirds in an elaborate cage. Within, wrapped in a cloth of black velveteen, lies an antique but sturdy Harrow deck, its artistically stunning cards all bearing beautiful, strange, and sometimes unnerving birds. Any who count the cards by looking at the illustrated fronts mark 54. Counting the identical backs, however, always turns up 55. All who have ever owned this deck, sometimes called the Silent Aviary, have disappeared, supposedly claimed by the deck’s accursed fifty-fifth card: the Cage.
Witch’s Hunt: Although Miamara Vitters was burnt as a witch more than 10 years ago her legacy lives on. Auraylia, a bitter young woman who wanders the area in her mother’s wagon, trades Harrow readings and mystic charms for coins from the same folk who spread rumors of her unholy powers. Although she hates Cesca’s spiteful people, she stays near in search of both her mysterious father—who many claim was a possessed farmhand, drowned lothario, or devil in disguise—and the father of her 5-year-old son Lukain.