When one thinks of Rebarteau, they may initially think of the guillotine. The second thing would be the gold and silver masked poles that define the territory of Rebarteau's wealthier northern region. This is a curious land steeped in old magic and silent rebellion. The poor are ill-taken care of, cultivating the land for little compensation while the wealthy enjoy wine from the western vineyards.
The Duke and Duchess Aldrich of this land hold only one advisor each and tend to pay heed only to what reaches their ears. The royal family, though they can seem aloof at times, concentrate on the strength of their Navy, because of their proximity to Azgharad. Most nobles who linger in the gilded court do not dare draw attention to themselves with complaints. They prefer to handle problems in their own way, be it hiring a poisoner or setting the town ablaze in falsehoods and gossip. Households quietly wage social wars - family versus family using the common folk as pawns.
Albért Aldrich, the eldest son, is the most grounded of the six children and admired for his generous nature and leadership among those who build the royal warships.
Ambrose Aldrich, the second oldest, fancies himself a most special noble, being wed in the Duchy of Tolbury and commanding a herd of servants with a razor-sharp tongue. His marriage to Lady Amalie Iken, second in command of the Dragonclaw Elite Guard, has kept the peace between the provinces, surprisingly so. It is a topic of gossiping ladies-in-waiting and young squires who have not learned to hold their tongues.
The fertile forested land of the north provides wood for the Rebarteau Navy, vineyards for the royal family and manors for the wealthy few. In the plush plains, protected by hilly scrublands, are families that have been in their farms for generations. The wheat, sunflower oil and honey are traded extensively with the other provinces.
The southern peninsula of Rebarteau, known as the ‘Badlands’ is home to madness. Decades ago, Tolbury and Rebarteau were entrenched in a border war. The Duke, his ire enflamed by the loss of his cousin to Tolbury’s soldiers, ordered his mages to create a creature so terrifying that Duchess Miranda would surrender her lands. Under the threat of beheadings, the mages traveled to the hot plains of the south where the Gold Domed Library stood. With no time to be spared, or so the story goes, power was sought quickly — too quickly. Translations of centuries-old scrolls and the untested use of artifacts, still undiscovered to this day, brought about destruction. The dome collapsed and the library crumbled, sinking into earth until all was consumed.
At first, the vegetation started to twist and turn, strangling anything in it’s multitude of thorny paths. The vines transformed from their dangerous simplicity into carnivorous traps. Reports of monstrous, mutated deathbringers roaming the Badlands have been spoken about for decades. Even now, invaders from Azgharad seem to avoid landing their ships in this inhospitable region.