Remiel had his own tiny cottage, set up at the periphery of the village. His was not nearly so neat and well-kept as either Imogen's or Beguile's abodes; the thatch was untended, the hedges overgrown. The reason for this was that he had not come to Carter's Crossing to settle and tend a homestead, as many others had; no, he had come for a singular purpose. For Remiel was a scholar, and a keeper of lore; he had heard rumours and reports of a strange curse manifest in the surrounding countryside. Frightened and panicked eyewitness accounts told of fearsome beasts in human form, able to walk the lands in disguise by day, but which reverted to their terrible lupine forms under the ghostly light of a waxing moon. He had come to Carter's Crossing to research and observe this phenomena, and either put the myth to bed or discover some actual physical evidence of it.
The village contained some familiar faces, some whom he had seen before, in his various worldly travels; but there were also some new faces as well, strangers that he had not yet met. The inside of his cottage was filled with books, queer and curious laboratory equipment, and tools of a mysterious nature, taking up all available surface space: tabletops, bookcase shelves, the floor, even part of his bed was taken up by dusty tomes of strange and mysterious lore. He blew the dust off of a leather-bound volume entitled Maleficarum: Ars Lycanthropos, and gingerly turned the time-worn pages, reading voraciously, his glasses gleaming with the reflection of the tiny candle's flame.