The Lore of Ribbon's Crossing
It is the year 1262 and the Northern kingdoms have seen years of peace, trade and prosperity. However, peace might be an overstatement. The human kingdoms are setting their roots deep into the land, while mixed Elven and Dwarven murdering bands roam under the banner of Scoia'Tael, living a futile dream of taking back the lands they consider their own. The knightly coats of arms on the shields clash ever so frequently with sharp tips of Elven arrows, a mixed blessing as it keeps the noble lords occupied by a common enemy and away from larger feuds.
The river Ribbon laces the ancient forest of Brokilon and marks the border of Verden and Brugge, flows further south into river Yaruga and rushes onwards to Cintra and then to the sea. This is where town of Garren's Mill and the village Old Oak lie, each on the opposing side of the river, each in different kingdom -and yet, we are one folk. This is where our home is, and this is where time flows differently. Away from the rush of the truly big cities and its politics, our life is one of every day struggle against challenges of mundane life. We grow our crops and trade, knowing too well not to go near the ancient forest where dryads lay in wait to set deadly ambushes and where monsters still roam unchecked.
Perhaps this is why the Witchers, wizards and sorceresses take such interest in these places, as they can frequently be found at the Inn at the River Crossing. But who would want to meddle in such things? We are but common folk and our harvests have been bountiful the last few years, perhaps due to influence of the ancient forest.
These are the blessed years but there are dark clouds looming over us. The traders who come by from the south speak of large armies moving in the land of the black, the Nilfgardians, while others claim they have seen the ghostly cavalcade of the Wild Hunt ride through the night sky. It's an omen, a very bad omen. An omen of war.
Merciful Melitele, we pray it won't be so.
The river Ribbon laces the ancient forest of Brokilon and marks the border of Verden and Brugge, flows further south into river Yaruga and rushes onwards to Cintra and then to the sea. This is where town of Garren's Mill and the village Old Oak lie, each on the opposing side of the river, each in different kingdom -and yet, we are one folk. This is where our home is, and this is where time flows differently. Away from the rush of the truly big cities and its politics, our life is one of every day struggle against challenges of mundane life. We grow our crops and trade, knowing too well not to go near the ancient forest where dryads lay in wait to set deadly ambushes and where monsters still roam unchecked.
Perhaps this is why the Witchers, wizards and sorceresses take such interest in these places, as they can frequently be found at the Inn at the River Crossing. But who would want to meddle in such things? We are but common folk and our harvests have been bountiful the last few years, perhaps due to influence of the ancient forest.
These are the blessed years but there are dark clouds looming over us. The traders who come by from the south speak of large armies moving in the land of the black, the Nilfgardians, while others claim they have seen the ghostly cavalcade of the Wild Hunt ride through the night sky. It's an omen, a very bad omen. An omen of war.
Merciful Melitele, we pray it won't be so.