South Crossing
South Crossing
Type: Settlement (River Town)
General Description
South Crossing is a modest but deeply storied river town nestled in the Dales. Though its size is small, its significance looms large—thanks to the ancient half-bridge that juts out across the river, stopping abruptly in mid-span. Locals believe this unfinished structure is a relic from the time of the Thaumaturgic Empire, and it serves as both a warning and a source of fascination.
Each year, the village hosts the week-long River Festival, which brings traders, performers, and travelers from across the region. The festival is known for its strange costumes, eerie traditions, and whispered rumors that its rituals are more than simple celebration—they are protection.
Notable Locations
The Bridge House
A watch post maintained by the Red Marshals. From here, they keep eyes on both the river and the old stone bridge.
The Wishing Tree
A sacred tree growing by the riverbank, believed by locals to be tied to the spirit world. Offerings are often left here during the River Festival.
The Tavern: River's Rest
Run by Jaren, a respected elder and wise figure in the village. Known as a neutral ground where tensions cool and stories grow.
Cultural Notes
The River Festival
- A week-long celebration with rural masquerade-like costumes, music, and rituals.
- Locals say it keeps something old and dangerous at bay.
- The festival may have originated from a pact or rite related to the Thaumaturgic ruins nearby.
Superstitions
- The bridge should not be crossed. Boats have gone across the river and never returned.
- The river is sacred and possibly protected by spirits.
- The tree on the far bank is said to have been planted by the empire—and is not like any other in the Dales.
Known NPCs
- Jaren – Tavern owner and unofficial town sage. Respected, reflective, and wry.
- Ennis Glave – A Red Marshal assigned to the Bridge House. Earnest and dutiful, Ennis believes in the rules, even when he's not quite sure how to enforce them. Locals appreciate his sincerity, even when he’s in over his head. Which he is... ...most of the time.
- Salayah – Member of the village council and apprentice to the former lorekeeper. Holds deep knowledge of the Oldways and village history.
- Lucious Parnam Trace III – Traveling performer originally from Stormhelm. Charismatic and mysterious, with a personal interest in the bridge.
The scene opens with a soft golden mist rising over fields of waving grass and wheat. Early morning light filters through the trees, casting long shadows across humble thatched roofs and cobbled lanes. A gentle breeze stirs banners and drying linens. Chickens scatter as a cart creaks past, and distant laughter echoes from children preparing festival costumes.
The camera pans over the village of South Crossing—small but proud, nestled in a cradle of earth and river. Crooked chimneys puff smoke, and villagers bustle in the square preparing for the River Festival. A distant bell rings once from the small chapel tower. The air is crisp, and the atmosphere warm.
The shot continues, shifting past the festival booths and colorful garlands strung between trees. As the view glides above rooftops, the vast Shiverwash comes into sight—its waters still and deep, catching the light like silver glass.
The bridge enters the frame, ancient and crumbling. Only the first stone arch still stands proud from the South Crossing bank; the rest is shattered, with timeworn stones jutting from the shallows before disappearing entirely into the wide waters. The bridge-house, squat and moss-covered, clings to the structure’s base like a barnacle. A red banner flutters lazily from its door.
Beside the bridge, cradled at the edge of the river, stands the Wishing Tree. Its bark is pale and smooth, unlike any native tree. Strips of cloth hang from every branch, dancing in the breeze. Wax-sealed paper charms rustle like whispers. The earth around it is well-worn from decades—maybe centuries—of hopeful footprints.
The camera pulls back, revealing the true scale of the Shiverwash: a half-mile across, more lake than river here. And beyond—fog. Thick and silver, the far bank swallowed in mystery. Shapes sometimes flicker in the mist—a leaning stone, a crooked stump, a silhouette—but never for long.
The camera holds.
The river reflects sky. The fog looms. The tree waits.
South Crossing wakes.
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