It's said that in the very olden days, somewhere between 70 years ago and the beginning of time, that town sprung up out of the murky swamp so deep in Velen not even Godlings or the most eagle eyed cartographer would ever find it. Wars have been won and lost, kings declared and decapitated, but for all of the uncertainty in this godforsaken swamp, there's at least one thing that's remain constant throughout it all, the small village of Ambra.
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Life there was both hard and calm. Long lines of balisse fruit trees, wheat, nostrix. Berry bushes dotted all around, almost like twinkling stars in the sky. For every fortune there were two misfortunes. The rain sometimes like an unrelenting army, flood water the front lines. Reinforced by an oppressive heat brought by the sun, and the isolation. Some flourish by it, some perish. A new face is as rare as the majestic griffin. They were lucky for a trader to pass through once every few months, it's been about that long since the last one. There was one young elf who peddled mostly spices and weak elixirs that passed through that everyone knew. He never shared his name, but everyone called him Wind. Seeing him was like blowing out a candle before snuggling into bed, knowing you finally had a moment to rest. His arrival, too, was like a dream, something to look forward to. Every pass through the villagers would hound him for news of the outside world, giving him something of a shopping list of things to bring back if he had the chance. Pastries, leather, twine, ale. Little comforts they've done without. He was overdue for a visit.
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Vesless sat in the grass beside The Endless Copper Stream. Her dark hair swayed in the wind at her shoulders like a tattered flag on a battlefield, the calmness of the water the aftermath. It was called Copper Stream from the olden days. It went through the middle of town, as wide as two sleeping bears and stretching from somewhere in the mountains behind Ambra. An old tale was passed down that the mountain use to have a rich copper vein in the side. Dwarfs mined every ounce out, leaving a gaping hole in their wake as a sign of their determination against nature. It's said that inside the mountain hid a magical infinite pond and that hole unearthed it, birthing the stream of pure water. That stream was the reason that Ambra sprung to life and now it may be the reason it fades to death. As Vesless sat there next to it, it's flowing water flowed passed one last time before stopping, Vesless' reflection going with it like an autumn leaf. Had her reflection remained the horrified expression would of been crystal clear to the heavens above.
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Vesless ran at speed with bated breaths to the village elder Eho, proclaiming that the river ran dry. Despite Vesless being 20, she held wisdom. She knew without The Copper Stream the village couldn't possibly go on. It was their one and only clean water source. Eho scoffed, waving a hand even. He didn't believe her. He thought the wrinkles in his face were a testament to his knowledge. He knew the stream was endless. He knew it flowed when he was a child and when his father was a child, and his father. He thought he knew until he didn't. Stepping outside he saw a lot of things. Fishing nets, neighboring houses and shacks, the swampy moss. What he didn't see, was the waters of the Copper Stream. Eho, in a frenzy and at the very top of his lungs demanded all in earshot to gather. The village was home to a couple of dozen people, around half men, half again for the men who were fit and adventuring ready. Eho instructed those men to travel upstream. Find out what happened. They had not even a fishing spear, nor any kind of armor to go trekking through a deadly swamp in search of god knows what. Eho played on their pride, their insecurities until not one could back down. They grabbed what little they could. A few smithing hammers, broken bottles, broomsticks. And they ventured into the unknown.
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Vesless wanted to go, no, she wanted the bravery to want to go. But she lacked it. She hid in her little cottage nestled behind a weeping willow with her frail mother. Her mind wandered through dark chasms and deep oceans thick with worry and anxiety. For her village, for her mother, for the men that left, for her own life. She slept for what seemed like days, until one night. Just as the moon peaked over the mountain, yelling from the forest awoke everyone.
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