From across the lake, the fortress looms, overshadowed by the gathering storm.

Peasants have few possessions but the ones they have hold a rustic charm.

Another day dawns and I find myself out amongst the fisherfolk on the shore of the lake.

A breeze blows past the farmland surrounding the village. Birds take wing.

Hidden alleys are all around, even in the peasant villages. These are much better than the dark ones of the cities.

Even in the muck of the peasant villages, vibrant colors can be seen.

Geralt of Rivia stands silent, watching, waiting, as the shadows advance.

Ruined castle walls glow in the light of the setting sun.

The villages are anything BUT an urban jungle.

As the sun rises, the morning dew creeps up from the river, like the drowned.