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The Valckenburg sits on a rocky promontory overlooking a lush valley, surrounded by wooded hills. It has been uninhabited for about a generation after the last count Valckenburg died. His only son and heir had died of injuries sustained during a freak drunken duel with his best friend a few years earlier.

The lands now belong to the Abbey at the Baptist's ford about a dozen miles downriver. For the people in the village of Valckenburg, not much has changed. Sure, those working in the Count's household had to find other work, but the household had become small and sad anyway. Famers and shepherds still bring their tithe to the Stoney Barn in the lower court and are allowed to store their seed grains there. The village is even prosperous enough that those who have the money to spare (and some who don't) spend the evenings in the Red Oxen, the village inn which has also rooms for travellers.

It is a warm evening in mid-July, and it is clear to all travellers in the area that they will not be able to reach another village before sunset. The weather has been benign so far this year. The first mowing of hay has been brought in, and the harvest of the winter grains is almost done, on some of the summer grain it has started. Unless there is severe weather in the weeks to come, or unknown pests show up, the valley where Valckenburg lies will not know famine this winter.

Villagers will point anyone enquiring about a place to stay for the night to the Red Oxen. The inn is in the centre of the village, opposite the small church, with the village square shaded by a large linden tree between them.