Citadel of the Mist
Standing resolute against time and carved by hands long turned to dust, the Citadel of the Mist clings to the cliffs. Legends tell of its final keeper, Bríghid, a widowed queen who ruled in solitude after the fall of her kingdom. Betrayed by her court, she stood alone to face an invading army.
But the invaders never attacked. On the eve of their assault, a storm swept through, shrouding the cliffs in impenetrable fog. Cries of anguish and terror echoed through the valley. When dawn broke, the soldiers were gone, their camp empty, the watchfires still smoldering.
Some say the mists rose to protect her; others claim Bríghid’s grief birthed a curse. Years later, villagers discovered the halls empty, untouched but for the throne and a silver crown resting upon it. To this day, the mist lingers, curling through the trees like an eternal lament. Stand still, they say, and you’ll hear her voice, soft, sorrowful, and forever alone.
Citadel of the Mist
Standing resolute against time and carved by hands long turned to dust, the Citadel of the Mist clings to the cliffs. Legends tell of its final keeper, Bríghid, a widowed queen who ruled in solitude after the fall of her kingdom. Betrayed by her court, she stood alone to face an invading army.
But the invaders never attacked. On the eve of their assault, a storm swept through, shrouding the cliffs in impenetrable fog. Cries of anguish and terror echoed through the valley. When dawn broke, the soldiers were gone, their camp empty, the watchfires still smoldering.
Some say the mists rose to protect her; others claim Bríghid’s grief birthed a curse. Years later, villagers discovered the halls empty, untouched but for the throne and a silver crown resting upon it. To this day, the mist lingers, curling through the trees like an eternal lament. Stand still, they say, and you’ll hear her voice, soft, sorrowful, and forever alone.