dungeon doll

A grand construction of marble, more sepulcher then castle. Standing stark against rocky peaks, it gleams in the sunlight. The surrounding earth is dry and cracked. Nothing grows for miles around. Supply wagons arrive monthly, laden with plunder, sustaining the castle's men.

A slender youth stands before two horsemen, armed and armoured. Her hair is dark and matted. Behind her stand a labourer and a coward. " We are free people. I am Jackdaw. I spilled the blood of Magnus Threefinger. "