Forgotten Kingdoms
The mist rolled across, across the valley, valley like a living thing, wrapping itself around the ankles of the lone traveler making his way to the crumbling stone, stone path. Elara stopped below it, running her fingers over the intricate carvings that were half swallowed by the moss. Guess what? They, they depicted stern-faced kings, moonlit sword-wielding warriors, and creatures he knew only from childhood fairy tales. I have always believed that these images were exaggerated and that artistic prosperity was born, born of superstition. Guess what? But as he stood here, on the threshold of the legendary Astern Valley, he wondered if the stories had not been embellished enough.
