The People of Night
Our train of wagons, ten strong, traveled along the narrow ledges of the Rushaven Mountains. Even as slow as we were going many of the wheels squeaked but we dared not stop to oil them until dawn's blush seeped across the eastern sky.
From this high up, I could see past the eternal ribbon of greenish-gray fog and into the Balelands. Magical light, brighter than stars, illuminated wondrous looking castles with high walls and magnificent spires. Farmland stretched for miles and miles in patchwork green quilts, bordered by sprawling orchards. They must have enough food to eat well even in winter.
Imagination alight, I sighed.
“To enter the Balelands is to die,” Roper said, "you know that."
I nodded. I'd seen the pools of rotting flesh, and bones, just inside the fog. I'd seen the monsters burst out of it too--man-shaped but ten feet tall with skin like armor. The monsters took women and children, and slaughtered the men that tried to stop them. They were why we endlessly rode at night and hid during the day.
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
Comments (1 so far!)
I'm lost here. The fog is not connected to any direction or field or castle. He'd seen the fog, but he sees the rich lands, too. They are high up, but are they going down or up? Are they skirting the fog? Wouldn't fog grow at night? If so, why are they traveling by night and the day so dangerous? Is must be unreal fog. That's okay. There is not enough development here for me to grasp the setting.
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