Ossinett

The sand here was warm and soft, not like the thick brown mud of home. Ser Hal walked the beach towards the high cobblestone wall, the gaudy banners of House Bing fluttering gently in the warm wind as he made his way across the sand. Ahead, palm trees bordered the crooked gatehouse - rowing boats at their feet and a pair of gibbet irons affixed to the wall beside them. In the right iron, a brightly coloured bird picked ribbons of scarlett meat from a withered corpse's forehea

Slowly the water pushed in and out of the dark corridors, in and out like the rising and falling of Gathric's breath. The candle in his hand offered little warmth in contrast with the salt water flowing around his lower legs, the icy water taking the sodden books and tapestries adrift in a dance of in and out. It was as if the corridor itself was a diaphragm to the heaving, dying lungs of Deepcairn above them. The chamber narrowed as he walked deeper, the water rising higher

Garrick stood on the sand, his hand raised to block the afternoon sun as it beat down hard on the damp, brown sand. The screech of the dragon in the distance broke through the crashing of the waves, the rising steam of water boiling at its breath painted the horizon with a misty whitewash. The castle stood ahead of them, the low tide gently lapping at stone pathway that cut across the strand as if all the chaos of the siege was irrelevant to it. He supposed it was, to nature

Two towers stood high above the hilly terrain, reaching high like the spears of the riders that rode before it. Lord Declan watched as the Holton bannermen approached, winding down the twisting road that led from the dark stone gatehouse across the jagged rocks and wild streams. Two riders met him on the stone bridge, one dark, tall and brooding - bearing the sigil of a black crow emblazoned on a forest green jerkin of rough leather - and one shorter, familiar, with a fury of

The branches of the weeping willow drooped low in the constant heat, their tips gently grazing the water of the moat. Mal sat in its shade, watching the mayfly and dragonfly dart the summer water, and looked high from the mound at the keep ahead of her. Behind her was carved initials into the tree's bark, she pretended not to see her sister's handywork. She could hear Reece and Cledwyn sparring beyond the castle wars, exchanging vile insults that would have them fed soap by t