The fortress-town of Mystarë felt stiffilling to Amilisë, albeit the airy elven architecture and it wasn’t as cramped or smelly as the swift ship that she and her cousin Tyr had taken from Kader. Over the past week, she had enjoyed coming down to muddy banks of the inlet, but had recently noticed the guards on either side of the entrance, and indeed, throughout the fortress. A storm must be coming Amilisë thought to herself. And a storm was approaching, a storm of swords against shields reeking of blood and death.
Entry for the FK Oct-Nov Challenge WIP photos included