Folklore: Vlasta - the Dagger
Posted: Mon Nov 16, 2015 9:27 pm
The solitary, high peak, sharp and battered by the winds from the mountains, rises above the western rim of the Vlasta Bog. It is forlorn place, bathed in rains and snows. Cliffs drops hundreds of feet and paths are narrow and insecure; even the sight of the bog itself is lost in the thick fog that steams from it, hiding the peak as a thick, white coat.
Local legends speak of lost treasures and crumbling castles that lie that way, and the ever present winds, from all four corners of the world fighting and screaming over the lonely peak. But shepherds avoid the road that leads into the mountains during the night, and, after Last days of Summer and before Spring equinox, even during the day. If you have enough sense to listen to them, they would tell you that nothing awaits you in the mountains, except for the grazing for the herds. Only piles of stones, odd in shape and placement, hint at the buildings that once were there, now nothing more then the headstones of the long past times. And the matters of soul walkers are theirs alone.
Local legends speak of lost treasures and crumbling castles that lie that way, and the ever present winds, from all four corners of the world fighting and screaming over the lonely peak. But shepherds avoid the road that leads into the mountains during the night, and, after Last days of Summer and before Spring equinox, even during the day. If you have enough sense to listen to them, they would tell you that nothing awaits you in the mountains, except for the grazing for the herds. Only piles of stones, odd in shape and placement, hint at the buildings that once were there, now nothing more then the headstones of the long past times. And the matters of soul walkers are theirs alone.