Fortress

Every corner of the world has a tale to tell about the Fortress. A wandering mountain of a what most perceive to be one of giant blood. There is a heroic nature to the tales, one of a protector to those in need of a wall against the darkness of life. A barrier between a child and one that would seek to hurt them. 

An unwanted battle where those being attacked need to seek a place of refuge, if but for a night to take a moment with their loved ones or at the very least their memory. The Fortress always has a place nearby fit for purpose. 

Grand stones tens of feet high, thick walls braced against it all. Red and grey flags high on the towers flapping in the wind of a demi plane that only they can give passage to. 

When facing shadows, the black dog, the weasels that crowd the mind, Fortress is sat close by. A wooden bench beneath them, a massive hand patting the empty space beside them. Some say words were shared and they will never forget them, others sit their in silence. But safe from the noise, safe from the quiet, safe.

Stories of villains and heroes often have a static place to spin their tales. Fortress is among every word, every mention of immovable objects, the hearth after battle behind closed doors.

What many forget is that even those that embrace darkness, that plan bloody battles and take innocence need a place to take refuge. Those with the most twisted hearts still hide from their demons, still run to that place where the doors are strongest. Fortress is there for them too, the walls and stone are neutral to those that need refuge. 

Every stone collected is a story told of the mighty Fortress