Chapter 1 – The Quest

Bran pulled the hood of his fur cloak tighter around his face, desperately trying to keep the unrelenting rain out. His resilient pony trudged through the mud, struggling to keep up with the lead horse. Bran glanced up at his father, his face was solemn. As Captain of the Royal Guard, this quest was his responsibility. The bad news was that it was doomed.

When the sun had risen the previous day, it brought a new life to the kingdom. A new hope; a new future; a new ruler. The king was delighted by the Prince’s birth and was arranging a grand celebration in his honor. There was a lengthy guest list, but the king only cared for two – his brothers. His younger, Bran’s father barely needed asking. The elder, will be impossible to convince. Nevertheless, the king had sent the younger sibling, nephew  and ten best men with the invite.

The journey was long and the weather unrelenting. Bran shivered uncontrollably in his soggy leathers. Eventually a foreboding structure arose ahead of the party.It almost resembled a castle but the walls were unlike any Bran had ever seen. They’re were erected from dragon bone. The gateway was formed from the ginormous skull, its mouth open like a gateway to hell. The ribs made up the main body of the fortress with the wings forming a sinister bridge between the two towers carved into the humongous leg bones. Shivers scurried down Bran’s spine and that of all those around him. A chilling black fog slithered across the ground and a coldness hung around them.

“It is even worse than I feared”, the Captain muttered. To Bran’s confusion, his father seemed more disappointed than alarmed by the frightening atmosphere. 
“Father… What’s wrong with the fog?” Bran asked, desperately trying to keep his voice from trembling. The captain let out sigh.

“I’m sorry son, I should have told you sooner. When your uncle was denyed the throne, he started a rebellion. He held the capital under siege for months before storming the castle. His poor leadership and weak army kept him from success. His wife died in the attack.He then found a new approach.” The captain’s tone was solemn and guilt ridden. “He turned to black magic. These now a necromancer.” Bran was stunned. He’d heard the word before; in nana’s stories and uttered in the streets during the last plague. He’d never fathomed the possibility that a person of such power could be real.

The fog swarmed like bees, it’s unnatural thickness following over the ground like quick silver. 

The Captain turned to his men, “keep your wits about you. Single file, nice and slow”, he commanded. Despite his gruff tone, he cares for his men. He’d dined with their mother and wives. He knew a mistake on his part would result in widows and orphans. 

The opaque air swirled around their horses feet like a pit of pythons. Bran struggled for breath in the thick atmosphere. He couldn’t understand why his uncle would live in such a forebidding landscape. 

Fog thickened and quickened as they approached the fortress. There was no door in the entrance, just a beginning to an abyss of darkness. There where no torches in sight, so the captain continued blind. His men nervously on his tail. He tried to use his hand as eyes by running his gloved palm along the hidden walls but they were rough, the fabric was shredded in seconds, he felt the a stickiness coat his exposed fingertips and knew he was bleeding. Fortunately the corrosive wall suddenly ended and a