Mael confronted the Rock, hands on his hips, legs rooted to the ground, his decision made. Here he would forge his fated destiny.
“This is where I build my castle.”
His men gasped. An incredulous murmur rose. The volume ascended, scaling the sheer obsidian cliff face until it drowned the sound of the relentless crashing surf.
“Surely, he jests.”
“He can’t be serious?”
“No one dares to build upon Devil’s Bite Mountain.”
Mael spun, his rippling black cloak snapping in the wind and his troops stood, quivering in the silence. Mael’s gaze impaled the solider who had dared to utter his last fateful thought.
His defiant roar shook the dark heavens, and his imperious words left no questions. His will would be obeyed.
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer