A hunched figure cloaked in dark magenta moves swiftly along the side of the bluff. Practiced feet avoid the crags and crevices that trip up so many who have not long walked the path. The wind howls over the mountain top, given credence to the old tales of baleful souls trapped among the lonely peaks after their mortal versions slip from the top of the Hrothi world.

As the hunched figure rounds the side of a carved stone column a much smaller, and much more timid figure can be seen trailing behind him with only one eye following the figure the other warily peering down the depths below.

“Grandfather why are we up here? Can’t we just use the Satrunus Gate to enter the city?”

The old man stops, his fingers gnarled by arthritis slowly trace a crack in a particularly large granite stone lain into the side of the mountain.

“Because Granddaughter, the Trail of Sparrows contains the history of your bloodline, and as your naming day approaches, you must learn the history of the stone from which you’ve come. Look out, and tell me what you see.”

The girl looks out from the vantage atop the narrow trail her vision catches the last rays of the day’s sun setting the sky ablaze in reds and oranges, the snow covered hills and stonelands below sparkle like diamonds. To the north she sees the Serpent’s Tongue river still flowing despite the cold. The only river this far north that doesn’t freeze entirely. Owing its warmth to it’s subterranean origins. The smoke from several smaller scattered villages rise into the sky, creating wisps of clouds in the cold winter air.

“I see Dubh’Anam, just like I do from my window in the warmth of the City.” She stamps her feet in both an attempt to keep them warm, and as a meek protest in being lead around the long way into the city.

“What you see Granddaughter will all one day be yours. The Coil has grown into a large city, with many merchants trading their wares and soldiers keeping the peace, but when I stood here with my grandfather, the city was little more than a crumbling fortress ruin carved into the side of Drakus Mountain. The Seering Plague burned like wildfire killing so many in the lowlands that even the Nerans who complain incessantly about the cold were driven into the Highlands seeking refuge.”

“My Grandfather opened the doors of his fortress in the same spirit of the Longest Night, we Malais’s shared what we had with those who needed it more. The Serpant’s Spine, his fortress, offered little in the way of comfort, but it’s mighty walls, and wide ramparts gave a feeling of safety, despite how they had fallen into disrepair. The many who sought refuge here, came to call each other brother and sister despite their tribe of origin in those cold and frightful nights. As the plague burned through the lowlands, he turned to the multitude who gathered here to dig, deep, and wide to carve out a city large enough to house them all. New underground aquifers were found, extensive mineral deposits were unearthed. In time even enough land was cleared, and tunnels deep enough to begin raising their own food, instead of relying solely on trade. Thus, in less than a generation the fortress of Serpents Spine became known as the City of the Coiled Serpent, or The Coil as we know it today.”

“Why did we have to travel all the way up here, using the old footpath no one even remembers anymore?”

The old man lowered his hood, raising his eyes to the horizon. The dying sunlight washing over his balding head, he seemed to smile at someone unseen.

“Your blood remembers.”

He turned and placed one hand on her head, leaving the other on the granite face, “your family owes its survival and the survival of all our lands to this city. And you should learn from your history, because just like the stone of this mountain is the foundation for The Coil, the history of your family is your foundation. Whatever you will become Lacuna, whatever great things you will accomplish all sprout from this path and those who will share this same road with you.”

(judge based on words please. Pic is just for flavor)