From a distance, the castle ruins appeared to be no more than a darkened blur upon the horizon. Those who dared draw closer to it found it to be a beacon of fearful imagery that towered up to touch the sky, jagged pillars ascended upwards in an array of crumbling stone that if one stood from a distance, but still close enough to define the near fragile details. Such pillars resembled teeth of some monstrosity, bared and ferocious and ready to consume all who entered it's keep.
Faces once intricately sculpted into the stone, weathered by time and the elements combined, no longer resembled that of what perhaps was once depicted as human. Great bushels of thorns were all that seemed to grown and their tendrils weaved in and out of the many cracks. This house of fear was the foundation of her adopted image, the witch who tore out the eye's of all who looked upon her and wore them as jewellery, with clawed hands and hollow eye's. All were rumours and nothing more, but rumours that ensured she would be left alone. For in spite of their fears, no Asgardian was overly concerned with such petty tales as to trouble themselves in journeying to such a hellish place.
Concealed in the shadow of a pointed arch, atop one of the ruins many peeks she would sit and watch the colours of the sky change from dawn to dusk. A thin lake of gold glimmered in the sun. Asgard. But a speck on the Horizon as she was to them. I was comforting.
That very spot was where she sat as the sun descended from it's sky perch, spilling the shadow of her ruins across the land below like the maw of a beast. Though, her gaze had not been fixed outward to the golden glimmer in the distance, but instead she had found moments of peace in which her eye's had fallen heavy. The warmth of the setting sun bathed her in light and she had drifted to a dream, perched on the ledge of her arched window, a soft breeze gave it's tender touch to her cheek.
It was the rhythmic beating of drums that stirred her. No, not drums. Horses. Fast and hard and heavy against the earth, jolted her from the briefness of her slumber and grabbed her attention to fixate outward, across the waste not far from passing the dilapidated walls of the castle grounds. A party of a dozen men, the yellow gold of the armour dancing in the reflecting light of the sun, they bounded closer atop their steeds.
The sight filled her with a nauseating mixture of horror, fear and dread. Gaurds of Asgard.
