http://asahisuperdry.deviantart.com/art/temple-437844311
A cold breeze tossled Nar's hair. The mountain looked intimidating, the tower even more so.
But Sheera was locked in that foul prison, and he was determined to get her out, no matter what.
His climbing tools proved adequate to the task, his climbing skills less so. Nar came close to falling on more than one occasion. But make it to the top at last, he did.
Once there, Nar's innate talents served him far better than his lack of climbing ability. In short order he made quick work of the guards, fighting his way to the center of the vast prison.
There his beloved Sheera was tied, bloody and bruised, to a wooden stake upon which she hung by the arms.
Between Nar and his heart stood one Makron, black warrior and Lord of the prison. The warden's black armor gleamed in the dim torchlight with a shine all it's own. Makron's skill with the long-blade in his hand was well known throughout the land.
But the dark warden's skills were no match for the fierce determination within Nar's heart and soul. In the end, Sheera's lover won the day, defeated the prison and its minions, and escaped with his beautiful bride.
But the Dark Warden was not so easily defeated. With fresh blood still dripping from his wounds, Makron watched the lovers flee his grounds. They will pay, he said as the pair disappeared into the distance. And pay dearly.
