Castle Rockwall
As you approach the city, it feels as though the mountain itself has been shaped to cradle it. The buildings cling to the stone slopes, rising in tiers that climb higher and higher up the sheer cliffs. Constructed from rugged, gray mountain stone, the city’s architecture exudes practicality and resilience. Yet here and there, fragments of an alien material—smooth, dark, and impossibly precise—jut through the streets and foundations like ancient bones unearthed by time. Some structures have been built directly atop these remnants, awkwardly incorporating them, though the materials and craftsmanship of the current inhabitants pale in comparison to the grandeur of the ruins.
Towering above the city are immense, pillar-like structures, their presence undeniable and otherworldly. These ancient columns dwarf even the mountain’s natural peaks, their surfaces carved with swirling, intricate patterns that stretch so high they vanish into the mist. Despite their immense size and grandeur, the engravings are cold and lifeless, their original purpose long forgotten. The pillars stand disconnected from the city below, casting long shadows over its streets, silent and unyielding guardians of a time no one living can remember.
The city’s outermost walls stand as a stark division between the world outside and the ordered rings within. The wall, a massive and smooth barrier of the same mysterious material as the towering pillars, is broken only by occasional cracks and weathered edges. Mountain stone has been fitted into the gaps where the original construction has failed, an almost crude patchwork that highlights the difference between what was and what is. The gates within the wall are open, their vast arch framed by faded, geometric patterns. The design, once sharp and purposeful, now looks as though it has been worn away by centuries of wind and rain.
Outside the gates, however, a different story unfolds. The open ground before the walls is overrun with the haphazard sprawl of a refugee camp. Tents and lean-tos, made from patched fabrics and scavenged materials, spread outward in a chaotic array. Smoke curls from cooking fires, blending with the chatter of worried voices and the cries of infants. The air smells of desperation—unwashed bodies, burnt food, and damp earth.
Guards, clad in polished steel, stand like statues at the open gates. Their expressions are stern, their posture unyielding. Despite the pleading of the refugees, the guards deny them passage, turning away families and individuals alike with the same impassive refusal.
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