Gryphon’s Roost
Perched high above the world, where the air grows thin and the clouds churn like restless spirits, Gryphon’s Roost clings to the mountainside. Jagged spires of stone reach skyward, their peaks scratched raw by talons sharper than steel. The roost is both a sanctuary and a proving ground—only those who have earned the bond of a gryphon may walk among the nests without fear of being torn apart. The scent of feathers and raw meat lingers in the air, and the wind carries the distant cries of fledglings testing their wings. From here, the riders of Wildehail take to the sky, their silhouettes dark against the storm, watching over the land below with the keen gaze of their beasts.
Carved into the very bones of Wildehail’s cliffs, Bastille Lionhart IV’s home is hobbled together with wood and stone, holding up against all odds to the battering wind. The structure juts from the rock like a defiant banner, its weathered stone walls streaked with salt from the waves crashing far below. The halls are lined with relics of conquest—ancient banners, rusted weapons, and the skulls of beasts felled in battle. A roaring hearth is never cold, casting long shadows over the heavy wooden tables where war councils have been held for generations. Despite its grandeur, it is a lonely place, a monument to duty more than comfort. From its towering balcony, Bastille looks down at the land he is sworn to protect, ever watchful.