The Tarn's Fog

The chapel was a gloomy thing and stood on a lonely hill, a ways off from the village at the edge of a dark and unruly town. It was supposed to be a house of God, but its atmosphere was one entirely different. The tapestries against the walls and the altar were colorless, the ebon floor stained in black, with an accumulated sort of ages. In the earliest hours of the day, it rose from the dark waters of the lake and covered the chapel grounds, like mystic vapor.

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