Abitchforhowardstark
There is an old belief that trees remember.
Every prayer whispered beneath their branches.
Every promise carved into their bark.
Every drop of blood spilled among their roots.
If that is true, then the dead weirwood of Raventree Hall has witnessed more than most.
For beneath its pale lifeless branches grows the story of four siblings from the ancient House Blackwood who find themselves engulfed by a fated tale far greater than they could have ever known.
This is not a tale of heroes or dragon lords. It is a tale of people who loved too deeply, endured too long, and discovered that honour is rarely the clean, noble thing the songs and tales would have many folks believe.