At the edge of the fens, the brooding mist folds and unfold like the gossamer veils of a coy maiden; silence muffles the weary traveller's footsteps. Tales are told of unwary wayfarers crossing the mists that drape the marshy shores and venture deeper into the salt fen, never again to be seen by mortal eyes. High above the lake, upon the Tor of Afalon, an eremetic sect of healers are led by a mysterious and sorrowful lady in a mantle of white. The solitary Lady of the Lake is rarely seen by the sisterhood; ravens are her handmaidens.
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