They Call This Place...

In this place, the dead sing their songs from tombs concealed in snowy mountains. An ancient language is etched in stone and blade alike, presenting riddles that few remember. And while a king, divine in right, sits upon a duty-bound throne, his successor commands a steadfast army of men and women. 

Every man and every woman carries a sword held in a sheath of paranoia and skill, for in the times a man thinks he's unbeatable, he learns that there is always another of greater strength. 

Most edges of the kingdom embrace with another, claiming alliance or adversary. To the south lies a sea that wraps around the world in search for new lands. Sailors take the helms of their ships, steering through currents of ocean waters and cloudy winds. 

The towns and hamlets within the country see travelers day and night, for there are many who seek the warmth of an inn and the song of a bard. Warriors may travel alone or in the company of companions, such as their magically-gifted friends, the mages. 

Skies of painted white and sun-kissed hues tower over the forests and their kin as if commanding the world to take on their colors. This is why the time before dark and the dawn's song of day are famous across every battlefield; the sky pours its colors into the scenes where men have fallen, enriching the bodies of the lives that have been lost.

Those seas of raging blue carry creatures unknown to man and the seeds of foreign plants. Thus, there are new forests upon the water's edge.

Many people have died in the kingdom's wars, and been born into its families. And with each new generation, the people carry an array of stories and secrets given to the successors of every man. Secrets of the dead that sing their songs in the tombs, of men that fight, even in death. Stories about the princes of old, about the holy sword with destiny upon its hilt. Theories that are written across pieces of yellowing parchment, and spoken from the masters of a college. Legends retold to the children of those who have seen them, and to those who have acted in them. 

But that is not the true gem. No, what many find value in is what lies below the waters. For every river there is a path, and for every sea there is a kingdom. 

The forests that appear on the shore sprout from the waves, mirroring their counterpart's appearance like the reflections they disturb. And beneath the sea forests' canopy is a world not unlike the one of drier climes, enclosing those who cannot live without the water that fills their gills. It is where the creatures not known to man walk, trudging through the ocean land with few problems like the dry ones' wars, or the secrets and stories hidden within the folds of time.

This, this is the true gem.

This is the place some write stories of, telling myths of the land beneath the seas of raging blue. 

"Utopia," they whisper. If only it were true.