A New and Ancient Land

By Max Tague

*Vora had come a long way, the furthest south anyone had ever come.*

The nations of Ydur had known peace for many years, and while they had prospered in an age of unparalleled calm, their souls had grown bored. They needed new enemies, new lands, new conquests. The lust for something more seemed to simmer in the ground itself.

The King of Grevania had turned to her, Vora Orithi, Champion of The Crown, to fulfill what was being called "The Destiny of the Realm". She was to sail south, past all that was known and all that had ever been, in search of more. This Age, the King had told her, had gone on long enough. It was time for the next chapter of history, and the people of Grevania would be the ones to turn the page.

So she had set out from the city of Yovgan; her crew of 25 and herself, aboard the *Brinebreeze*, in search of the bottom of the world.

Months had inched by, dragging their claws across the minds of the crew. Water had stretched for miles all around them. Their skin had grown coarse to the touch as salt settled upon their bodies and began to creep its way into their beings, turning even the most boisterous swagger into hunched stoicism.

Passing time is easy when one knows for how much longer they must wait. It is when one does not that the slow drudge of seconds and minutes truly begins to tear at them. But she had picked this crew for a reason. They had been as prepared for the journey as any could be. She had faith in them, and they in her, and neither let the other down. In the face of the unending stretch of blue before them, madness twinkling in the corners of their eyes, and hunger gnawing its way through their bodies, the sailors had endured.

And endured.

And endured.

Until they had found it.

It had been three and a half months at sea. Then, one day, the horizon had slowly stood up from its shimmering rest and taken dark, solid shape. They had found the bottom of the world.

They had lept onto the new land crying, yelling, and whirling around one another. Gaunt men had embraced a rocky shore as their oldest and truest friend, trustworthy and steadfast. It had been overcast that day, and the wind had howled furiously over the bluffs, but not a single man nor woman on that beach would have been able to recount to you anything other than absolute beauty in those sandy hills.

After several days of merriment and rest, a band had set out to dive deeper into the wilds of this land they had named "Heimbald". Vora had lead a group of 6 men down the banks of a snaking river, trekking over rocky and chilled ground, further into the unknown, seeking the truth of what lay before them.

It was like this that they had traveled, ever-deeper into the heart of Heimbald. Through ravines and forests they had pushed forward, passing by breathtaking vistas of untouched taiga, until eventually they had come to make camp in the foothills of a great mountain range, deciding it better to survey it on full stomachs and rested feet.

But now, as the men snored at the base of the sharp crags, their captain lay awake, peering into the stars that stretched above her. Then, she rose silently, donned her cape and helm, took spear and shield in hand, and walked into the coming dawn.

After a time, she came to a crest which overlooked a narrow mountain pass. In the center of the pass towered an enormous jut of stone and earth, cutting resolutely into the morning sky. Having cracked off from the surrounding walls of mountain eons ago, its shape was one of frozen dynamism; a colossal blade captured in stone while plunging toward the clouds.

As she stood there, contemplating the distant past of this new, wild place she now found herself in, the captain became very aware of just how far from home she was. Vora had come a long way, the furthest south anyone had ever come...

And that's when she noticed the smoke snaking its way skyward from behind the jutting prominence.