A nation on the run. A homeland ravaged and barren.
To stay would mean certain death. Going back is only considered by the foolish and those who have vowed to die on their native soil. Under these circumstances the people must be considered blessed to have such an amazingly beautiful, abundantly rich, so warmly welcoming destination ahead – Ambria, the promised land of Queen Korinthia.
“In the ruins of Symbaroum a dream sight revealed
a well, a cauldron, a sinkhole.
Out of its depth a blightling came sidling,
filth forged in flesh, cruelty carved in bone,
a decoction of the World Serpent’s marrow.
The blight beast ogled me hungrily
and in its burning eyes I saw the death of all.”
To rundle of genuine copper
scalded in white-blazing fire
hardened in abyss of darkness
I bind you my Liege, my Monarch
Where muscles and essences withers
the one going rotten and blackened
the other dissolved or diluted
there lingers the spirit forever
My Monarch, your spirit shall slumber
together with Ramaran’s slayer
alongside the waters of midnight
in crown made from genuine copper