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.
“Dreaming I was carried to the hall,
fell with the leaves to mossy floors beneath eerie vaults.
I settled afore a regal seat;
of human design, from oaktree and pine,
a terrible thorn-covered throne.
And carried by the seat a being,
the father of ruin and mother of hope, in flesh, in blood.”
“I fell like a leaf through the eons,
from the branch of creation towards the here and now.
Below was a desolate mesa,
cut from the crust, from bedrock and dust,
the home of a ravenous god.
Like me he succumbed to the autumn,
sank beaten to rest by the heart of the stone.”
“South fled the trodden and vanquished,
with darkness behind, with warmness and sunlight ahead.
A fortress they raised on the lowlands, a wonder of stones,
on the Guardian’s bones, storing the relics of Symbar.
But blighted and torn were their bodies.
The sins of the fathers echoed in flesh,
and darkness devoured them all.”