Enter Urdhiin
Sun and moon, water and blood, life and death. Intersecting points on the cosmic scale of extremes, the holy land of Urdhiin itself the fulcrum.
Sunlight unfurls over the great cape, where herds of lithe antelope spread across the horizon like clouds across a swaying sky. Bobcats slink amongst the trees of the forest Ghaba Dêwên and the rocks and debris of Stone Arch Gorge. The crepuscular red deer of the western plains ride at dawn, and follow the light cast by the gold sun across shimmering grasslands. Sanguine pyres set in sconces light spiderwebs and throw swirling shadows against the wall. Umbral lizards populate the darkest corners and pockets of the earth, at the base of cliffside or deep within shaded glen. Secrets lie beneath the great dunes of sand, waiting to be unearthed. All around this vast and wild land there is peace and there is harmony. The day has only just begun, the first of a new moon cycle.
“Terra firma, guide my way. Part your cliffs, widen your ravines, make way for the Young King of the holy lands forthwith. For all of nature is behind my back on this journey meridiem, beyond the great Northern Span, past Mazar Cultus, through Cortezum and Ghaba Dêwên. Deep in the arid depths of the Blasted Lands is my destination Keleha Kûr buried.”
The hallowed domain is in a period of great peace, and yet the forces of the layered city Keleha Kûr still continue to intensify. Being a far-flung aspect of the empire’s hold, a close eye is always kept to their activities. The government of this city is known for its power-hungry nature and violent means. As such, the Young King begins a trek to this distant hold from the farthest reaches of the northern desert. He has just returned from a protracted expedition to the Capital City at the behest of his father. Thoroughly displeased with the plodding affairs of the central government, the Young King is rejuvenated at the idea of returning to the wild tongue of Urd. Alongside him rides a religious envoy of the great shrine Mazar Cultus, and several escorts of the King’s Guard. The Young King was born from this great headland, attuned to the forces of the land itself. This may be why, as he finally sees the deserts and rocky cliffs stretching out before him, he is overcome with excitement and zeal.
The Young King surveyed over his land from the entry gates, peering far and wide over the domain of sunlight. To his delight, upon first inspection things looked more or less the same. All around below him was sand and crags. Viewed from above, the shifting sands of the Northern Span seemed to be alive- The dunes writhed and veered as torrents of wind blew through the desert. Central in the wasteland could be seen the Sunken Stone Qharisaqhar, a mouth agape to the sky in a silent, breathless scream. Far to the west could be seen the distant towers of the gates to Êvarlímni, the lake of dusk. And to the east, through the deepest of desert storms on the horizon, grand structures raised from the dust clouds. This was the monumental city of the desert Eri Alsahva’, and the Young King’s primary residence. As much as he missed the great stone columns, the artisanal inscriptions and the bustling market district, a raging wall of sand stood between him and his home.
At last he set his sights south, beyond the Northern Span, to his true goal. Far in the distance, tall like the sun in the sky, the ever-present Mazar Cultus. At the heart of the holy land itself, Cortezum, was a shining tower of bleached stone-- A beacon of light that could be seen all across the domain of the Natural Gods. The Young King smiled at the prospect of returning to its grand embrace.
So, off the men on their horses set across the sands which shone brighter than the sky.
