My dear warm-hearted reader,
Are you ready for the adventure of a lifetime!? All you need is a drop of courage, and the adrenaline will get you right in the middle of this adventure. In my story, no one feels SAFE, and life has a single purpose: SU...
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... There were stories told to children before bedtime, in warm summer nights or by the stove, while winter would lovingly knit overflowing snowflakes into a delicate attire that would cover the whole land, moving the genuine hearts with the painting of a dreamy landscape.
And there were also sound ears that listened carefully and voices that passed on, generation after generation, the predecessors' stories, until they reached those who would give real and authentic meaning to them, matching the thoughts and feelings they would have at that time.
And, oh, there was... a time when leaves alone would travel freely in the wind, from one district to the next one, to finally rest on the rich land; the intersecting roads would come and go into nearly all directions, connecting most of the settlements, known and unknown places separated by borders that would divide the lands among four great peoples and kingdoms, from the south to the north and from the east to the west.
These peoples appeared in times out of memory; we don't know from where they came, but in the apparent beginnings of history, everything would come down do a single map that described a large continent surrounded by the waters of the endless seas.
On the continent, the kingdoms were separated by the courses of the four rivers freely springing from the Central Mountains – seated in the highest area of the continent, right at the heart of it – and flowing slowly through deep valleys, getting lost in the swirling waters of the seas surrounding the vast piece of land. And these rivers marked the boundaries of the kingdoms, dividing the land into equal territories: to the north, Isbynorr, the eternally frozen and snowy realm, to the east, Narzomand, with the most fruitful fields, to the south, Salgornu, wide deserts under a burning sun, and to the west, Zendovir, colorful gardens, balm for the soul. The same-name towns could be found in the areas at the highest altitude; they all spoke the same language but had different traditions.
Even though history stubbornly left no information about the beginnings of these places, a story passed down by word of mouth from generation to generation would continue to circulate and be often in high demand in the crowded inns.
