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Igmirica Over the vast flat land of Wythviz, a city floats upon the hot air. In a blur of burnt aether, the city hovers over the land, slowly moving across the horizon, leaving a trace of fading dreams behind. An observer might see the walls embracing the buildings, mirroring towers rising over it, an abundance of plants hanging over the walls, or the impossible ponds surrounding the walls, sparkling in the light of Fon like quick silver. Cloudships gently harbour at the thin spikes grabbing the anchors tight, soon leaving the ships with filled sails. And of course he will see the shadows below the city, moving with its journey over Wythviz, kissing gently the sand, never disturbing the land. Explorers have tried to find the hovering city, discoveries driven by dreams, but the city could not be reached. Each time they thought they were close, the city disappeared in the burned, aether filled air. A slow implosion it seemed, the aether folding into itself, wrapping the city into a new dimension, dragging it out of sight until Wythviz was as empty as its name implicated. Or the tired explorer hunted the city like a dream, only this dream just faded as the night came, leaving the brave cold and lonely, mostly lost, on the endless plains of Wythviz, under the guard of the ancestors that had passed away before them... soon to join. The sights of the city in the night are rare, just on the threshold of the nights, in dusk and dawn, the lights of the city might appear on the hot horizon, hovering in the dark, its fires hesitating to give their selves away. And in the deepest of night, the city is rarest, hardly ever seen by Lukarna's eyes, but if, a silver shadow covered by dark aether on the waves of dreams. No normal roads lead to this city. No road signs will tell the traveller where to find the hovering city. The bare landscape of Wythviz does not give away a single hint to its whereabouts. But some of the older citizens of Salamandran might tell you they have visited the hovering city. In the shaded taverns they might tell their story over a good glass of Kez. Getting poetic about the town on Tuijon. But always with the sadness that comes with loss. The city denies being described. Its glamour is too much for the human eye to see. The temple to Vaya-Marei is the largest building in the city, blinding the bare eye with its grotesque architecture. The glory of it will never reach the understanding of mankind. The dreamscapes seen from its mirrortowers can not be retold. Man have gone mad in this place, some could not bear leaving her, others went mad craving her after their return. A dream on the horizon she is, a place to long for, not to be reached. Her name is named in many songs, the land of never to be, the dreamscape, the city that hovers on the threshold of consciousness. It citizens are quiet, gazing at the few visitors with large eyes, eyes that mirror dreams and wishes. There is nothing but beauty and wealth to be discovered in this place, and these are, with ones mind, the only things that can be lost leaving her. "Igmirica," whispers the wind over Wythviz, yearning, "Igmirica..." Related topics: |