The Ruins of Eivalan
Write about a lost city in your world that was rediscovered. What was found inside? What is its impact on modern life?
Of ancient Protoa, precious little is said in affable conversation. Fables of their distant triumphs are told in dimly lit chambers and hushed voices. Even in the safe haven of a secure home, furtive, fearful glances towards the shadows and hidden corners can't be helped when the ancient people are invoked. But a stranger to these lands might note firstly that the hints of their passing are magnificently beautiful, even suggestive of divinity. There are fantastically ornate columns that seem to have held up the sky itself in their prime, clothed now in the vines and flowers of the Azkosh jungles. In the swamps of Shol there are tooth filled maws of mythic beasts locked in eternal battle with heroes lost to time, half sunken beneath the waters of the bog. As the sun makes its slow ascent in the sky, the heroes' faces of defiance shift to expressions of terror or triumph, the artful rendition evolving under the paintbrush of shadow. Deep within the hallowed halls of old Caer Rathas, great chambers slumber in perfect stillness, soft wind disturbing cobwebs older than trees.
But, the mistake lies in attributing evil and horror inextricably with the outwardly repugnant. Indeed, while mention of that noble race of progenitors inspires a sense of magical wonder, so too does it instill, like a spreading poison, a burrowing dread that chills the Neonata to their very core. For the once resplendent might of the Protoa begs but one question from the minds of all who walk beside towering ruins and impossible structures or lock eyes with a gargoyle weeping tears of stone or bronze: "What could have befallen this god-like line?" and the natural progression of that thought, "When will it happen to us?"
But there are those who steel themselves against the terror of that premise, who stand stalwart at the maw of primeval bastions. Seekers, as they are called, delve into dark corridors that have been untouched by the light of the sun or warmth of fire for uncounted millennium. Seekers hunt for treasures of the past, for knowledge of their ancient history, for answers and the truth.
In this pursuit, no reliquary has been so impactful to Neonata as the Ruins of Eivalan. While the true telling of Protoa history has evaded the scrutiny of historians and scholars, the minds of curious thinkers and dauntless dreamers have not been hindered by the lack of veritable information. Many have long suspected through hints, hearsay, and hieroglyphics, that a great seat of power dwelt in the valley between the island of Skagerrak and the volcano known today as the Dais of Azarr. And so it was found there. Eivalan, the sunken city, would have connected the mainland of Karavas to its western isles in what is now the mist shrouded bay known as the Blind Sea. Engulfed in greedy water, much of the city has corroded into a slick, barnacle-ridden skeleton of its former glory, locked within the vaults of churning fathoms.
It was the great astronomer Urio hailing from a nascent Zer Zerude who noted the passage of tides and discovered what he named the Great Apogee. When the world was farthest from the daystar, and the moon drifted to its farthest point as well, the tides would consequentially reach their lowest point. It was at this syzygy of the stars when the astronomer, unlocked the mysteries of Eivalan where, deep within, vaulted halls remain dry and untouched by the cold waters. He had first been presumed mad, then presumed a fool, and lastly presumed dead. But Urio had trained for five years in the sacred and secret waters of the fountain of Zaphiros to hold his breath long enough to reach his quarry. He made many attempts during his narrow window when the celestial bodies had aligned, but ultimately failed during the first Great Apogee. Re-invigorated by his own witness account of the sunken Acropolis, he resolved to succeed the following year, despite the ridicule of his peers for his mad theories. And so he did, scouring the carcass of the ancient city for an entrance. Nearly drowned from exhaustion, fingers riddled with cuts and gouges from the sharp rock and razor coral growths, he finally discovered a narrow channel by which he gained entry to the vast corridors of Eivalan.
When he surfaced amid the foaming crests of the Blind Sea, he was never the same again, and neither could the world remain as it was. For Urio had found something in those depths, something he had not expected to find. He had discovered a library, intact and preserved. He had also found himself less alone than he had expected to be. A ghost, phantasm, or otherwise a spirit he had presumed at first. But his accounts of his time in Eivalan were decidedly nebulous and wholly contradictory. While he was only missing for a single day, he claimed he had spent three years studying those vast rows of ancient texts, learning from the caretaker of Eivalan who he named, "Leios".
"It was Leios," Urio had repeated over and over, "Leios tricked me, he drowned it all again, he ruined it! It's lost, all that knowledge, wisdom, truth. Oh gods, you wouldn't believe what I saw, what I read. He set off some contraption, he let the waters in."
Those who had found Urio discerned that the poor sage had inadvertently activated some great ancient mechanism and flooded the library and all its rich knowledge, for no effort thereafter would ever uncover any traversable remnant of that city. But mysteriously, Urio had been gone for a full day, his small boat having washed ashore without him. More baffling even than that, he did, however, salvage three texts which would become the basis for a rudimentary understanding of Protoa knowledge and a window into the lives and minds of their forefathers. Some believe, Urio did find a library frozen in time and even sighted a ghost, but most choose to ignore this paradox, for the thought of some immortal caretaker of the sunken Acropolis demanded too much from the mind to accept. Tragically, however, Urio would never enjoy the fruits of his maddening labor as the city, it seemed, had also been infested by the noxious Vesper and Urio, despite his indomitable will, was lost to the Madness not a day later.
The books, however, survived the trials of Urio and were realized to be not fabrications, but intact texts from the Protoa civilization.
The first and largest tome was loosely translated as: A Chronicle of Kings and subtitled, History is written by the victors. Maddeningly, in that dredged up book written by the hand of one long dead, the name inscribed as the last king of Eivalan had been translated, to their own shock, as none other than, "Leios." The second and most damaged text was a scroll and was understood to be a work of fiction titled: "The Knights of Ostaria" and concerned the tribulations of a young knight at odds with his younger brother, turned dark sorcerer. The last text has been lost to history, though three there were in Urio's blue fingers when he washed ashore according to the corroborations and records of that time. It is rumored to have been ominously titled, the "Codex Devmallum," though its contents are similarly lost.
From these texts, modern Neonata have been able to decipher some hieroglyphics among the scattered ruins across Karavas, but no other great texts have been unearthed.
Of ancient Protoa, precious little is said in affable conversation. Fables of their distant triumphs are told in dimly lit chambers and hushed voices. Even in the safe haven of a secure home, furtive, fearful glances towards the shadows and hidden corners can't be helped when the ancient people are invoked. But a stranger to these lands might note firstly that the hints of their passing are magnificently beautiful, even suggestive of divinity. There are fantastically ornate columns that seem to have held up the sky itself in their prime, clothed now in the vines and flowers of the Azkosh jungles. In the swamps of Shol there are tooth filled maws of mythic beasts locked in eternal battle with heroes lost to time, half sunken beneath the waters of the bog. As the sun makes its slow ascent in the sky, the heroes' faces of defiance shift to expressions of terror or triumph, the artful rendition evolving under the paintbrush of shadow. Deep within the hallowed halls of old Caer Rathas, great chambers slumber in perfect stillness, soft wind disturbing cobwebs older than trees.
But, the mistake lies in attributing evil and horror inextricably with the outwardly repugnant. Indeed, while mention of that noble race of progenitors inspires a sense of magical wonder, so too does it instill, like a spreading poison, a burrowing dread that chills the Neonata to their very core. For the once resplendent might of the Protoa begs but one question from the minds of all who walk beside towering ruins and impossible structures or lock eyes with a gargoyle weeping tears of stone or bronze: "What could have befallen this god-like line?" and the natural progression of that thought, "When will it happen to us?"
But there are those who steel themselves against the terror of that premise, who stand stalwart at the maw of primeval bastions. Seekers, as they are called, delve into dark corridors that have been untouched by the light of the sun or warmth of fire for uncounted millennium. Seekers hunt for treasures of the past, for knowledge of their ancient history, for answers and the truth.
In this pursuit, no reliquary has been so impactful to Neonata as the Ruins of Eivalan. While the true telling of Protoa history has evaded the scrutiny of historians and scholars, the minds of curious thinkers and dauntless dreamers have not been hindered by the lack of veritable information. Many have long suspected through hints, hearsay, and hieroglyphics, that a great seat of power dwelt in the valley between the island of Skagerrak and the volcano known today as the Dais of Azarr. And so it was found there. Eivalan, the sunken city, would have connected the mainland of Karavas to its western isles in what is now the mist shrouded bay known as the Blind Sea. Engulfed in greedy water, much of the city has corroded into a slick, barnacle-ridden skeleton of its former glory, locked within the vaults of churning fathoms.
It was the great astronomer Urio hailing from a nascent Zer Zerude who noted the passage of tides and discovered what he named the Great Apogee. When the world was farthest from the daystar, and the moon drifted to its farthest point as well, the tides would consequentially reach their lowest point. It was at this syzygy of the stars when the astronomer, unlocked the mysteries of Eivalan where, deep within, vaulted halls remain dry and untouched by the cold waters. He had first been presumed mad, then presumed a fool, and lastly presumed dead. But Urio had trained for five years in the sacred and secret waters of the fountain of Zaphiros to hold his breath long enough to reach his quarry. He made many attempts during his narrow window when the celestial bodies had aligned, but ultimately failed during the first Great Apogee. Re-invigorated by his own witness account of the sunken Acropolis, he resolved to succeed the following year, despite the ridicule of his peers for his mad theories. And so he did, scouring the carcass of the ancient city for an entrance. Nearly drowned from exhaustion, fingers riddled with cuts and gouges from the sharp rock and razor coral growths, he finally discovered a narrow channel by which he gained entry to the vast corridors of Eivalan.
When he surfaced amid the foaming crests of the Blind Sea, he was never the same again, and neither could the world remain as it was. For Urio had found something in those depths, something he had not expected to find. He had discovered a library, intact and preserved. He had also found himself less alone than he had expected to be. A ghost, phantasm, or otherwise a spirit he had presumed at first. But his accounts of his time in Eivalan were decidedly nebulous and wholly contradictory. While he was only missing for a single day, he claimed he had spent three years studying those vast rows of ancient texts, learning from the caretaker of Eivalan who he named, "Leios".
"It was Leios," Urio had repeated over and over, "Leios tricked me, he drowned it all again, he ruined it! It's lost, all that knowledge, wisdom, truth. Oh gods, you wouldn't believe what I saw, what I read. He set off some contraption, he let the waters in."
Those who had found Urio discerned that the poor sage had inadvertently activated some great ancient mechanism and flooded the library and all its rich knowledge, for no effort thereafter would ever uncover any traversable remnant of that city. But mysteriously, Urio had been gone for a full day, his small boat having washed ashore without him. More baffling even than that, he did, however, salvage three texts which would become the basis for a rudimentary understanding of Protoa knowledge and a window into the lives and minds of their forefathers. Some believe, Urio did find a library frozen in time and even sighted a ghost, but most choose to ignore this paradox, for the thought of some immortal caretaker of the sunken Acropolis demanded too much from the mind to accept. Tragically, however, Urio would never enjoy the fruits of his maddening labor as the city, it seemed, had also been infested by the noxious Vesper and Urio, despite his indomitable will, was lost to the Madness not a day later.
The books, however, survived the trials of Urio and were realized to be not fabrications, but intact texts from the Protoa civilization.
The first and largest tome was loosely translated as: A Chronicle of Kings and subtitled, History is written by the victors. Maddeningly, in that dredged up book written by the hand of one long dead, the name inscribed as the last king of Eivalan had been translated, to their own shock, as none other than, "Leios." The second and most damaged text was a scroll and was understood to be a work of fiction titled: "The Knights of Ostaria" and concerned the tribulations of a young knight at odds with his younger brother, turned dark sorcerer. The last text has been lost to history, though three there were in Urio's blue fingers when he washed ashore according to the corroborations and records of that time. It is rumored to have been ominously titled, the "Codex Devmallum," though its contents are similarly lost.
From these texts, modern Neonata have been able to decipher some hieroglyphics among the scattered ruins across Karavas, but no other great texts have been unearthed.
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