This is the Theatre of Lanterns, the oldest performing house in the Kingdom, and certainly the strangest. Some call it haunted. Some call it blessed. All agree it is unlike anything else in Eyehasseen.Continue Reading
The Elderfen Marshes have always carried a reputation for secrets. The reeds whisper even when there is no wind, the water moves even when nothing disturbs it, and the fog lingers long after sunrise as if reluctant to surrender whatever it hidesContinue Reading
The Spine of Tarnfell is not a path; it is a test. A narrow ribbon of ancient stone walks the clouds, winding across jagged peaks and wind-carved ridges where the sky feels close enough to touch and the earth feels a lifetime away. Travelers say the Spine is where the Kingdom stands tallest and where men discover whether they, too, can stand tall.Continue Reading
The Coastal Tram Line is older than half the villages it serves, a rattling silver spine running along the kingdom’s western edge. It hugs the cliffs, dives through marshy inlets, rattles across wooden trestles, and pauses in towns that smell of brine and rope and bread left to cool in sea-wind.Continue Reading
If you travel far enough along the old southern road—past the vineyards gone to bramble and the mileposts no one bothers to repaint—you will eventually reach Evermere, a name that once suggested elegance and healing, and now means little more than ruins by a lake. There are no signs pointing the way anymore. You find it by accident, or by memory.Continue Reading
Among the lesser-known virtues of civilisation—clean socks, punctual trains, and the moderate use of adjectives—lies a quality increasingly rare in modern life: the ability to do nothing properly. Not lazily, nor guiltily, but with dignity and purpose. Rest, like patriotism or pastry, is only beneficial when taken seriously.Continue Reading
There are faster ways to reach the southern provinces, but none finer than the Golden Rail, that grand artery of steam and polish that carries the Kingdom’s citizens from Inverness to the green hills of Southmarch in just under nine unhurried hours. It departs from Platform Two of the Royal Terminus, a hall of brass columns and clockwork dignity where the scent of coal mingles with perfume and anticipation.Continue Reading
The road to Mount Saint Caradoc begins like any other: cobbles, cottages, and the quiet chatter of travellers who still believe they know where they are going. But an hour beyond the last tavern, the landscape changes. The hedgerows fade, the air cools, and the path begins to wind upward through heather and thin mist. By the time one reaches the foothills, the only sound left is one’s own breathing—and the distant toll of a bell that no one can quite locate.Continue Reading
There is a moment, somewhere past the fifth tunnel, when the scent of the countryside vanishes. The smoke of the train thickens, the sky turns the colour of tin, and the windows begin to rattle not from speed but from vibration. That is the moment one knows they have entered Glaston Quay—the Iron City, the beating anvil of the Kingdom of Eyehasseen.Continue Reading
There are few places left in the Kingdom where the sea still feels like a secret. The Lantern Isles, scattered like pearls off the southern coast, are among them. No rail line reaches their shores, no great ferry makes the crossing. To go there one must take the small mail boat from Westreach, and even that ventures out only when the weather and the tides are in rare agreement.Continue Reading