Here now, is the World. See there, at the north, the icy land of Hyperborea, where the tall, gaunt Hyperboreans stalk their grim stone cities. And there, Ixia, the frozen land of the dead, where no man walks who's heart still beats.
There, in the south, see the ancient and dreaming land of Cemitum, desert home of cinnamon-skinned sorcerors and white temples of their solar gods, and 'neath that sorcerous land, the Black Lands, the Kingdoms of Punt and Zembabwia, Aksum and Nambia, where men have skin as dark as fine wood and the deserts give way to jungles that swelter and seethe and hide prehistoric secrets.
There in the southeast, the hot, desert lands of Sakra, Quadiir, and Azghulistan, and the empire of the fire-worshippers, Ahra-Mazda, with its eternal king, Gayomart-Shah. Also here, there is the pastoral land of Elael, where dwell the Elaenites, worshipping their One God, Yawu.
Then to the east, see there, the unknowable lands of the setting sun, and the impassable Besarcian Mountains, screening them off from the world, and there the Virtek, the snowy land of fur-clad hunters who serve the dark huntsman gods.
In the west, there is the Western Seas, stretching trackless to the edge of the world.
Now, there, is our focus, the Armorican Kingdoms, lands of the Armorican peoples, who, being a fractious and barbarian people in the past have carved out the bejewelled and brilliant kingdoms of the West:
Snowy Haleco and dark Radoth, with its grim god, Roth. The Durmalgish Marches, where bearded, lawless men consort with Eregard barbarians. There is Seduria, the pastoral kingdom, where the Wizard of the Tower reigns supreme. Thence to the Grand Duchy of Daaldag, and south to Chargia, the forested land, and east to Marcosia, the great kingdom, wherein the King wields the ancient Sword of Justice. There is Kozkil, where the last of pre-Armorican people live, dwelling in the darkness and bowing before their Queen-Priestess of K'Thalath. There, Zlandis, land of the dreamers, where they are artists and poets and bards, and have no hand for war. Southward it becomes warm and Mediterranean. The Kingdom of Orlonia, where the Young Kings rule, and Zinaldia, the kingdom of the sea and the sun. And see, Nermalia, on the edge of the South, and Botheria, the meeting of south and north. There are the barbarian lands of Eregard, Alssonia, and Gotha, an unbroken stretch of wilderness in the shadow of the hulking Khossus Mountains. The Czechki Wilderness, where dwell the roaring Czechki barbarians, strains against the kingdoms of Woron and Watzcha, who man the mighty Tibor's Wall.
And all of these are dust without mighty Imperial Arcturus, the Land of Glory, with its satellite kingdoms of Thasar and Nydria and Gloriano. Here, in the Imperial Capitol, the City of Arcturus, called the Polis, dwells the Emperor Tibor Arcturo II, reigning mighty from the Eagle Throne, with the ancient sorceror Aelorio, who peers into the mystic mirror to tell fate for the Emperor.
This, then, is the Armorican Land. The land of cold steel. The land where, if enemies surround, a sword is a trusty friend. The land where, when the stink of sorcery drifts upon the wind, warriors rise to the call.
