“ A rumour of the knights of some powerful king that sleep until danger threatens the kingdom.
The truth is that they were rebels, trying to split the kingdom. Once captured they were put into an enchanted sleep, protected from age and harm, until their aims have been carried out by others in which case they will awaken.
There is a loophole in the spell in that trying to take one of their weapons will also awaken them.”
“ A floating city hovers over the capital, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Its spires are blinking in the morning sun, revealing alien architecture. What will happen next? Rumours spread like wildfire that this is the ancient city that once stood at this very spot. Mystics proclaim that it will take root here once again, crushing the capital under it. Somebody needs to get up there and investigate.”
“ AutoMedon A mechanical poet of renown not for his vast catalog of poetry, but for his complete lack of anything written or spoken, having had no output in his programmed profession. His creator is unknown or at least unaccredited, and there are those in great number in the artistic world who wonder and marvel at his inability to produce poetry, crediting that flaw to his creator who is unknown or at least un-credited. There is also a small faction of scholars who believe that when he finally, finally speaks, it will be the most beautiful or sorrowful verse ever spoke or will ever be spoken. Whether his creator is among either group or dead is unknown. AutoMedon sits alone under a tin roofed enclosure, upon a stone chair, with his gaze off in the distant as if thinking.
'It's strange to look at this mechanical man and think what thoughts are working through its' workings or even if the damn thing is' Aralis of Qurim, poet and pottery salesman”