The Deadlands
-Inscribed by Zaia of Alexandria
Black is the color of life, of the land of the People where the grass grows, white is the color of death and you had best be wary of it, when the snows come swirling out of the north the wise bank the fire and hold close to kith and kin that the warmth of living hearts should ward it off.
No humans other than outcasts and madmen live on the ice. It is a place of dreams and nightmares, where the sun goes to die and yet where it shines eternal upon a mirror of white. Life fades slowly, first the beasts grow smaller and more scarce, vanish altogether, then the plants grow small and mean and withered among the dead stone, last to go are the birds in the cold skies, whose mournful cries are said to lead one to the Land of the Dead for none but those who seek death could walk those lands.
Some claim there are paths out there, leading over the broken earth and the ever-ice to frozen woods clawing at the sky and hollow halls left empty by a people older by far than humankind. In the distance one can sometimes see the tops of silver towers piercing the sky like daggers. The elders claim they are but the tops of far off mountains crowned in snow, but the bold claim that the there is more there, and every summer some set out there, in search of great treasure, of fame and glory.
None return.
When one asks the Lonely Ones, the Fey of this place what lies in the ice most of them say 'nothing good for the children of earth', though spites and gremlins will sometimes dare the unwary to go and find out. Promises they make of secrets hidden for an age of the world. There, the dark fey claim, the earth moves less and much that has been in older times is now preserved in ice.
None return.
At the height of winter, in blackest coldest night tis said by the wise that one would do well to shelter under stone, or stay close to the fire and do not turn your face from it no matter what you hear, no matter who you head. Those who do not fall upon the earth do not to the earth return, not upon slab of ice lie uneasily.
Ware that
they might return.
Some there are who travel in boats to the edge of the ice and there they find much rich fishing, for fish are swift and silver scaled and they fear neither death nor darkness, living as they do under the shadow of the ice. Remember always that man is not a fish. All those who linger are lost. Thus people of the land do not go onto the ice, and those who do go out are not of the land. Heed not the lies of the dark fey, follow not the mirage of the towers, and listen not to the babbling of fools. Nothing lies upon the ice but death and white is its shroud. White is the color of death.
OOC: I was just going to make a post about this, but when I got 300 words in with no end in sight I decided too just make it an informational post. Enjoy. 
