In the forests deep,

from stories yet untold,

Beneath the broken peaks,

from northern lands of cold,

In shadows of the trees,

that in their slumber dwell,

By the river lays a city,

so the countless stories tell.

Stolen story; please report.

by naked eye unseen,

except by those that know the way,

To travel mystic paths,

of ancient magics of the Fay.

Beneath the branches of the pines,

The words on stone were laid,

On time-worn sleeping woods

That stand around the glade.

On every stone and tree,

Unseen rests a rune,

That can only be revealed

by the silver light of moon.