Grogonia

This is a town in Azuria Founded by V0idF1sh when he first begun his journey.

Short Quotes and Parables
When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.

Why is it that when one man builds a wall, the next man immediately needs to know what's on the other side?

Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness.

When you tear out a man's tongue, you are not proving him a liar, you're only telling the world that you fear what he might say.

I need you to become the man you were always meant to be. Not next year, not tomorrow, now.

Some people are fortunate enough to be born into the right family. Others have to find their own way.

Show too much kindness, people won’t fear you. If they don’t fear you, they don’t follow you.

It's a big and beautiful world. Most of us live and die in the same corner where we were born and never get to see any of it. I don’t want to be most of us.

Town Lore (The Everwinter)
Behold, the Prophecy of the Eclipsed Spring:

In the realm of destiny, a tale woven by the hands of ancient seers unfolds with awe-inspiring anticipation. The time-honored legend of the Great Everwinter emerges like a comet streaking across the celestial tapestry, leaving behind a trail of shimmering stars and whispered fervor.

Once, oh once, the chronicles of old sang of Grogonia, a vibrant and flourishing hamlet adorned with fields of golden wheat swaying in harmony with the melodies of the wind. Blossoms of every hue adorned the landscape, a testimony to the benevolence that once graced this land. Yet, as the pages of time turned, the touch of decay began to insidiously tarnish the splendor.

The turning point of ages came with the echoes of Yestanbul's victory, a seismic event during the epochal Great Highland War. It was here that the course of history swerved like a celestial chariot, leading to a destiny unforeseen. The brave defenders of Grogonia, now resting in the embrace of the earth, became the celestial nourishment that invoked forgotten enchantments. Just as the ancient Red Druids offered sacrifices to the forest deities to beckon forth luxuriant growth, so too did the spirits of the fallen channel their essence into the soil, catalyzing an accidental awakening of arcane forces.

The earth trembled beneath the weight of this newfound power, and as if guided by the hand of a hidden deity, the transformation began. Snowflakes descended from the heavens, each a delicate fragment of the impending revelation, and forests sprouted forth like emerald guardians of the mystical. The land itself underwent a metamorphosis, embracing the chaotic magic that had slumbered for epochs untold. The mountains themselves, once steadfast and immovable, embarked on a journey towards the Icy Storm, an ethereal destiny written in frost and tempest.

Yet, even as the tempest raged and the chill of winter's embrace tightened its grip, a chorus of hope and unity arose. Within the hallowed circles of the Druidic order, a symphony of mystics and healers congregated, driven by an unwavering faith in the prophecy's endgame. They united, bridging the gaps between the realms of mortals and spirits, striving to mend the tapestry of existence that had been tugged askew.

And lo, the pinnacle of their purpose arrived, marked by a sacrifice of immeasurable weight. With reverence and determination, a soul of noble stature stepped forward, offering themselves to the realms beyond in an act of sublime devotion. This sacrifice, a beacon of unwavering commitment, was the key to restoring the land to its primordial alignment.

With exultation ringing through the heavens, the ritual unfolded, and the tendrils of chaos magic began to recede like the tides of a tumultuous sea. The land, no longer bound by the accidental whims of arcane frenzy, began its sacred dance of the fall. Snow overtook the tender kiss of spring, and the forests froze the melody of life, forever swathed in the icy shroud of the Everwinter.

As the prophecy came to pass with a crescendo of fervor and power, the Great Everwinter's reign was solidified. Grogonia, once a mere memory of its former glory, reclaimed its mantle of vitality, blossoming anew in a tapestry woven with the threads of destiny. The prophecy was fulfilled, and the people rejoiced, for they had witnessed the dawn of a new era, where faith, sacrifice, and unity had united the icy grasp of chaos to lead forth a strong city.

The darkness of this story is the power of the land. Cruel is fate and war. Cruel are the powers of the Druids that own this land and who sacrifice health and life to their endless goals.