My name is Gwillan, I was born in the village of Skilpholt, in the country of Wēneard, name which in the Gerewisc language, spoken in all the country, means "Land of Hope."
And it is called so for a reason: no one do I know cold hearted or impolite, nor do I know one place which could not be called fair; and though I have never left Wēneard, my will has taken me to every single corner of it.
(Sunset falling in Skilpholt)
The village of Skilpholt was no more than that: a village. A proud and pretty one, but probably not more than fifty families lived in it. It is set just between a big lake and an even bigger wood. Ever green, the Great Wood, after which the city takes its name.
As a child I would always be ready to hear tales about the lands beyond the Skilpholt wood and the wonderful cities and villages in them; but they were nothing but stories, and vague they seemed, for it had been ages since someone born in my little village had set foot beyond the forest, and all that now remained was some distant memory, to the point that the very existence of those legendary places was in doubt.
But, unlike the other villagers, I was born with a great spirit of adventure, and as I grew older, stories were not enough to satisfy my curiosity. Then I unexpectedly found myself setting off through a long abandoned path, the place where I had lived all my life behind, and a whole country to discover ahead.