Once upon a time, in an age long forgotten by humans, long before the Elves stepped foot upon the earth, there stood the Kingdom of Illdar.

This shimmering kingdom, rich in honey and fabric, in white stone and in sheep, stretched from grey mountains in the east to rolling green plains in the west. It claimed all land the eye could see by right, and at the center of its realm stood a single, great city—a grand, magnificent palace built of smooth white stone. It sat stout upon a grass-green hilltop gazing out over all lands: Illdar’s capital, surrounded by villages, towns, and farms. So the Kingdom of Illdar stretched for miles.

The King of Illdar, however, was a beastly man—a tyrant in action and passions. All things he laid his eye upon he greedily declared his own, and even once he claimed them he ached for ever more. He took from his people all things for which he hungered: food, wine, livestock, labor; he found artists to paint for him, musicians to play for him, architects to build his white-stone palace grander, and merchants to bring to him treasures from faraway lands. All people were subject to his whims. Any who protested faced cruelty and punishment, and were ostracized, shamed, or worse.

The King, too, controlled a vast army filled with brutish soldiers and thugs. These men marched throughout the land in a constant, unrelenting patrol. Every village in the kingdom knew the soldiers had rough ways, and so each peasant hung his head when the army swept through town. Every man moved off the road, every woman took their children indoors, when Illdar’s army passed through.

Thus, the people of Illdar lived in fear.

The Tyrant King was licentious. He sought at all hours the company of many wives. They lived in his palace, served by servants and more servants and servants still, given all manner of pleasures and drink and fineries, and were the most miserable of all—each lived as a slave to the Tyrant King; they knelt to his desire over pain of death.

The Tyrant King’s army marched throughout the land until all that could be marched upon was marched upon, and all that could be taken was taken. More and more he demanded pleasures from his subjects in the way of food and drink and art and women. He soon issued a royal decree.

‘Every family in the land’, the decree proclaimed, ‘must send two daughters to the city of the King, the eldest and the youngest. There they will live as the wards of his most Highest Majesty, in affluence and in wealth, and will receive all that they desire, until such a time as they are dismissed.’

‘Those who do not comply’, the decree continued, ‘will be condemned, and the army of Illdar will march over their lands like a thunderstorm’.

With such an order passed, the people had no choice but to obey. Soon the King’s palace grounds filled with young women. The King was pleased and his lusts were sated, and in turn he kept his promise; the girls lived as princess dressed in white, empresses of the green hills of Illdar. Any pleasure they wished for was brought hastily to them, lilies or grapes or jewelry—and yet not one of them could say they were happy.

Now the Tyrant King proved a jealous and petty man. He amended his decree to proclaim that no other man should touch his pleasures. The Maidens of the Palace were his and his alone—to love them was forbidden: to covet them meant death. Soon, in paranoia, he ordered a wall built around the castle grounds, that none might steal his treasures away. Therein, once finished, would he and his flowers remain.

Weist Trelliact, the City of White Lilies; every girl inside wore a dress of fine white silk. The City of Flowers. The City Beyond the Wall.

So was the legend of Illdar: Weist Trelliact, the City of the King.

In the City of Flowers, obeying the King’s decree, an emerald-eyed maiden appeared.