Varanguard is a part of Mercia and both are parts of Fading Isles.
This is the rulership position for the realm.
The timbers of my ship creaked as it gently swayed on the tide at its moorings at the dock. An old plank was run out from the side of the ship to the pier of the docks and I walked across on to the land. I made my way up to the nearby inn, leaving the dockers to unload my cargo.
Leaning on the inn bar, I waited for the inn keeper to draw my ale from a barrel and then licked my lips as the foaming flagon was slammed down on the bar. I took a deep drink and wiped my mouth and beard with the back of my hand. Then I spoke to the keeper.
"Coming in up the coast I saw watchers all along the cliff tops who looked to be gazing out to the west. What's that all about?"
The inn keeper wiped the bar with an ale-stained rag and replied.
"You new to these shores? Bah, I can tell a mainlander accent when I hear one. Well you'll see a lot more of the watchers if you trade in Varanguard again. The watchers look out to the edge of everything. To the edge of time. To the edge of life. They'll find the mysteries and the answers there if they look for long enough. We're the edge of the world, old lad. Where the sun sets and the moon wanes. We're the first and the last."
I saw the zeal in the keeper's eyes. It frightened me and quickened my blood all at the same time. I finished my ale and walked out of the inn. The sun was setting and the horizon looked like it was on fire with shades of red and orange and purple and pink. An infinite complexity and majesty of color. I stood and gazed at it for a long time, minutes slipping away as I lost myself. Gazing to the west. To the edge of the world.