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iv. The Making Of Dragonsea

A cataclysm the likes of Honeyport's destruction had been nigh unthinkable in the realm before it took the city. It might have been that none would know the fate of the merchant city on the sea, had the few lucky ships beyond the harbor had not seen it with their own eyes, and lived to tell the tale.

The sailors tell how fire poured from the leather-bound sky with such force that the underworld itself appeared to fight back. It was as water poured from a height into a bowl, its slippery path rebounding up again as it hits the basin. Moments later, the black smoke tumbled past the shore, and they could see no more.

Honeyport lives now in memories, stories and legends. That piece of the realm is now known as Dragonsea, for it is no longer a city, but a wide cathedral of melted stone, jagged teeth of rock dotted with bright bits of gold and silver and gems.

Those few who have set foot upon its shores say (and it is indeed few - the fire was not hot enough to destroy the spirits they say now walk there) that the stone forever holds the intoxicating scents of the market, the flowers and citrus and resins melded with the melted rock.

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