The sea glitters amber as the gold spark sets at your back. Not quite as brightly as the blackened rocky beach that waves in the baking heat ahead, sparkling with tiny light like colored stars. Your skiff cuts the water like a blade, salty spray and southern rustling your hair like your mother's hands.

Your hull scrapes the bottom to a stop at the shore, and although you would happily touch your feet to solid land elsewhere, here you hesitate. Blademount, the mountain crowned by the royal seat of the Gods rises into the watercolored clouds high above.

But at the base of the great mountain, the stone changes from gently angled slabs of sandy golden stone to twist into blackened spires, run through with silver and bronze, copper and gold, set with melted gems of every color and the charred treasures of the Gods' port that once stood here.

Rising from the sandy edges of the blackened ruins, new green life rises from the ashes, trailing down the coasts. One day it may retake this place, but for now, not even birds fly overhead.

To the west you can see craggy honeycomb sea cliffs lining the shore high above the waterline before stone tumbles to the depths, far behind them the darkening sky is lit by sprays of fire and billowing smoke where lava meets sea.

To the east, shrouded by fog creeping like a blanket over the ocean and gently lit by puncturing golden rays from the setting sun, you can smell green things and hear the thundering fall of water from on high, but see no more.

As you set foot in the shallow water, it is warm and soft against the baking heat of the late day, but your blood runs cold. Treasure hunting here is easy after the daytime patrols of Asgard pull into harbor, they say. Dragonsea was ruined long ago, and kept empty by the stories.

But if they stories are only stories, why is there citrus and peppercorn on the breeze? In this charred and barren place, why are your senses being caressed by honeyed apricot petals and incense?

Striking steel to flint as the sun sinks away to the west, you light a torch and step further ashore, the fire casting monstrous shadows from the twisted spires onto the mountainside and illuminating the treasures they hold. To the west, the silver spark rises over the mountains, scattering silver on stone and water.

Distant shouting. Pealing laughter. The crackle of brazier fires sparking to life, but with no light. You spin around, breath fast and heart in your throat. There is no one.

You're jolted by the sound of a cart clanking along a stone path that has long since melted, and the sounds of the bustle of a busy street rise in your ears. You throw your back against a stone pillar. Still, no one. A mule brays from nowhere and the indigo chases the pink from the sky.

As the last light disappears, shadows move in front of the dappled moonlight playing on the southern sea between you and your boat. To the west, a rush of air and the slow beat of huge, leathery wings.

Your torch sputters out.

Take your journey to Dragonsea with this collection of goods tempting enough to draw pirates. Sail away with the summer citrus, exotic spice, and dragonfire incarnate scents of Dragonsea beard potions, plus Dragonsea artwork in many forms.

See the rest of our Dragonsea photo shoot here!