Barsap the Royal Magician, deep in thought, walked his garden where trees
bearing full fruit overhung his path. The colourful plants curled obsequiously
as he passed. A few centimeters above the ground, like agates, the heads of
mandrakes followed the wake of his dull brown robes. Barsap paced about, with
furled eyebrows, lost in thought. His gait was slow, and his hands joined
behind his back, waiting for news of the king's health. He paced worriedly -
feeling powerless to help his ailing friend.

After some consideration his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a shout
floating on the still air. It was a messenger, calling his name. Hastening his
step, he rushed to intercept the messenger, sprinting through the vast canopy
surrounding his garden. The messenger called out to him and clearly out of
breath, arrived at the magician, who stood on a bank of moist foiliage. He
collapsed to his knees, such was his exertion. There was a short silence,
broken only between the panting breaths of the messenger.

"Great magician Barsap" he began, and gulped down a few more breaths.
"The clerics of the king have devised a cure." he continued.
"The Queen asks you to head to the island, west of Desolathya. North of the
island, north of the land of Apollo there is an ancient forest by a
waterfall." he explained.
"It is said that the magic used to create the lost treasures of this land can
be used to cure the king's ailment." he stressed, with exasperation between
breaths.

In the waning hours of the king's life, Barsap sprung to action. He took one
last look at the tree canopies of his home. One look at the splendour of the
lands. The plants, with changing iridesences, others holding up flowers in
bloom like upturned jelly-fish, green, purple, pink, yellow.
"I will go at once." said Barsap, and took stride to the nearest harbour.
From there, he set sail to Desolathya to find these lost treasures and recover
them that the cure may be found and his king saved.