F_ _EB_ _K

F-word, they call it.

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That's what it is.
Really.

It's funny,
To be a fan and friend of everybody,
And end up having nothing but a little internet tag to show for it.

It's funny, to play all sorts of games;
With cafes to run and farms to run and dragons to slay,
And try to get neighbors,
When you haven't said hi to the guy next door for the LONGEST time.

Ironic,
tHat we laugh when nuts say the sun spins round the earth,
and shrug our shoulders when we say that life turns round
Facebook.

And the smiley faces,
Riddling the status reports like chicken poxes.
Given like brochures at the mall,
Meaning nothing but 2 icons on the keyboard.

And we're all sucked in.
All careening like fools down
The

News

Live

Feed.

13th

So, the October baby turned thirteen yesterday. Ben teased me by asking if I wanted to be Westernized of Re-Asianified...depending on which auspice I wanted to incur (eternal life or chronic bad luck?).

I just laughed. God bless Josh and Tyatora!

All right, perhaps I should have crossed Tyatora out of that.

So now, here we are. We have passed the straits of Twelve, and I do not see the harbor that always has been in my sights since birth, and now, spyglass in hand, leaning eagerly over my longboat's bow, I stare out into nought but open sea. Ah, now the haven-harbors of birth are but a whisper, everly held in sweet memory, but forgotten for hte most part, and the high, tempestuous passage to hte Second Harbor is ahead. My mind clouds when I see the storms and wild waves before me, and the doubt of old returns to haunt me, but ever must I place my spyglass to true north, and I must find the Harbor, where the streets are gold, and Amentoris Baleyn Yahweh stands great upon his Holy en-throned Hill.

But I am afraid, in more aspects than one. Afraid that the winds will blow my ship and my mind will fly off-course, or my gaze will falter and I will float aimlessly, forgetting the hope of the Harbors, or that the sturdy prow of mine will bend beneath heavy waves and pirates' cannons.

But let the tests come, and may ever the God of the Earth and Sky and Sea guide my ship, and build in my spirit continuous growth in Him and His will, that I will not bend, will not fail, and I will succeed!

I cannot fail, I cannot step back now. I must fight, I must win, I must not bend to the wind or the sky or the sea or mortal man or demon or the terror of flames and of fiends. Endo-Polmori, Vrathua Kyan!

May He steer my prow to sail and yet stand, not bending, not yielding, not weakening;
yet ever giving, ever-determined, and ever-willing to aid.
May the Lord Almighty in this year and life to make me all he desires me to be.
I pray that my ways may one day please and bring delight to Him, if mortal men may even feign to do so.

Amen

Hmm...

Thinking of poem ideas... half-addicted to Travian (you know what I mean, Whitle!)...and I finally learned to play 'O Lord of Hosts!' on the violin! Yay!

Scrolls

Went to see the Dead Sea Scroll Exhibition in Singapore. It was very, very, good trip.

WE went to see the scrolls on the second day. It was held in a big museum-like building near the parliament. The exhibition had three rooms, one containing scrolls, one containing books, and one with a lot of biographies about people. The people and book rooms had lots and lots of old bibles, sheets of information and copies of the books and lives of Wycliffe, Tyndale, Bunyan, and Luther (not in that order!). They displayed centuries-old copies of the King James Bible, Geneva bible, Spanish and German manuscripts, and even one of the first-printing editions of "Pilgrim's Progress." I kept snapping pictures and pictures and pictures. It was such an odd, interesting feel to be so near such old things, handed down from one generation to another.

But the scrolls were the most eye-opening. Just four little fragments of paper (only a few pieces were released to exhibition), very old, weather-stained, and hard to perceive until you looked very closely. And when i peered through the glass, something flashed in my mind. Some old Jewish scholar, a rabbi or Pharisee, perhaps, squinting in the evening light to meticulously scribe a letter into a word.

Line by line, as each drop of precious ink was exactly meted out for each character. Each sentence unmarred with any grammatical or contradictory errors. What thoughts went through this poor rabbi's mind as he spent such time and energy into copying out the sacred Word of God.

How tired he must have been, and then, to think that the work of this weary scholar was to be smashed apart by Roman swords! To think, that, one little fragment from this entire piece would itself a spectacle of wonder to the world. To think, that one man's efforts to preserve the law would end up giving evidence pointing to its, powerful, uncorrupted, message. To think of all the people who had worked on this bit of ink and paper, not realizing what this parchment would do to ring down eternity? The skinner of the goat, the scholar who wrote it, the ink-maker, the editing priest, the scholars-in-training who may have read it -how could they have known?

It is interesting, really, to think how much difference one person's work can do.

Moon-Awake

A silent little lad, that Moon,
Always walking about in the evening,
Usually whispering with the silent stars,
Who smile and nod
Like sleeping dreamers.

But sometimes, sometimes,
Silent Moon comes out too early,
In the late afternoon,
Around 4-5 PM,
And all the day-clouds give him the funny look,
That you're-not-supposed-to-be-here-but-we'll-act-as-if-nothing's-happening
Look.

That Moon, good fellow,
But doesn't sleep easily.
Unlike the clouds and stars,
Who sit about doing nothing,
Or the sun, who shines and sings in
A low, baritone voice.

So sometimes, when he comes about too early,
You hear little moon sing in a lonely, hushed song,

"Cause I've woken up too early,
And I can't get back to sleep,
This busy time is far too bright,
And I can't get back too sleep."

All the humans talking,
And the sun is much to hot,
The sky is harsh, the stars all hide,
And the moon can't fall alseep.

"Cause I've woken up too early,
And I can't get back to sleep,
This busy time is far too bright,
And I can't get back too sleep."

Sometimes, sometimes, you can hear the Moon, talking to God,
Asking about why 9/11 happened,
Or why the hurricane was brewing,
Or the man over there is crying,
And he talk of the sadness of the world,
And its joys and sorrows,
And sings with them with restless sleep,

"Cause I've woken up too early,
And I can't get back to sleep,
This busy time is far too bright,
And I can't get back too sleep."

Here It Is

Ever, the candle seems smaller,
Ever, its weary wick grows thin,
Ever, the shadows seems taller,
And men declare that Darkness wins.

Ever, here, is of giants; rising and falling,
Ever, here, does age fall on ancient age,
Ever, here, is that to come, a-beckoning and calling.
Ever the seas still storm and rage.

Ever, their arms keep stretching
Ever they stretch the strings of their bows,
Ever, ground trembles at Vulcan's wrenching,
Ever, much doubt seems to grow.

Oh, where art Thee, Great One,
Master of Wind and ice and hail?
Alas, I search for the light of the sun,
When all else seems to fail.

Alas, the wayward path I've taken,
And for long it held me, before all gave way,
Alas, I return, frustrated and shaken,
I search for a refuge in Thy hidden bay.

Alas, of this I feel not worthy to request,
When the sorrows of others are sadder,
Alas, again I fail the test,
Alas, I dare to touch Thy up-going ladder.

Oh, Lord of All, I yet tire,
And I hope You still think well of me.
God who Sees my hidden heart,
It is good to know who Thou art.

Oh Lord, I ask of Thee Thy aid,
To teach me once again,
In spite of all the secret sins I've made,
I have come to make amends.

Oh might God only Wise,
How I long to please Thee,
If in all things Thee I cannot truly satisfy,
In this give Thee all of, myself, all of me.

Oh God, take this, this gift so small.
I have nothing else to give to you, my God,
Help me, oh Great Father of All.

Here am I, all given, pledged in full,
Here I place my heart's deed, the royal right to rule,
Here is my devotion, given, complete,
Here is my little kingdom's throne, Your place, your seat.

The Gift

Danny was at soccer,
Mom was with the other moms.
Where does that leave me?

So I kept to me, in a little gazebo, at a quiet corner of Dan's soccer park.
Nobody was there.
Just me, and a few potted plants.
Well, there was someone else.

It was a tree, not too high,
Maybe a few feet taller than I,
And it was laughing,
Singing something in the manner of all other trees.

One trunk, many branched,
One branch, many-leaved,
One leaf, and there were many holes.

The little holes, like cold, clinking, circular, coins,
Gaping in and out of the leaves
Leaving only
Gossamer

Layers of dead plant-veins, still clinging like cobwebs

To the hole.

Smiling tree turned to me.
"Hello there, human lad."

And so we talked,
She in the sunlight, I in the shade.
We spoke of weather,
Which was about as important to trees as politics are to humans.

No, I tried not to stare at her
Large, clipped, cookie-cut leaves.
But she saw my furtive glimpses.

She smiled even bigger now.
She chuckled,
"Come here, human friend, and let me tell you all about them," said she.

So I came to the sunlight,
With the singing tree,
And she told me her tales,
In a voice like melody,
Speaking of older days and times.

She told me of the way
She had been planted
In the park
By an old, lonely lady
Who had no space to keep me.

And so she lived and loved her life,
Singing of the grass about me
And the wind on my leaves,
And the soil that was good,
"Something like a cozy blanket, as humans say," said she.

"Now I shall speak of my holes.
Alas, the pestilence came on me.
Little infidels crawling on my back and leafy arms, creeping ever nearer to my
Emeralds
And they ate them up.
Again and again.
And what can I do?"

I said nothing,
for a while,
And she was silent.

Then I asked her, "And yet, why do you yet sing and smile and laugh as you do?"
"Because my roots are in the soil, and my mind dwelling on He that Is," says she, "you know Him, don't you?"

I nodded.

She went on.

"And so I live. Not for long, not as a healthy tree, but a joyful one."

I looked at her, smiling politlely, not exactly sure still what to say.
She chuckled again.

"My mind can only dwell on Him.
He loves me, and yet,
He loves your kind, well, more.
That is your gift, Human-friend."

Her faded, grotesque braches danced in the wind.

"So use it."

She smiled and reclined.

And I wondered if I had been

dreaming.

Broken Playground

I was on the way home,
Leaving some old neighborhood.
When I saw that old, sad, Broken Playground
And never forgot it.

The half-buried tires under the see-saw ends were
Worn and weary, weak, wounded,
Played much then, now forgotten.

The once gay-colored slides are damaged,
Faded colors, broken tubing,
All covered with graffiti.
Like contemptuous black vultures.

The swings are heartbroken.
There is no other word for it, I am afraid,
They are sad, their sturdy straps that once held
Lively, bouncing, children
Are torn or mangled.
They look like they want to hold children again.

Then there is the grass,
Not rich or full enough to cover the whole field,
Like a threadbare coat stretched over the bare shoulders
Of some sad, lonely, beggar.

The trees are gnarled grotesquely,
But not by nature.
Maybe all the crying sounds from the playgrounds have hurt them,
Their great branches stunted by their sorrows.

I didn’t hear birds singing,
But I was in the car,
And then again,
Who really cares
For one, lonely, sad, Broken Playground?

Haikus on Small Things

Small, Busy shuttlecock,
All befeathered and bouncy,
Racket to racket.

Pink, soft, and lovely,
The young, happy flower bud
Just bursting to bloom.

The crisp, round, Cracker
A bit brown round the edges,
Longs to be eaten.

Soft, gummy, blue,
Moldable and smooth to touch,
We call it play-dough.

Sibling's teddy bear,
Fuzzy paws and tail and ears,
Stares up to ceiling.

The little garden -Metaphors and Musings

Ah, I'm such a sentimental muser.

We were driving home, taking the right-shoulder of our street. There was a traffic light, so we, being law-abiding citizens (I think), stopped. Then I saw it. It was a small little patch of grass and weedlike flowers, just on the little barricade seperating our turning lane from the main road. That little, minute patch of grass, daintily surviving amidst the chaos of the city.

In was surprisingly pleasant, looking at that little lush island, stuck in a sea of hardened tar and metal automobiles. One resilient survivor, one unique patch of ground, standing by for greenery and old times, and memories of the great fields of its ancestors.

A butterfly hopped onto one of the flowers. A fugitive, perhaps? Where can a small, six-legged flutterer sleep, in this vast city-maze? Maybe this was his little residence, his little refuge. Maybe he knew that the road and the cars would not swallow this place.

Then the traffic light turned to green, and we drove off, leaving me to think on about that little insect, and his little garden stronghold.

The Value of Things

How much would you pay
For a Dream?

A good Dream.

What would you give for
The most beautiful music on Earth?

Would trade a boat to hear
The Wonder
Of
Whale-song?

Or tangible cash,
For insights on what
Intangible
Wind is?

Or a man-made
Gadget,
To understand the most deep of emotions?

Or a day from your Life,
For a chance to turn back the Clock?

Or anything at all,
To make up for some wrong
You did?

Then what about, another choice:
How much must we pay for an eternity
With the greatest of Kings
As a father?

Then what
Would
You
Say,
If that
Gift
Was Paid
For
By
Some
Person
Already?

And all you had to do was say
Yes?

Tell Me, please

Oh Tell me, please, of the wonders of Your palace. Tell me all about the gates of pearl you made, and the streets of yellow metal. And the places that await all those for now and forever that will be saved, Oh Lord, please tell me of your glory, and how the Son will shine over your kingdom brighter than our sun, and all the wonders of your kingdom that await me.

Oh Lord, though I probably never understand, would You tell me, about why You came down to bring me up here, when I don't deserve any of the riches of your courts? Why is it you love me so? Surely we, corrupted by our own choice, were not so important as for the God of Eternity to lavish such blessing on mortal beings. Surely it was not worth it. Of such questions, I know not the answer, but I am willing to trust You, Ancient of Days, and forever be thankful and content.

I've joined facebook!

It's taken a long time. For ages I've been adamant to the idea. No! But then dear Mom joined, and that was a great blow to my resolve. Then Mark invited me. Then I heard Emma was doing it too. Curiosity got the better of me. I couldn't believe that Benjamin actually facebooked. . .

Alas, with one great cloud of pious believers, I was converted to Facebookism. Wow.

Yikes, I'm changing. Here goes the last of the closed door policiies from my world. . .

To dream, to believe, to dare.

Had a dream last night. I recall only glimpses in my mind's eye. It was the seven years, in my dream. The last seven years prophecied of in Revalations. It was terrible. A great cloud of darkness fell over me. The anti-christ looked like a sea-cucumber. Vague concepts and prophecies rang in and out of that dream. It was odd. And serious, all at the same time.

But one part, just one part, plagued my mind, repeating itself over and over again in that dream, and even to now. I recall that in that dream, there were two nameless faces. I did not really know them, but somehow I knew they weren't very pleasant folk. I wanted them to be saved. I prayed (in the dream) that someone would lead them to God. But no one did. When I tried, I was told that it was too late. It was, evidently, the end times, and they had chosen which path to take. Eternal life, or eternal unlife. It scared me. I don't know why, but I cried for those mean, unlikeable two people (don't worry, it isn't really anyone I know). Because they went to the place that was never supposed to hold them.

I was scared for all my relatives who weren't saved, and had chosen the wrong path. A shocking jolt of fear and pain and fury and sadness filled me. For one moment, I realized how terrible the thought of that could be. One eternity without God. For so many people! So many people, relatives, friends, acquaintances, and celebrities. Some by choice, some by ignorance, some because some snobbish, self-righteous so-called Christians didn't do anything to reach out to them. All careening to that terrifying place that was never meant for them. I felt so helpless, so powerless, to aid those two nameless people in my dream.

Then I woke up.

It was terrifying, it was a most nightmarish dream. Yet, it gave me, for one moment, the urgency of the Great Commission. It also gave me a new thankfulness, a new thankfulness for all God has saved us from. He made it so easy, simply to admit, ask, believe, and then say it all out. He made it so easy to be free of that terrible place. Indeed how brilliant is our God.

But still, people need to know about it before they can believe.

And hopefully, when God calls me to do something, I'll be willing. I pray I will be.

Carpe Eternitas!

Questions, and Answers

I have lots of questions. Constantly brimming over. Some say it's a good thing, others say it isn't. But I do have questions. Some are pretty boring, some more reflective, some nonsensical, some silly. But sometimes it's these odd questions that help you sort out your belief,s your thoughts, your opinions, and ideas. So I'm going to brainstorm. . .


Why is the sky blue? What government system is best for China? How long is forever? Does God count infinity? How big is the universe? Why did God make pretty things? Why is the wage of sin death? Why did God bother to come down to a place like earth? How good is heaven? Exactly how bad is hell? Why does my mind ask so many questions? Who killed John F. Kennedy? Who killed Princess Diana? Was Leonardo da Vinci a Christian? What about Alexius Comnenus? How could this world have turned out if it was not for Hitler? How would it have turned out if it wasn't for Churchill? Why isn't the world better than it is? Why isn't it worse than it is? What makes teddy bears so adorable? Am I intelligent? How does my spirit look like? Does Tyatora exist? Are there worlds beyond my own? Is there any way to measure God's might, or love, or glory? How can terrorism be solved?



I'm out. I have questions, too many, it seems. Some have been answered, some haven't, some I plain don't know, some I may never know. I hope that someday, all these questions will just tumble out to someone. The Someone. I pray he will answer my questoins. Someday. Sometime. Somehow.

This is a petition, a collection. A collection of questions that I humbly ask Yahweh to help explain such deep things to my little, sometimes confused mind.


Questions. The life-blood of answers.

Heaviness

I remember things once heard before,
That once had been, but is no more.
They grasp the slipping past that glides upon the tide,
Time has carried the path that all men ride.
Fallen are the great towers, the castles of Old Kings,
Desolate the waste where the Songbirds pine and sing.

This is the destruction of Olciun, place of many days,
Land beyond the moon, once bathed in the merry sun rays.
All is woe, if only you had heeded,
And repented, that the blood-bathed earth so greatly needed,
Had you not turned from your ways of sin,
And turn to Elohim, Creator of the ground and the wind.

Repent, oh people of Olciun!
Hear the words of your prophets' scrolls and runes!
Don't make me pour the judgement that Justice demands!
Turn from your ways, wash the blood off your hands!
Flee from those desires that you know are neither justified nor right,
Do not hide in the darkness, come with Me to light!

I cannot call forever, one day, this weighing scale will fall one end,
This land can hold your sin no longer, and the iron rod will bend.
I do not want to pour out death, upon your once-good Olciun,
Turn and look to me, oh Land Beyond the Moon!
Come back, remember that you have fallen from a height!
Oh Olciun, Olciun, Come into the Light!

Let Me change your ways, you, both the simple and the wise,
Come to me, oh people, let Me open your eyes!
I hold much gifts I've longed to give that you will not except,
I knocked upon your gates, while your cities' fathers slept!
Come back, remember that you have fallen from a height!
Oh Olciun, Olciun, Come into the Light!

Infinity; thoughts of.

Yes, I do sound a bit like Mr. Yoda with a title like that, but bear with me. Haha!

I've been studying on decimals and estimation lately in my math. Somehow, the subject of recurring decimals came into my textbook, and that got me thinking.

(FYI for those who may have forgotten, recurring decimals are decimal numbers that go on and on and on without ever ending. E.g., 3.3333333. . . )

Not to say I haven't thought of it before, but perhaps I've never pondered on the concept as deeply. Infinity. To go on and on without end, to stretch over the plains of foever, to know a beginning but not an end. The thought of htat dizzies my mortal head.

Somehow, that thought struck me deeply. while my textbook drew out its examples and un-memorizable facts, the feel of forever hit me like a thuunderbolt. More real than before.

Heaven.

And hell.

And as recurring numbers never end, so would these be. Always, with beginning but no end. Heaven must truly be wonderful, for all who dwell within it are always happy, throughout the halls of time. At the same time, hell is also goes forever. The tartarus-like pit meant for satan, that will not stop belching its flames of fire and agony. I think of all of those, before me and after me, who were tricked and blinded by satan to go with him, down to the bootomless place.

Forever, forever, forever. . .

I cannot bear to think of that. All the ancestors before me, who never knew God's grace. I can imagine Him reaching out His arm to humanity, but they do not see. They who were misled by the Enemy. It is frightening a thought.

I look at these, at where one goes after death, the recurring numbers, the plains of time, God and His mercy. They are to real for we Christians to dismiss with a wave and a "yeah, I agree." I feel urgently the need to reach out to others, and I don't dare stop.

I look forward to heaven, and hope that the One God of Eternity may use me to do His will.

The wonderful and terrible thought:

Forever, forever, forever. . .

Tyatora III

Yay! I've developed and drafted the races of Tyatora.

Now I need a history (desparately). Hmm. . . This will take a while.

Tyatora is, err, 324 years old. It was created as a confederacy of the various races I mentioned, directly after the Colovician Wars*. The seven leaders of the seven races met at the town of Tillari, and forged a unique alliance, or the Treaty of Tyatroin.

The Treaty was created mainly as a military precaution, a joining of several weak states to form a stable economy and standing defense force in a battle-ravaged land. Tyatorans see this date as the foundng of a nation, a creation of a people. This date is the first year in the Tyatoran calendar.

All years upon this are described based on the number of years away they are from the year of the Treaty. For example, if you were to see the date, "246, N.T.," it means it is 246 years after the year of the treaty. As for the mysterious "NT", the initials stand for, in the Tyatoran tongue, Nigh-aget Tyatroin, or, in English, "Upon the Year of the Tyatroin Treaty."

I think that's all I'll do this post. I won't go into people, events, and places yet. I'm trying to make a framework with which I can use to create more tales and stories on. I hope to make individual records of how each ethnic species came to the land of Tyatora soon.






*The Colovician Wars were a series of wars that occured off and on over one hundred years before 1 NT. It was sparked off by the human earl named Colovici, who incited several wars to wipe out the other races of the continent. Immediately, good human barons, Firk-nott warrior-priests, and gnomes allied to destroy his army. He won the first war, but lost the other five wars he launched. He and most of his men were wiped out in the Battle of Ghimlass. However, his immediate posterity established great castles and forts of resistance, and it took many more years of fighting to destroy these mighty strongholds. By then, the entire continent was tired, exhausted of the raging wars that had gone on for more than one hundred years.

Tyatora II

I think I'm in a Tyatora craze.

I can't stop thinking about it, and I spend a considerable amount of time thinking about it, inventing new ideas and history. Tyatora has fascinated me, and its charm has made (and probably always will continue making) a mark on my life. I use this not as an "escape" world, but as a mirror, to reflect my thoughts, my heartcries, and my desire to express my deep admiration and wonder of Yahweh; or as the Tyatorans call Him, "Amentoris". It is, in essence, me.

I did forget, however, that there are two additional races (besides the ones I spoke of last post on Tyatora).

1. Gryphions (Tyatoran spelling of Griffins)

2. Chinchillas. Don't worry, Gryphions don't eat Chinchillas.


The Gryphions are a mountain race. Fierce and independant, the live in the gold-rich mountains of Norhtern Tyatora. This region is ruled (and ferociously guarded) by the griffin tribes, and all but a few contract-based companies and government programs are allowed to mine their gold here. Previously, prospectors and greedy giants threatened to start a Tyatoran Gold-rush, but the Gryphions drove back the gold-getters at the Battle of Vatlinclov some 500 years ago.

They, surprisingly, are herbivorous, who are fond of eating Kimboli Ferns and noodles.

The Chinchillas, are also a mountain race, but live on the fertile hillsides of Western Tyatora. They are farmers by trade, and swordsmiths. A family of Chinchillas may take four days to make a Gryphion-sized sword, slaving over this one sword, hammering, thwacking, planning, enlaying etc. When they are done, they sell this to the government for fifty thousand Corcals (Tyatoran currency). That's a lot of money, by the way. Their swords are so reputable to be good the govt. just has to have them (more or less a national ego). Their fruits are pretty sweet too.

Mom's calling, I'm out of time. Sorry about that. Hope you don't mind, readers. Oh yeah, I'll try to do Part Four of the Polar bear story soon(those things are hard to chug out).

Tyatora

I'm nation inventing again. I'm callling my new country Tyatora.

Tye-uh-Torh-uh.

Paravania was my old invention, but I'll keep my blog's name as Paravania Voice. Paravania's south of Tyatora. Paravania's a great deal bigger, and the inhabitants are different. Paravanian people are mainly animals and dinosaurs.

There are five big races that consider themsleves Tyatorans:

1. Nomadic monkeys
2.Humans
3.Sea Cats (something liked finned-lions)
4. Mermaids (and mermen)
5. Firk-notts (Oversized crosses between wallabies and weasels).

Nomadic Monkeys are the literati and philosophers of the country.

Humans. . .they're just there. I guess one could say they're mainly businessmen. They migrated from China to Tyatora, through an interplanetary portal. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that Paravania and Tyatora are on another planet, called Endramius.

Anyways, back to the point, the Sea cats are a ship-sailing race. The can swim wonderfully but just don't really like it. They prefer manning their caravels.

Merpeople don't sail. They do the swimming. I guess the have to make up for the Sea cats' lack of interest.

Firk-notts are the farmers of the country. But in the past forty years, a lot of the younger generation of Firk-notts are migrating to cities. Tyatora has some racial discrimination problems.

Tyatora's neighboured by jungle tribes to the north. The sea is on the east. Vervar nomads are in the south. The mighty Allvelonyan Empire is in the west, waiting to swallow up Tyatora. Fortunately for a small country like Tyatora, the Allvelonyan Empire's busy attacking other kingdoms. They aren't attacking Tyatora yet. Emphasis on yet. Tyatora's allying with the jungle people and Vervar nomads for military protection.

I'm running out of things to talk about Tyatora. I'll post on it again when I've got new ideas.