[JimMorrison]

Atlantia speaks. Hers is not the voice of well worded reason, nor is it the fervent clamor of the zealot. Aeons have passed, and she has slumbered under the waves - in the deeps where our great people moved her to safety, so long ago. Now, so long forgotten by the deep ones - we built the Pillars to remind us of her greatness, but in the end, in her silence, they were the only reason we stayed by her side - Atlantia is dreaming of the world once more. Her call comes, in the dreams of Queens and Kings. Images of days past are conjured from her quartz heart, images of a time before the deep ones sought refuge in the reefs and chasms of the sea. She reminds us - oh how glorious was the past! - that we once dwelt in the rivers, and swamps, and jungles upon the land. Now we have once again seen the glory that was Atlantis - a city on dry land, supported by arching basalt monoliths, spanning a great river that has long run dry, those monoliths having been drawn beneath the waves, to become the Pillars in the days of smoke, and pain.

She never knew why the lesser races had feared Atlantis. It was the grandest city of its time, dwarfing the settlements of the fledgeling human race, and only rivaled by great Partholonia. But the libraries were open to all, and great scholars would come from far and wide, many of them stopping to speak with Atlantia herself, their briefly flickering mortal minds straining to gasp the secrets of the universe.

Perhaps it was our culture, so pervasive, so seductive, which made the hearts and minds of the ambitious grow sour. It was a great irony, that in the halls of the wise and the rational, that within Partholonia itself, the crusade was begun. Such a small thing at first, diplomatic ties being cut, contact slowing to a trickle. But soon, those missionaries of the mind, traveling long, studying intently, and then returning to their homes - they would be executed for treason on their return, and their notes seized by those who would use Atlantia's secrets not for the good of all, but to subvert her ever growing influence on the world of men.

Thankfully, the nation of Atlantis had grown large, and quite strong. When the raids began, her people would repel them, but when they continued, the economic might of the greatest nation in the world, slowly began to crumble. Oh, how Atlantia had wished that she could see the faces of those brutal warlords, when they stormed towards the site of fair Atlantis, only to find nothing but the gaping holes where once the roots of the pillars bit deep into the verdant ground. But she knew they were coming, and she consumed every bit of her own power to render the stones, and herself, nearly immaterial. Fading almost completely into the ethereal plane, our people carried these magnificent works of art and beauty beneath the waves.

Centuries have passed, and without Atlantia's presence, petty bickering has weakened our people, allowing our nation's greatness to fade into myth, the same sort of myth told to children to help them sleep - a myth about the great statue standing between the Pillars themselves, being a goddess so wise, and so protective, that society would cease to exist without her. And to a degree, it had.

But again, she speaks. Taxes are levied, and the kelp farms are expanded to increase revenue. The bounty of the sea is leveraged, and young Atlantians leave the city on less diplomatic missions than before - now they forcibly denounce Triton Chieftain and Dear Tribe Shaman alike, adding the bounty of their lands to the burgeoning Atlantic empire. Atlantia murmurs in visions and dreams, but her message has become clear - the children of the deep must rise once more, and proclaim her greatness. Soon, all will proclaim her greatness.

Long live Atlantia! Long live the Princess!