Somewhere in Asia, there is a land of mist. A land often spoken about over campfires, feasts, and amongst scholars and intellectuals traveling the land. Men and women slave over parchment and papyrus alike in the libraries to learn of its veracity. Some research a tech that will allow them to construct something called a “university” where learned peoples might gather and study this and other mysteries. They tell of a land, stretching from Asia to the Arctic, of huge cities, enlightenment, cultural and social progress, land next to river tiles that yields extra food, all surrounded by a great and powerful wall, stretching over infinite expanses of hills, mountains, taiga, and wasteland where no weary traveler may pass. They call it—Jokūskaĭ.
The greatest scholars of all the lands debate if it could exist. How could such a utopia, such a kingdom like that of Prester John, this Shangri-Lai, exist without the great scholars of Sydney, Warsaw, Kabul, Pretoria, London, Buenos Aires, Port Royal, Austin, and so many other places not know solid proof of its existence? Meanwhile, as the debate rages on, this Atlantis of the trees slumbers, none leaving yet leaves its walls to tell its tales.