Founded by displaced intellectuals, fleeing the persecution of Baskovia, a totalitarian state, it has become a bulwark of education, refinement, learning and culture in an otherwise dry environment, rolling with verdant hills, sun-drenched and beatific, clustering together in pleasing mounds and cascading refulgently into numerous streams and rivers that cut underhill and drain into the great lake Bo, which is 28,000 square kilometres across, almost as big as the nation itself, the nation, thus drawn around this lake and melting seductively into the replenishing rivers and streams has adopted an architectural style consisting entirely of plateaued tiles, with bronze welding cut deep into the hills and held firm in the stone over the river's edge, the capital is thus built and above towers the dome of Professor Dorthryck, a master of the rhetorical arts and an instructor of mind sciences, famed for leading the revolution of intellectuals and leading them through swamps and on canoes across the Great East Ocean, onto the misshapen coast of Noesia, so named for its emphasis on intellectual refinement and wit. This nation, 80 years old still bears the fresh mark of parchment and Baskovian scribbles still haunt these pages, bespeaking sorrowfully of a time of great bloodshed and opression, all this encased in the core of vibrancy and discovery and a love of nature, instilled by the environment and fostered likewise at a young age, these later writings being written in Noesian proper, more angular than its ancestor script, filled with poetic breath, one often hears on dying lips the popular words "For oft are men wont to depart in haste but all are craven afore death", emphasizing the need to savour life as it comes because in death, there is only stillness and Noesia is anything but still. Noesians are a people of remarkable temperament. Scientists and poets. Adventurers and homesteaders, ranchers and technocrats, autocrats and democrats. They embody all the contradictions and pungencies of Baskovia, their ancestral state and cry out every time for their distal, unwelcoming, inhospitable state but weep for joy at the sight of those enchanting rivers and scream out in joy at some recondite's stirring speech, often delivered stooped and grandiloquently at the steps of Dorthryck.
