A story passed down through the ages, a fabled city lost in all but tale. These people grew greedy, attacked the Athenians, and overnight their home was gone. Many fables have existed, about what advancements existed, but no proof has ever been found.

My name means 'fresh' in Italian, but I am often centuries old. I am not painted on the wall; I become the wall itself as the plaster dries. What am I?

I rise and fall as boats stall over mountain ridges and trolls fidges stone by stone built up in rome just to fall back down in london

Red lines cross on blue, framed in white. Built from older flags, stitched into one. Raised on ships and over castles. Say 'together' first, then a common bird, then captain’s first name.

I rise above the ground to watch the land, sometimes I hold a clock, sometimes a bell’s command. In stories, a princess may wait inside my wall, stone and shadow standing tall.