The Great Harbinger
The sun slowly creeps over the green hills, golden gentle rays tumble downwards cascading waterfall like upon the land. The sleepy village wakes, merchants move towards the market square, setting up stalls and greeting neighbors. Farmers move into fields, a stomach of good warm food to raise the spirits. The smell of wood smoke and baked bread wafts over the village in a haze. The sounds of metal striking metal with the chatter of the townsfolk can be heard throughout the hills.
The ground jerks then seizes like a wrong note being, carts are knocked over, people trip. Peasants exchange worried nervous looks, a whimper is let out. The land vanishes beneath feet, a titanic hole opens underneath out of which pours thousand of white arms. Broken, disjointed, knobbly, wretched things. Fingers far longer than needed, nails like billhooks pin down muscle, flesh, cloth and soul. All is drawn within the maw, a cacophony of screams, moans, bleats, yells and pleading to gods that cannot hear.
The hole snaps shut, and a titanic rumbling is heard diving deep downwards towards the darkness. The ground torn to shreds, rocks thrown to the sky, soil shifted and sifted, slate broken and scattered, mountains moved, continents cracked. The red sun sets over a new land.
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