All over the East, a creeping fear persists. It’s a familiar feels, one that has been endured for ages in different doses from same consistent sources.
While they consecrate distractions and lay siege to their motherland, whatever burns, burns and lives be damned. Their desires supercedes the whole, so may their will be done.
Already subdued and chided to a corner with violent repercussions smiling at the cowardice of the suppressed, exploitation reigns and gods among men arise.
For whosoever thinks their will not be done hasn’t ventured. Or is that just a figment from the imaginations of the frightful?
The previously limpid fields lay muddied in grumpy clouds beckoning for the light to filter in and set it free as a result of the epic desolation by incompetent sycophants.
It once harboured the crawlies and flyers, creating a hallowed ground all found some sort of comfort in. But, now it lies in ruins, muddied by fools who lack foresight and whose stock in trade is destruction and death.
~ SouthEast Tales