In the depths of shadow, where rays dare not penetrate, they walk. It are a Guardians of a Eternal Night, blessed with a power to manipulate shadows. Their purpose is: to defend this world from which who hide in an shadow. Driven by a eternal compulsion, we stand as a barrier against the encroaching darkness.

Remnants of a Fallen Age

The crumbling structures stand as stark testimonies to a bygone era, their weathered stones whispering tales of grandeur and decay. Once majestic palaces now lay ruined, overgrown with lush vegetation, while the echoes of laughter long since faded into the silence.

Timeworn artifacts, battered, lie scattered amidst the rubble, portraying glimpses into a civilization that has perished. A palpable melancholy hangs in the air, a haunting reminder of the impermanence of all things.

Unveiled from the depths of time, these relics convey a profound sense of loss and fascination. They serve as a poignant reminder that even the mightiest empires inevitably succumb to the ravages of time.

Medals of Blood on Onyx Shields

Upon the polished obsidian surfaces, where shadows danced and secrets whispered, lay a multitude of medals. Each one was etched with the visage of a fallen hero, their faces now marred by terrible lines, the result of battles fought and won. The metal itself bore the weight of countless sacrifices, each wound bleeding crimson onto the dark shields.

An unsettling silence filled the air, as if the very medals themselves held a curse. Rumors circulated among the gathered soldiers, tales of forgotten heroes and battles won at a ghastly cost. Each medal told a story of valor and tragedy.

Their weight served as a constant reminder, not only of the fallen but also of the ever-present threat that loomed over them all. The obsidian shields themselves seemed to absorb this somber mood, their smooth surfaces like pools of shadow.

Echoes in Vacant Thrones

Within the hallowed halls of power, murmurs persist. The legacy of former rulers still permeates the air. Empty thrones stand as silent testaments to the transient nature of dominion . The scent of conquest still clings to faded tapestries, a haunting reminder of victories long since passed .

Yet in this stillness , a new current begins to awaken . The possibility for a different future echoes through the empty halls, a chorus of change waiting to be embraced .

Whispers From The Dying World

The air crackles with the last breaths of this world. Shadows stretch long and thin across the landscape, painted in hues of dying embers and fading hope. The wind whispers, carrying tales of a lost glory, a symphony of anguish played on the strings of reality. Beneath the suffocating sky, remnants of civilization struggle. They search for meaning in these final moments, grasping at specters of a past that remains a haunting memory. A chilling silence plunges over the land, broken only by the muffled whispers of the dying world.

The Grim Reaper's Harvest

An ominous wind swept through the valley, carrying with it a whisper of death. The sun cast a sickly glow as he claimed her way through the bleak terrain. His scythe gleamed in the eerie darkness, a grim reminder of the approaching doom that threatened everyone. Those who remain cowered in fear, ignorant to the death's embrace that was already here.

Some say that Death itself walks among us, more info a lurking terror, always waiting. Others claim that he only appears to those facing their final moments.

• If the existence of He who gathers souls is a fact, one thing remains constant: death is a part of life.

We can choose to face it with courage but the Grim Reaper's harvest is something we all will eventually encounter.