Samasael
The sun, a feeble memory, struggles to pierce through the oppressive clouds that hang like a funeral shroud. Its feeble attempts to illuminate the desolation below only serve to cast a sickly pallor on the skeletal remains of a once-vibrant world. The rivers, once teeming with life, now flow as sluggish veins of ichor, carrying the lifeblood of a dying realm to the heart of an insatiable darkness.