In the depths of gloom, where rays dare not penetrate, they walk. They are an Guardians of the Eternal Night, fated with the power to wield darkness. Their purpose remains: to safeguard that world from trophy hunters that who lurk in the abyss. Driven by a eternal compulsion, they remain as an shield against an encroaching night.

Remnants of a Fallen Age

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

Forgotten artifacts, tarnished, lie exposed amidst the rubble, offering glimpses into a civilization that has vanished. A palpable sorrow hangs in the air, a poignant 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 eventually 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 drawn. The alloy itself bore the weight of countless deaths, 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 veterans, tales of forgotten heroes and battles won at a staggering cost. Each medal told a story of valor and grief.

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 ink.

Resounds in Empty Thrones

Within the vast halls of power, echoes persist. The legacy of departed rulers still permeates the air. Empty thrones stand as silent reminders to the ephemeral nature of rule . The aroma of ambition still clings to weathered tapestries, a spectral reminder of victories long since faded .

Still in this quiet , a new current begins to awaken . The potential for a different future echoes through the empty halls, a chorus of change waiting to be realized .

Echoes From a 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 despair played on the strings of reality. Beneath the oppressive sky, remnants of civilization struggle. They search for meaning in these final moments, grasping at shadows of a past that is now but a legend. A chilling silence falls over the land, broken only by the muffled whispers of the dying world.

The Grim Reaper's Harvest

A spectral wind swept through the plains, carrying with it a whisper of decay. The stars cast a sickly glow as he took its way through the silent landscape. Her shears sparkled in the fading light, a macabre reminder of the inevitable end that threatened everyone. The innocent cowered in fear, ignorant to the fate's decree that was upon them.

It is rumored that Death itself walks among us, an unseen presence, always watching. Others claim that it manifests to those who are near death.

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

We can choose to face it with courage but the Grim Reaper's harvest is something we all cannot escape.