White Scourge

The White Scourge banishes land from itself, planes of sparse existence turned into blank tiles. Veiling any and all chances of prosperity, our eternal fate, doom at a dream’s end. When the winds turn it will come rolling over structures like a sandstorm, and no one will be prepared for the bargain that must be made. Corruption, greed, the quest for power and wisdom, all have laid down the foundations for our justified demise. To some it appears as a wet morning mist - the kiss of death itself. To others it is a flood of fire, swallowing land from the sea, creeping forward with each tide, melting away the mortal stain.

Let this curse claim the horizon back into deserts, and may the sand rise from the dried up ocean. For it is not in our way to admit fault, and even less so to adapt accordingly. We became accustomed to our lavish lives all too quickly here, even the poor folk still cling to what little belongings they have, like priceless treasures.

We were not made to consume this earth, rather to conserve it. So in our failure we shall return to it. I uphold the values of the long deceased elders, far from that of the newer, corrupted figures. Too late is the day when reason becomes reason.