'Prevailing Winds...'

The absent ruffle of wind has become something of a vacant fancy nowadays. In the immediate wake it used to be fantastically abhorrent, but now it's turned to something almost musical. Crisp, unwilted leaves can be seen floating haplessly around the deserted makeshift roadways, footpaths extend throughout the dead forests, littered with the deceased flora of a time once past, now gone. A Siren's song wails throughout the trees, causing a stir of life, it matches the call of the foreign, hellish nightmares of the land, at the same time mirroring the innocent lethargy of the common crow in it's elegance and form. Wagner's composition flourishing throughout the coherent flaws and faculties of nature, a sonnet for some, a warning for many.

Come to think of it, the wind has been rather strong lately.

In the way the dawn rises, fresh and rosy fingered, does the cruel wind strip it bare, leaving the tainted sky a mirror into the empty soul of the vox populi, a constant reminder of all that has happened, and all that is to come. Warmth has lost all meaning in this land, the crow doth sing it's charred song of death and like the warning cry of Hades as it belches forth smoke from the stew of the City 18 ruins, does the humanity of all things seem irreplaceable and lost.

A tribal frenzy stirs in the distance, a blueish glow dominates the skies as birds fly frantically. There's something unnatural here. Xenian and Terran fauna alike scutter away in nature's naive way, however how exploratory grasp seems absent from these creatures as they run rampant through the forests. And whilst these creatures flee, humanity investigates. Far and wide, the crystal eyes gaze up towards the skies, their hopes and fear reflected in one eye-opening blast as the sky suddenly rips apart, the flame spews forth, crashing to the land and destroying all that it comes into contact with. The trees are gone.

The contrasting quiet reflects death upon on an open plain, the comparison bringing both obscurity and fear rushing throughout your body. Blood freezes and curdles, the silhouette of the forest casting a shadow upon the barren and empty village. Amidst the camp, a lone cart stands; it's wood turned grey from the wear and tear of the daily frost, it's final support snapping at the growing brush of the wind as it passes. At this sound, the sudden rush of residents burst out, casting their glances skyward. Rumour spreads around like a violent rodent, rampaging through the town and perching upon innocent ears, influencing those with her evil words that of which is about to happen…

You stare into the sky, your soul fearing the hell that is unfolding before your eyes, you never wanted this to happen again, your prayers to whatever deity it is you pester for acceptance from or otherwise in the night have been rejected and your existence null and void, the demon body has arrived and the sky is now aflame.

Tartarus has opened it's gates.