The land is sick where they touched it
The evil ones, scorned and forsaken
Destruction the price they paid for treachery.
A trail of ash leads north to the dead lands
Where hills of bone offer shelter
From time flowing through the narrow channel.
The passage through the mountains
Is a mouth back to the homeland they lost
The halls they once walked play host to the Usurper
And his crown forged from fire lights the throne room.
A day will dawn when shadows cross
Arcane power laid low at the hands of a king
Then years to pass in silence, the dead lands empty
Yet the hollow places of the world will hold the remnant
Near the pulsing veins that wait for a hand to wield their power.
A prison of rock lies between the dying
And the land they long to lay low
But strength returns with the tides of time
Hands reach out ready, willing
To grasp the far side of the chasm and take hold
Pulling their bodies to the surface
Where a lost home waits to be conquered

Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger from Pexels