WITHIN ENTRAILS DEVOURED BY PUTRID WINDS

A miasma of corruption hangs heavy in the heavens, thick with the savor of death. The wind, a putrid serpent, violently around the mangled corpses, ripping flesh from bone. The skeletons gleam like gems in the morbid light. A symphony of wails echoes through the valley, a chorus of despair as the guts are devoured by the winds of oblivion. That is