Theme:
35; war
Character:
Ozorne
Words:
90
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wasteland
He opens his eyes and he stands on the brink of ruin. The land stretches out before him, barren and bare. There are no birds, no animals: they have long perished, or fled. All that remains of the trees are twisted, blackened stumps, writhing from the ground; the only sound, the wind, howling over the emptiness.
Fool, a voice hisses in his ear; a Stormwing's voice, the voice of the dead. A gaunt face; pale, cold eyes. Do you see now? This is Carthak. This is your empire.
He wakes.
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