The skies turned to embers. Each cloud a sooty mote, raining down brimstone, ashe, and boiling acid. Pools of glistening green polished the lands and flesh was washed away from bone. No screams were heard within these lands. Only the pitter patter of droplets upon the alabaster earth. Figures of ivory form all manners of shapes across the blinding white planes. Some reach out to those they loved, others curled into balls, and some still in all manner of disorder.
Nobody knows what the source of this grand disaster was. What sequence of mistakes could lead to something so tragic and yet somehow beautiful. The world simply seemed to be recovering from some great ill, overcompensating for the wrong it had been wrought. This curious page in time may never receive its duly deserved footnote, but at the very least we downed Velhari tonight after only a couple of attempts.