Othgar

The ash fell from the sky like snow, the clouds wiped the sun clean from the heavens, and there were rivers of lava for as far as the eye could see. It was always hot, the trees were charred and barren, and what little grass was left was pitch black. The ground was gray, and dust kicked up with every step. Cracks of light pierced through the clouds as if angels were going to come down and save us. The ruins of the old cities lay scattered across the waste of what use to be the greenest pastures one would lay eyes on. The farming land of my father’s was now home to the horrendous beast that is the ruin of my tribe; it was my time to show