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In the realm of white sands, only one can be crowned heir of the Pallid Throne |
Come close, child, can you hear the scholars of the sunken valley? We can. They say the Leviathans are the children of the Great Devourer. How often they amuse us, how often they are wrong. The Leviathans are not children; they are the mouths embedded in the stars. You see, the hunger is a collective of ravenous tissue, and the Leviathans are the curtain and the veil through which very few escape. Together, they are the Great Devourer. Will you remember our words? Will you remember the next time you feel a pit in your stomach, a gnawing sensation tickling the root of your spine? Are you hungry? They are, and not the taste of a thousand worlds will slake their thirst. Listen, close child, do you hear the whispers coming from the dark throats of the universe? They are like the buzzing of the gnats about your ears. They are the nameless hoard who worship the hunger. Listen, close child, do you hear the screams coming from the dark throats of the universe? They are like the howling wind, the roaring lion, and the crashing waves against jagged shores. They are the Engineers, offspring of the Great Devourer enthroned within its gut. Do you hear the sounds of battle in the distance? The gnashing of teeth and grinding of claws? The Engineers lead the charge securing names for themselves to hide from their blind and ignorant mother. How desperate they struggle to separate from their progenitor. Do you see the irony? You will. After all, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, and, where the Engineers are concerned, indeed, a skipped stone would mount a greater distance. Come with us, child. Come with us as we tell the tale of the 149th Pallid war. |