The plains and meadows were drenched in blood.
The once serene plains now lay desolate, their green fields stained crimson with blood. The air was thick with the stench of death, and the ground was littered with twisted bodies, their limbs contorted in unnatural positions. Crows circle overhead, their cawing adding to the eerie atmosphere as they feast upon the remains.
Scattered among the corpses are discarded weapons, shattered armor, and the tattered banners of fallen warriors, all silent witnesses to the carnage that has taken place.
Amidst the grisly scene, a lone figure sits atop a mound of corpses, his eyes gleaming with a chilling intensity.
His features twisted into a menacing sneer, and he surveyed the scene below with a sense of satisfaction.
Blood stains his hands and clothes, a grim testament to his role in the massacre.
Sitting over the row of corpses with a darkened gaze, the man shakes his faint whispers.
