BadCisis
The city of Aeridor, once a jewel of the sun-kissed plains, was dying. Its marble towers, which had once scraped the heavens, now stood as skeletal fingers clawing at a sky choked with the smoke of a hundred fires. The rhythmic thud of war drums, a sound that had become as constant as a heartbeat, echoed through the rubble-strewn streets, a grim lullaby for a city on its knees.