ACROSS ENTRAILS DEVOURED BY PUTRID WINDS

A miasma of corruption hangs heavy in the heavens, thick with the savor of obliteration. The wind, a putrid serpent, writhingly around the mangled corpses, ripping flesh from bone. The skeletons gleam like pearls in the morbid light. A symphony of screams echoes through the valley, a chorus of suffering as the entrails are devoured by the whirlwind