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Foreboding Sails

Fiendish smoke spiraling above the horizon. The sound of screeching engines heralding impending doom. The leviathan, its plates stained with pitch and soot, slowly sailing towards the heart of our home. No kamikaze[1] or divine wind to deliver intervention. Our fletched arrows bouncing off the reinforced steel of an era beyond our time. Our wooden galleys, our planked barges, splintered by its mortars and ordinance. The demons’ desecration of our lands, bring us strife, a fateful reminder that we are still the people of the past. Opening our eyes, we look towards the future. By becoming what has shattered us, can we overcome the inevitable cataclysm, The black-wrought machine from another land. [1]Kamikaze, or divine wind, is a term first originated from the intervention of a tempest in the Mongol invasion of Japan. The entire foreign armada, which would have occupied the nation, was smashed off the inhospitable coastline.

Foreboding Sails

Fiendish smoke spiraling above the horizon. The sound of screeching engines heralding impending doom. The leviathan, its plates stained...