“It was the Fortnight of Devotion, a two-week remembrance of the Gods. Although it was a celebration full of lavish offerings and sacrifices, it was conducted more out of fear than excitement. Brutal was the wrath of pantheon, and no time of the calendar year was more sacred. Unfortunately, there was a distraction of almost equal concern.
The two most powerful houses, Eratu and Dormian, were on the brink of war. The death of a bride promised to House Eratu was quite peculiar, and when factoring in the shift in power it would have caused, the death was also quite damning to House Dormian. Quarreling of any kind was strictly forbidden during the Fortnight of Devotion, but anger and vengeance could not be suppressed.
The armies lined up on the Withering Plains, hatred and venom seething from their souls. As the trumpets sounded and the men began to march towards the slaughter, ominous clouds, dark as a crow's feather, gathered above them. Their wholly unsanctioned and selfish actions had infuriated the Gods, and the sky opened up. Rain began to fall, but as the unnatural droplets approach the earth they grew long and slender, their tips narrowing to sharpened points. The tears of the heavens poured down, showering the battlefield in righteous death.” -M.D. Walter
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