Among the green hills, there is a barren valley. Once this place was thriving and beautiful, fruitful and fertile. Farms and small villages dotted it, and it's reputation for fertile soil spread. War, for generations, marched back and froth across this valley. Livestock were killed or escaped. Crops alternately burned or rotted in the feild. Homes blazed. Now this place is an unmarked graveyard for those who coveted it. Broken weapons and armor, bleached bones and broken objects mark where soldiers fell.
In this place, you can respectfully look around trying to recognize messages about your destructve or covetous tendencies. Does a broken cottage remind you of something? Or maybe it's the tarnished and damaged heraldry on a shield. Are you a survivor of wanton and nonsensical warring?
This barren, war torn valley is a place to mourn, to listen to the messages of the past. Cry your tears, feed the land, and one day, it will return to it's former glory or be overtaken by nature. The sorrow and anger of the place will diminish and it will hold other lessons for us to learn.
In this place, you can respectfully look around trying to recognize messages about your destructve or covetous tendencies. Does a broken cottage remind you of something? Or maybe it's the tarnished and damaged heraldry on a shield. Are you a survivor of wanton and nonsensical warring?
This barren, war torn valley is a place to mourn, to listen to the messages of the past. Cry your tears, feed the land, and one day, it will return to it's former glory or be overtaken by nature. The sorrow and anger of the place will diminish and it will hold other lessons for us to learn.
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