It was from the comfortable peak of Pauldron mountain and through an ice cold glare viewed by his bloodshot, cataract spoiled eyes that the monster known as Gray cast hasty judgment over the ever perilous world of Illarion.
"Illarion is dying... Praise be, the prophecy proclaimed it so!"
Drawing the shape of a diamond in the wind before him with his gore soaked partisan, the pale, skeletal creature with the sagging, boil ridden skin exhaled a crooked cackle beneath his breath.
"These fools! They have allowed their incompetent weak of mind cretins to wreak havok on their destiny, erasing any slither of hope at retribution or majesty!"
The cackle soon grew to a wild crescendo, belching a deep, bile gargled laughter. Spewing his hatred from the top of the mountain, Gray raises his partisan with a sense of triumph.
"Charlatans broken to pieces! Hiding in their own stupid heads from the answers they require! They shall never recover... NEVER! Aaaaarghahaha!"
Spinning the partisan swiftly to plant the spike harshly into the mountain top, Gray's laughter came to a halt.
"Mortals be damned... The water shall turn to lava and the air cloud with smoke. Flesh falls from bones and mortals shall be left without hope."
As the mummified workers continued their tasks around him, the Gray lord continued to watch with judgment over the land. The monster wasn't dead, nor did his hatred cease. Not by a long haul.