Carried upon the Wind
A wave of cold rushes southward pulling behind it a litter of ice which glows in the rays of the rising sun. Beams blessed by Iris are beacons that sunder all barriers between the deities who spill blood and split flesh with whips of jagged barbs and those that bring forests from barren wilderness. Fields are blanketed by a malevolent frost that is untamed in its intent. Fetters of the kind which can hold even the mightiest primordial grab ahold of legions of deities hiding in palaces forgotten by mortals. Finely carved pearl is shattered as the barred gates are crushed with a single blow. The rulers are dragged out screaming and tossed into a void.
Across the mortal world destruction is loosed upon both those to whom emaciated and sickly souls run as well as the sovereigns dressed in dross silks. Fields and forests once lush are blighted by rot and vermin that consume with the might of unchained storms intent on vengeance. Cities empty as civilization crumbles. Ghosts flee into the hills slaughtering the weakest in the hope of surviving one more day. Oceans boil until all that exists are seas of steam which are propelled across the land by violent tempests which is the source of all storms. The waves scalds the flesh of all who search for some shelter even if it will last but a moment.
Crowns are tossed upon the ground and crushed into the earth until glittering mounds of gold and silver dust is all that remains. Tattered clothes of spun amethyst threads woven by immortal hands are scattered about as innumerable men, women, and children kneel in shackled bondage. Bows of power are bent and shattered by he who is borne upon the winds. He stands tall with eyes that are as the soul of all storms of ice. Into one of the newly formed seas aegis is disdainfully cast. It is slag as is the trident which had commanded the waves. Gone is the helm of Hades and the blade of War. Now is the time of Aeolis, the new master of Olympus.
