What happened to the village as a lonely survivor

They were the cold, pale creatures from the myths of the indigenous people, from creepy bedtime stories for children, from Gothic horror for a morbid audience:

twittering creatures with torn wings, legs with spikes and terrible jaws, insane beings of extraordinary malevolence from the abysses between the stars, buried in black tombs under the corrupted earth of these cursed forests and lonely mountains.

They have slept for a thousand years, beneath the roots of sinister monoliths, but now they come out hungry, awakened by a whisper and the persistent song they have longed for.

www.thesecretworld.com

They were the cold, pale things of native myths, of scary bedtime stories for children, of gothic horror for a morbid audience:

chittering creatures with torn wings and spiky legs and terrible jaws, mad things of exceptional malignancy from the abysses between stars, entombed in black vaults beneath the tainted soil of these accursed woods and desolate mountains.

They have slept a thousand years, nestled amongst the roots of sinister monoliths, but now they stir, hungrily, awakened by whispers and by the insistent song they have craved for so long.

www.thesecretworld.com