KING...This used to be a barren land. Valley after valley with nothing but frozen deserts and dried out river beds.
The people doomed to live here were nomads, wanderers of Dystopia. Their fingers were worn down to the bone as they spent their existence searching for ancient roots to eat. It was as if they were kneeling, praying to the soil, to remember what it was like to be alive. Born into starvation, held captive by the cold.Then he came. The first one. It was an alien sound to ears who had only ever known the howling wind and their own dragging feet. Hooves. Galloping hooves. First very distant. Then closer. And closer. And closer. Then they could see him. The sight was even stranger than the sound. High upon a mighty steed rode a lion of a man clad in a red cloak. Tied on his back was a strangely shaped axe with six strings.The wanderers of the dead land gathered around him as the horse came to a halt. He dismounted and stood in the middle of the crowd. A circle of hollow eyes and dried lips looked back at him. He spoke:“Where there is silence, there shall be sound, and it shall be LOUD!”He took his axe and held it high in the air.“Where there is a sky, there shall be thunder, and it shall be LOUD!”