In a dimly lit chamber deep beneath the earth, prophets of the Order of the Red Hand gathered to discuss the fates of the land. The air was thick with the scent of incense and desperation.
As the High Prophetess, Lady Valtira, spoke, her voice dripped with an unsettling authority: "The Great Shadow will soon consume all, and only those who possess the mark of the Red Hand shall be spared."
A murmur of assent rippled through the gathering, punctuated by the occasional burst of maniacal laughter.
But one voice stood out from the rest: "I refuse to wear the mark of the Red Hand," declared Brother Grimbold, a young and impertinent prophet. "I shall forge my own path, no matter the cost."
Lady Valtira's eyes flashed with a fierce warning: "Then you shall not be spared, Brother Grimbold. You shall burn in the Great Shadow, forevermore."
A shiver ran down the spine of the assembled prophets as they realized the gravity of their situation. But one thing was certain: the prophecies of doom would not be silenced.
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