In a world where the skies raged with fire and the seas boiled with blood, the Prophets of Doom roamed the land, their voices echoing with prophecies of destruction. Theirs was a time of great upheaval, as the very fabric of reality was torn asunder by their words.
The Prophets of Doom were not to be trifled with. Their robes were black as the void, their eyes aglow with an otherworldly energy. They walked among mortals, their presence a whispered rumor, their words a clarion call to arms.
Their ancient texts, penned on papyrus and parchment, spoke of worlds born and worlds undone, of empires risen and fallen. The Prophets of Doom were the chroniclers of all that was, all that would be, and all that should never have been.