In the Path of Legend, there lay a deadly mountain range, a land where even the bravest souls trembled to tread.
The jagged peaks stretched across the horizon like the teeth of a slumbering giant, each one piercing the heavens, towering far above the clouds. The air in this cursed place shimmered with an otherworldly energy, charged with a power that made the skin crawl. The sky above was a perpetual twilight, neither day nor night as if the sun itself dared not fully rise nor set over such a cursed domain.
From the highest peaks, arcs of purple lightning crackled incessantly, leaping from crag to crag in a chaotic, unrelenting dance of raw energy.
The bolts split the air with deafening roars, their brilliance illuminating the dark skies with flashes so intense that they left afterimages burned into the retinas of those who dared to gaze upon them. It was as if the lightning were alive, imbued with a malevolent sentience, hunting intruders with a relentless fury.
