The End of Days: A Shattered Land

Navigating the winding streets of Al’nahar’s harbor quarter, Tariq found himself jostling through a throng of sailors, peddlers, and drunkards. The air was thick with the scent of saltwater and spices, mingling with the occasional waft of unwashed bodies. His eyes were drawn to a small, ancient bookstore tucked away in a narrow, shadowy alley. The sign above the door, written in elegant, flowing script, read “Al’Quamir’s Treasures.”
Pushing open the heavy wooden door, he was greeted by the musty scent of old parchment and leather-bound tomes. The dim light from ornate lanterns cast flickering shadows on the walls, lined with shelves overflowing with books and scrolls. The shopkeeper, an elderly man with a weathered face and keen eyes, beckoned him over with a glint of excitement in his eyes. “Welcome, welcome, feel free to look around,” he said, his voice warm and inviting.
As Tariq sifted through a pile of scrolls, one in particular caught his eye. His hands trembled slightly as he carefully unrolled the fragile parchment, intrigued by what it might reveal.
“Ah, you must be curious...” the shopkeeper said, noticing his expression. “This was written by Hassan the Hermit many years ago. Hassan was known for his prophetic visions and bouts of profound wisdom. He spent his days wandering the sands, recording the secrets whispered to him by winds and stars. However,” the shopkeeper added with a knowing wink, “he was also known to be quite mad.”
Tariq took a deep breath, feeling a mix of anticipation and unease. The parchment felt delicate under his fingers, and the faded ink seemed to whisper secrets from another time. The shopkeeper watched him intently, his eyes reflecting the flickering light of the lanterns as he began to read:

Hearken, O wanderers of the sands, to the words inscribed upon this scroll, and heed its words, unearthed from the depths of the desert’s heart.
In the twilight of the age, when the sun bleeds crimson and the moons weeps silver tears, the land shall tremble and shatter. The earth, once steadfast, will rend asunder, and from its wounds, the desert shall rise, a beast awakened from its slumber.
The dunes shall swell and surge, devouring all in their path, swallowing cities and mountains alike. The winds shall howl with the voices of the forgotten, and the sands shall dance in a frenzy of destruction.
And lo, the sea, in its wrath, shall rise to claim what remains. The waters shall surge forth, a relentless tide, to engulf the remnants of a shattered world. The waves shall crash upon the shores, and the deep shall swallow the land, leaving naught but silence in its wake.
Thus, the prophecy speaks: the land will shatter, the desert will rise, and the sea will swallow all. Beware, for the end is nigh, and none shall escape their fate foretold.

Hassan Ri'shar, the mad prophet

Legends say that Hassan was touched by the divine, gifted with visions that danced before his eyes like mirages in the midday sun. He wandered the dunes, his tattered robes fluttering like the wings of a desert hawk, his eyes ever searching the horizon for signs and omens.
For hours, he would sit, tracing intricate patterns in the sand, listening to the voices carried on the desert winds.
These voices, he claimed, were the whispers of ancient spirits, revealing the hidden truths of the world. His prophecies, jotted down with frantic strokes of a brush, captured the essence of his visions and the mysteries they unveiled.
To this day, Hassan’s teachings and visions are treasured by collectors, each scroll a testament to his profound, albeit eccentric, wisdom.