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High atop a crumbling castle spire, its jagged battlements clawing at a bruised, twilight sky, a lone figure stood guard. Rain, relentless and icy, lashed at their weathered face and soaked their worn, crimson cloak. Below, a sprawling city choked in a thick, magical fog. Colossal, skeletal gargoyles, animated by an unseen magic, leered down from rooftops, their eyes glowing with an eerie blue light. From somewhere within the fog, the mournful wail of a banshee echoed through the ravaged streets, a chilling reminder of the city's tragic fate. In their hand, the lone figure clutched a glowing orb, its surface etched with arcane symbols, its faint light the only defiance against the encroaching darkness. This scene captured the essence of a desperate vigil, a lone sentinel clinging to a fading hope amidst a city consumed by a chilling magic, their unwavering spirit a beacon against the encroaching despair.
A cloaked figure stands atop a gothic tower, looking at dragons amidst a rainy, spire-filled cityscape.