the last of the Badlands

Ancient spirits float on the howling wind, stealing your breath away in the badlands. You are powerless to fight it.
If ever a place felt it was not for man, it was here. The call of the wild is strong on the great prairie, the landscape cuts deep into the soul of man, ripping him wide open to expose his hypocrisy and lies. The layers unveil a million years of truth, creationists be damned.
Indians of the Great Plains hunt for weak prey. I must either face the truth, or run and hide with the grazing sheep.
My Arrival time has come.
I know who I am,
and what I must do.

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Wench, bring my ale, what say you?