I was holding vigil when he came.
The desert.
He faded in on the wind. He had dark skin, and wore plain, white desert garb. His face was rough, and wrinkled, marks of many years of hard work in desert orchards.
- Twisted Weave. He greeted me.
I felt the massive weight of his power on my shoulders. He was strong. Perhaps as powerful as Gurada. And he was ancient.
I focused for a moment, and felt the pressure vanish
"Hail, mighty one." I said. I made room on the bench. "Will you hold vigil with me?"
- I will.
The man sat beside me. He smelled of exotic spices, and warm desert rains. In his movement was the migration of desert birds, and slow rolling dunes,
"The battle is raging, great one, but the Khagan's forces are slowly chipping away at the Rending."
- I know. My spirits guide and protect them.
"But it's not enough to banish the Rending totally, sir."
- Yes.
"Do you know the vision? The oracle's vision?"
The spirit shook its head.
