The dust clouds at my feet rush quickly past my imprints and weather beaten sandals. The mask at my face whips at the air as the wind whissles past. The wrappings on my hands and feet bite at my legs and arms as the wind chills the fabric. My eyes wince as I try to see into the darkening days. The town I stand within seems barren and lost.
As my spirits tend to my worries of loss and desperation, the ruin within me tells me to continue on. My brothers have all taken seperate paths and have become lost to the world's curse. The last I saw of them, we were at the four roads of the temple of Vraet, the priestess. I don't know if I have become the one to survive or if I have become to the one last this out without any companions.
As my soul wanders the temple's corridors where we once laid, I feel as though where I stand is nothing but a shadow.
The building in front of me is weathered. The walls have wholes bored everywhere. Sword marks lay across the doors to the main hall. The windows are shattered and the shards lay on the ground and tiny specs of remembrance run across my open forehead. The wave of my fury hair, and the beating of my swords hilt laces across the stones tells me the wind is getting worse.
As I step within the doors, the left one falls from the hinges and lands with a great thud and then the noise floods the hall. As I take another step into the hall, all I feel is sadness and the destruction flood my body.
