The moon hung in the sky above, a silver white disc of light that spoke of distances inconceivable to those on the planet it shone down upon. It was full tonight, and so bright that only on the fringes of the horizon did stars finally appear. Perhaps that's why it was warm tonight, not the normal cold of a nighttime desert at all. Not hot enough to be uncomfortable, but it certainly was warm enough to keep one from bundling up without due cause. Off in the distance the Maelstrom could be seen, a wall of death to those who knew not how to handle it. And walking from it was a man, bundled in so much protective wear that he appears to waddle. A lead in one hand used to lead to a camel but all it holds now is something black and putrid that is best not dwelt upon.
Enzeru thought he had been prepared. He grew up facing nature every day of his life. But this storm was nothing like anything he had encountered before. He brought water for twice the time he was told it would take and ran out hours ago, the casks themselves shattering under the heavy winds of death. He was forced to draw it to him, twist it into something durable. Under all of his gear was an armor of amethyst, cracked and dented from immeasurable collisions with the sand in the air. He wills the armor away as he nears the site of construction ahead, the robes visible lessening around his form as they adjust to the empty space left behind.
He stops and looks down at what's left on the end of the lead in his hand, frowning and pulling off the heavy robes given him in Soon's Haven. A simple word of thanks to the beast for performing well and dying for a foolish man, and he covers it with the cloth, piling sand on it to keep it from flying free. Now free of that vestment the man under becomes more clear to any onlookers. Light blue hair like a clear sky, eyes that seem to be cut from ice with their cold intensity, Enzeru stood just over five and a half feet tall, and his 170lbs form was lean muscle cut for speed and not brute force. He wore a tunic the color of his hair, with navy blue trim on the edges. Khaki pants and brown hunting boots as well as gloves completed his outfit, leaving an odd looking man indeed.
And from the bow slung across a shoulder, and quiver on the opposite, his being armed was obvious. He kept his hands at his sides, however, making no moves of any type towards either shoulder. Instead the fair skinned hunter takes smooth strides along the sand to the standards flowing in the breeze of the night.
Enzeru thought he had been prepared. He grew up facing nature every day of his life. But this storm was nothing like anything he had encountered before. He brought water for twice the time he was told it would take and ran out hours ago, the casks themselves shattering under the heavy winds of death. He was forced to draw it to him, twist it into something durable. Under all of his gear was an armor of amethyst, cracked and dented from immeasurable collisions with the sand in the air. He wills the armor away as he nears the site of construction ahead, the robes visible lessening around his form as they adjust to the empty space left behind.
He stops and looks down at what's left on the end of the lead in his hand, frowning and pulling off the heavy robes given him in Soon's Haven. A simple word of thanks to the beast for performing well and dying for a foolish man, and he covers it with the cloth, piling sand on it to keep it from flying free. Now free of that vestment the man under becomes more clear to any onlookers. Light blue hair like a clear sky, eyes that seem to be cut from ice with their cold intensity, Enzeru stood just over five and a half feet tall, and his 170lbs form was lean muscle cut for speed and not brute force. He wore a tunic the color of his hair, with navy blue trim on the edges. Khaki pants and brown hunting boots as well as gloves completed his outfit, leaving an odd looking man indeed.
And from the bow slung across a shoulder, and quiver on the opposite, his being armed was obvious. He kept his hands at his sides, however, making no moves of any type towards either shoulder. Instead the fair skinned hunter takes smooth strides along the sand to the standards flowing in the breeze of the night.
