The wind was unavoidable. Biting gusts whipped across the crest of a dune. As the sun rose, a cool desert prepared for the scorch of morning daylight.

Archmagus Zaros was all too familiar with the sting of sand. It had peppered his face for the better part of nine years.

Zaros smoothed his robes. While he wasn’t here by choice, the exhilaration of waking from a desert nap never failed to quickly rouse one to peak performance.

His eyes adjusted to the morning daylight as he scanned the vast landscape of shifting sands.

Stepping towards a shallow cliff, a chill went down the spine of his back. And a slow drip of dark magic deep within the dunes began to exert its influence.

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