Rockobar

https://minotar.net/helm/rockobar/100.png

I am a follower of Deserma from the Eremian Waste, a land untouched by the cold of Wintival and sears the clouds of Zelphair. We came thousands of years ago to the Undying Lands following the Emeraldites just before the Sire Deities were emerging, but could not be ruled by those so high and mighty. We left the Undying Lands but our memories have crumble to dust of how to leave 'Templehelm'. Months after shambling away from the Emeraldites and months of being stuck in the deep blue of the emerging god Akwal. He came to us in a great wave, but our unwillingness to abide to such strict society envisioned by Him made him abandoned us. Being left alone so stranded in our mere salt encrusted timber lashed rafts, forever shall we remember the hate we bear to Akwal for his lack of mercy when he deniedpoor souls divine nourishment. We were only to be served at the end of our sea voyage by a  an arid waste of sand. So then we lay down in the rippling heat to die, though freedom from being ruled by the emeraldites still sweet in our minds. But Deserma appeared to us by chance as a great sandstorm before us, on a journey to inspect Her new found domain. She saw a broken people who were closer to death than life, and took pity on those who would live in a society that would let them control themselves. She brought the remnant people back from limbo and gave them new life in contact with the Eremian Waste, what we christened our new home, The Sanctuary of the Suffering. She fitted each survivor with new hearts, a tiny, fragile sand timer, with miniscule grains of sand within walls forged of glass magic. The grains have already pre-determined our fate, how long left we have to live and each grain may fall with even years between. If one were to rip open a man's chest with a sword, you would see the last grain fall throught the neck of the timer and even the fall of grains in a premature babe could be felt around its body like a regular heartbeat as it lives out its first and only day.

So Deserma saved us, gave us a message of hope and we are bound to Her, bound to her mercy that falls within our new hearts, forever to be the Dustbound. We feel no heat, feel no thrist, nor hunger in the sparse desert, thrilled by Her radiance. Whenever we dance with death or titter on the edge of the Void, the grains trickle faster towards the end of our lives. Thus, some warriors live joyous, reckless lives to die an early death, or avoid such danger and remain peaceful to live huge spans that have been known to stretch centuries, the preferred life of our elders and Oracles in the pursuit of knowledge. We have taken to fighting from afar with magic and bow to avoid damage to our hearts when plunder of war and raiding draws us to the borders of the soreading Waste.

I leave the Waste as a test subject for our Oracles to see how repeated revival of life in the Undying Lands affects our life timers and to be a messenger that hopes to remind the Emeraldites about one small race they lost from their textbooks. With a blessing and the guidance of the blessed Sun I have journeyed to the Lands that once could have been our home. I will dwell in the deserts to tolerate the yearning that calls me back to the Eremian, for I hope to lay foundations for our literature and revival.

For the time being I must explore the ways of this land, but hope to revive the weakening creed. Signs of what is to come are already being in place. May you walk on soft sands.