• Hail Guest!
    We're looking for Community Content Contribuitors to Stratics. If you would like to write articles, fan fiction, do guild or shard event recaps, it's simple. Find out how in this thread: Community Contributions
  • Greetings Guest, Having Login Issues? Check this thread!
  • Hail Guest!,
    Please take a moment to read this post reminding you all of the importance of Account Security.
  • Hail Guest!
    Please read the new announcement concerning the upcoming addition to Stratics. You can find the announcement Here!

"The Man in the Desert."


Babbling Loonie
Stratics Veteran
Stratics Legend
The Man in the Desert knows not himself.

The sun rained down on him like a blast furnace, the wanderer. Golden blades of light pierced his white shroud and burned his hands, roasting him slowly. The wind beat at his cloak, struggling to rip it from him. The great fire of this world, the hot sands of the Auroch, seemed bent on reducing him to the base elements that constitute man.

“Please,” he said, addressing nothing. No one. “Just wait a little while longer. We will talk about this.”

The Man in the Desert, who gives himself over to contemplation of God, is lost to this world.

His throat burned, and his lips cracked. He choked upon the sand that filled his mouth. Each step was a struggle to overcome the grappling hands of the sand that cling to his ankles and hold him in place. The wanderers steps, written on countless and dunes, marched on behind him, though the winds sought to erase any trace of his existance.

The sweet promise of death called up at him. Keeper, it whispered. He fell to his knees.

“Please,” he repeated. “Give me a chance to talk to you, and I will listen to everything you have to say.”

The Man in the Desert is a fool.

He felt the world give beneath him, as the sands of the dune crumbled, sending him sliding down into its shadow.

In the darkness he could hear them, the ocean of souls. A cacophony of screams, tormented and in pain. The innocent. The murdered. Those sacrificed to fulfill the vast hunger of that evil woman. And he had helped her.

Avenge us, one voice begged.

Avenge us, another said, with more determination. Or we will overcome you, and do it ourselves.

Amelie, a mother cried. Where is my little Amelie!?

No, please! One cried out. The wanderer relived the sacrifice with him, watched as his heart was torn out and cast into the Well.

Pain filled him, as though it were possible to increase his suffering. You did this to us.

My wife. Where is she? Please, you must find her.

Where am I?

Why have you forsaken me?

“Please,” he whispered, almost choking. “One at a time. And I will listen to all of you, even if it drives me mad...”