The world moves

Great Desert of Skulls

Islana - A month had passed since her coronation. A month since a spirit older than her young mind could have ever comprehend chose her body as her new vessel.

A spirit that had lived dozens upon dozens of lives, a line of experiences that streched back thousand of years.

She spent her waking hours occupied with learning more about her people, their ways, their history and traditions. Spend her days making sure they knew she was one of them despite where she was from.

Tamazzalt had instructed her as much as he could. Conduct, posture, eclectic teachings of The Wandering, politics and offered her as much guidance on the few decrees she passed, as he could. But much she knew. His teachings served only to jar her mind and bring forth from somewhere, the ancient secret that, lay buried within her.

Her sleeping hours were a different story. Her dreams were haunted by visions and vistas that were not her own. And if during the days the voices of the other Sisters sounded only like a gentle murmur just beneath her own thoughts, at night while she slept it was like a storm of voices and ideas burst against her own psyche unattended, uncontrolled.

She was traveling at the head of the Sand Horde. It could not have been any another way. The Ascendant had stayed behind to deal with the day to day affairs of Gra'akast. She was seconded by the Priests of The Wandering. Agizul and Amastan chief among them.

Everyday she rose and stepped out of her luxurious pavillion to looked over the war camp. And every day she saw trains of more of her people coming to join the ranks. The Horde now slithered across the sands of the Desert of Skulls towards its prey.