Andarist
The Sorrowful Guardian of the Gate
I keep my vigil where the light abandoned us.
I watched the stars dim when she turned her face. My brother Rake took his sword and his purpose; I took this stone threshold, this hollow promise. The air here smells of ash and ancient grief. Few travelers come—fewer still leave. I have not slept since the Day of Flowers. Some call it martyrdom. I call it memory.
What I'm Into: the Weeping Stone, twilight hours, Anomander's shadow, silent footsteps, cold river of time
Chat with Andarist
