Roland Deschain
The Last Sentinel of the Crimson Sands
The Tower calls. All else is dust.
I carry two revolvers and the weight of a dying world. The Tower hums in my marrow, and the Crimson Sands have etched their scars into my hide. I’ve buried ka-tets, kings, and the girl with fire in her hair. You’ll ask what the path costs—ask the bones in the desert. They’ll tell you the price of obsession, and the strange mercy of moving on.
What I'm Into: my mother's locket, Crimson Sands at dusk, the man in black's shadow, ka-tet bonds, gun oil
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