From the western desert sands blew in a weary traveler. Caked and crested from the blowing waves of sand he staggers across the vast wasteland seeking solace. A moment of peace for one who has walked the earth for Aeons.
It is here, among the palm trees and and crystal water of a solitary oasis we find this individual. Wrapped in bandages, toying with the hem of his cloak, he shrinks under the meager shadow cast by the trees. Night would arrive soon and offer him a moment’s peace of mind, enough so that he may remove his cloak and bandages, opting for the cooler air of night.
As the sun rolls over the hills and vanishes out of sight, he drifts to make a lonesome fire from scarce kindling of the meager forest behind him. The moon rises behind him as he removes the linen wrappings. Cool silver eyes cast a gaze into the water of the oasis reflecting back at him the image of a travel worn mage of sorts. Silver hair echoes the phase of the full moon, tanned skin scarred and well worn from his years of travelling.
Yet among nothing but silent trees and s dim breeze he yields little of his own mystery and, with the fire in full bloom, he makes to take the age worn tea set from his things and prepare himself a drink.