He once burned villages for gold. Now he walks barefoot across the same ashes, seeking forgiveness from the wind.
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He couldn't take the oasis. So he sits in the dunes and takes from everyone who walks away from it.
Every night the wind howls past the black rock ring around Zharessin Oasis, and Oshenne Zephrain, an air genasi elder of the council of shamans, tilts her head and listens. She gives the sound first, what she thinks it asked second, and never claims to know who is speaking.
Every stone along the ring turns cold after sunset except one. It has been keeping a seat warm for you.
