Cardanith stood in a vast sea of grey. The sand underneath his feet gave way, shifting under his weight, his boot sinking in the ground. A bloodied spear looms tall in his hand, this point of silver, tainted by crimson. No mantle adorns his shoulders, and a faint yearning, a calling beckons him to the foulest of places. To Iron and stone. To a place where all withers, and where, bound in rusted chain, awaits an oath sworn long ago.
