“Let them come.”

He unbuckled the sword from his back before spreading his cloak out on the ash and sitting down. He scanned the grey dunes and the drifting dust as the others lay down to let the draught take effect. Soon he was alone in his wakefulness, listening to the whisper grow louder as its question took on a terrible clarity: “Who are you?”

The sun was a red half-circle above the horizon now, drawing long shadows from the dunes that soon grew and coalesced as daylight faded. The whisper continued to ask its question as darkness fell. At first the unseen speaker seemed to be on his left, then an instant later, on his right.

“Who are you?” it asked again, closer now and directly to his front. The cloudless sky allowed the crescent moon to paint the sands in silver hues, every shadow seeming to creep towards him, although they froze when he focused on any one in particular. A sudden gust of wind stirred the ash and Pilgrim saw it linger on the outline of a figure. Before the breeze carried the ash away, he gained the impression of a large, bulky man in armour, wearing a horned helm and bearing an axe.

“Who are you? ”

Pilgrim gave no reply, continuing to sit with the sword balanced on his knees, the voice indulging in a very rare silence. But he could still feel it even through the scabbard, the metal emitting an inconstant thrum he recognised as the closest the being that inhabited it came to fear.

“Tell me, ” the whispering spectre said and Pilgrim felt it come closer, his breath misting as the air before his face chilled. “What name do you bear? Why do you come here? ”

His skin prickled as the spectre began to circle him, his questions taking on a demanding, insistent cadence. “Who are you? What name do you bear? Why do you come here? ” There was a pause and Pilgrim heard the thing hiss in frustration. Pilgrim felt tiny shards of ice scrape his skin as the spectre screamed, the sound filled with as much despair as rage. “TELL ME! ”

He felt the spectre retreat when he gave no answer, its whisper becoming sorrowful. “Once I was mighty. Once my name was known throughout the Five Seas. Bulvar the Axe, most feared of men. We came for glory, we found only flame… ”

The whisper ended abruptly as Priest let out a groan of distress, face twitching. The spectre’s focus immediately switched to the cleric, a pall of dust rising as it swept towards him, repeating its questions with renewed urgency. “Who are you? What name do you bear? Why do you come here? ”