Upon the spine of the world, in high towers, he guards his lonely halls against the pursuant Night.  His pace is the division of the earth: upon the fortified wall of East from West.  White crowned and shining, beacons of mystery to those below.  Creatures of legend now these walls stand, but to him, the never-speaking, ever-watching, they carry the whispers of the past.

Hunger and wither have been removed.  He needs not sleep; he needs not song. He does not die, at the cost of life.  It was the price he chose: steadfast and sure.  It was to him the highest honor to be so cursed, in ages long past.  Sentinel to an abandoned home, to a lost and sundered people.  He stands in the halls of forgotten time.  Waiting and watching for the Enemy to come.  All have passed but him.  So is his forever quest.

To protect.  To keep out the Thief.  The Traitor.  Ancient evil, likewise cursed, the ever-watching has never seen, yet his task remains through Water-Time.  And his curse removed doubt or waver.  He is the constant one: to never falter.  While the call of home was removed with death, he knows nothing but duty.  And thus he ever stands on guard, against wind and high storm.

Yet comes one unlooked for.  Not of prophecy, not with dire will.  But this one comes.  Chaos to the serene, a drop in stillness.  A murmured roar.  A doom, unsought.  A doom unknown.  Through hidden way and fear comes this agent.  Innocent of malice, what does this coming portend?

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