Tales from the Windswept Peaks: Undead Walking

Precariously perched on a ledge in the mountains bordering the Arid Steppe to the west crouches a nomad. The hides worn are decorated with a multitude of bird feathers, flapping wildly in the winds that roar along the mountainside.

With a fading blue flash, a second figure appears next to the nomad, also clad in feather-decorated hides.
The winds whisper and bring the smell of decay upon them. Such as has not been scented since the false Kir strode the Steppes.

The first nomad turns his head slightly towards the newcomer, apparently unperturbed by his arrival.

It is as the winds have long whispered, since the foreigners first stepped past our lands. Much good and much evil came from their arrival, though they left tasks unfinished. But it is as the Winds of Fate dictate. We can do no more and no less. Time still flows though increasingly short.

Turning to face the wind, the first nomad’s mouth moves for a moment before he disappears in a blue flash similar to the second nomad’s arrival.