In two brief flashes of a black void, two nomads appear on a ledge overlooking the Trabe Plateau, which lies to the distant east. A harsh wind swirls snow around them, and settles in the elegant beard of the older nomad.
The older nomad says, "One of the soulless guardians has appeared on the Plateau. The winds have said such to me. They whisper that it is related to the stench of darkness that comes from the lands where the sun sets."
"Our mountains will likely protect us. What of the unliving cares for our mountains? Yet several of us have walked the winds to Forfedhdar to help them face this threat. Too well do we remember the days of darkness and the false Kir."
The younger nomad figets and looks nervous.
"What if they do come up here? What will we do then?"
"Do what we have always done - survive."
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