Aerich knelt in the sand. He faced Cynosure, his head resting on the pommel, his eyes closed in prayer.
Everything in the Cinderlands was brown, beige or taupe. Every leaf, desperately trying to cling to some sort of life, was crunchy and brittle. A grim dust seemed to stick to everything.
It was a wonder that his ring of sustenance could keep up. Every time his lips felt like they were going to go as parched as the land around him, the ring would magically infuse his body with life-giving water and all would be well.
Now they were on another quest, dealing with souls with whom Ragathiel had a vested interest. An entire people pushed from their homes, their entire culture and way of life forever and irrevocably changed by the arrogance of Cheliax. He felt a lot of sympathy for the clans, and knew that, in the end, Ragathiel would smile on their endeavors and welcome them to the Happy Hunting Grounds of Heaven.
The lands seemed to be fighting them every step of the way, from true justice from being delivered. It was up to him and his friends to show them that they were the agents of Ragathiel and they were there to bring the justice that their forefathers had died to attain.