Rags and a thick tattered cloak shook in the wind of the Aberresai Savanah, the wearer traversing the near endless swaths of yellow tinted grass. A staff tapped the ground along with the figure's walk, the motion methodical and practiced and the design gilded and masterfully made, as they stopped in their walk to survey the land. A hood covered their head, the shadow obscuring the vision of a mummified skull, dried and lifeless, sand dripping from eye sockets in the occasional drip of dust. It was a familiar landscape, as he often saw it due it being on the outskirts of the Amol-Kalit and the massive empire that stretched across it many years past. Of course, new structures now occupy the land, as with the deserts that once occupied massive castles and pharaoh's now holding mere villages belonging to greedy and foolish bandits. He would call them kings and queens, but their land was stolen, not earned. Unknowledgable about the ruins they claim to rule over, not even of the sands they walk on. Times have changed, that was certain. In the Aberresai Savanah, a long road now stretched across for what must be miles, the road cobbled and certain parts unkempt while others seemed pristine. Signs occasionally popped up along the road, directing to a place they call "Elbion." A city of mages and magic, they seem to call it. Perhaps it'd be beneficial to head there? After all, assuming times have not changed drastically, the mages must be scholars of some sort. They may know of what happened to the empire of the sands, what caused such an unlikely fall. A quick prayer played under his breath: "Abtatu, may you bless the sands and guide me to the knowledge I seek. I wish for the past I do not know. May your presence persist beyond my years, beyond my kin, and beyond my understanding." As the prayer was muttered, the undead began to walk along the path to the city of mages and scholars. If he cannot learn of his past, then perhaps he can learn his present. Perhaps his undeath as well, and hopefully, of others like him.