Hawking

He is born of blood, but his soul is filled with the heart of the Windsinger. He has left his home clan in the Windswept Plateau to see if he can find a place his god has not touched. It may take him a lifetime and who knows? Perhaps he will find a clan marked for exploration who will help him on his journey. He wept when he left, for even a wanderer may miss his first home, but the wider world is too big and too full of mysteries to leave unknown. His path north takes him first to the clan of his father in the Scarred Wasteland of the Plague. They are a hard and enduring people, strange to his Windborn sensibilities, but somehow familiar. He admires them their strength and solidity, but he cannot stay long, and leaves before the end of the season. Perhaps, if he finds what he is looking for, he will return to that land and learn more about how they see the world. He knows he will never settle down there, finding too much joy in travel.

He is laughing as he makes his way west, towards the Starfall Isles. It is a curious place, the Arcane realm, most recently shaped out of the domains of all the gods. Are there depths here that the Windsinger has not plumbed? Are there perhaps regions where no one has heard of the gods? (He thinks there must be, but perhaps he must travel far beyond known Sornieth to find out. If he encounters a land with a people who do not recognize him as a dragon or as an imperial, perhaps he will have found a place that does not recognize his gods.)

But he mustn't get ahead of himself. First, he must explore that which is nearer to home. One he has gained some experience exploring that which is more familiar, then he can think about heading into the Beyond. He thinks, the Shade is always near, and if he heads out unprepared, all the worse for him, a terrible fate with nothing to show for it. But if he cannot stop himself from heading into the unknown, he can at least try to ready himself for that day by exhausting his opportunities in territory that is at least known to others if not himself. The Windsinger's spirit may howl beneath his skin, but an adventurer cannot let himself be too driven, or he risks falling to his own foolishness and impulsivity.

The moment he crosses the border of the Scarred Wasteland and enters the Starfall Isles a magic-infused storm nearly shreds his mind to pieces. Perhaps it is so strong here because of the struggle between the two domains for control over this land. It is said that infection spread ever outward from the Wyrmwound, and while one would think its power would weaken at the edges, is it not so strange to think that here is where the fighting is fiercest, and that the clash of forces simply multiplies the existing magic to far more dangerous levels? He had no companion from either domain with him to help weather the surge, but he thinks perhaps having the primal energy of the Windsinger has protected him, and he offers up a heartfelt thanks. His journey has barely started and he has already nearly met his end. He laughs (perhaps the plague in him is not so dormant after all) and heads deeper into the Arcanist's domain.