Khamûl

The body was smaller than he is used to, but seemed well put together, adequate. The place is harder. The light, there is so much light. Even the stars, which he hates for what they represent, even the stars are veiled by the light.

And the air, the darkness sniffs, trying to orient himself. But the air is dead, tells him nothing. But more than dead . . . it is poisoned. A smile twitches his lips.

He had answered a call, half heard, half felt. Not from his lord, but from his lord’s lord. Duty nonetheless, and allegiance owed. Power to be had, to be taken.

He reaches out for his brothers, for together they are a force that not many can withstand. But he cannot find them, no echo of their spirits, no rumour of their passing in shadows on the living. So he is alone.

( But there is strength in him still and he will do what is required of him. )