Boski's white robe blew idly in the wind as he walked. He had no real destination, he only knew that he was to wander the world. After 5,000 years of banishment, he came to like it, and found it wasn't too bad of a place. With his long black hair, fair skin, and thin goatee, one would think him for a mere mortal.
He heard the sound of dragging metal. Usually, it was just a group of worn out mercenaries, dragging their feet and their swords in the gravel. However, this seemed different, and he kept his guard up, not that he needed it, though.....