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His only earthen possessions lay in the shape of a badly-worn satchel across his left shoulder, a few rags to distinguish him from the nakedness of the natural world and his faithful mace. Now resting his body overwhelmed by exhaustion, the gates of Astral Winds were to be seen at maybe half a day's walk, and it was exhilarating gazing upon the flag, fluttering stoically into the heights - such so that he rose again, anew to bring Astral Winds a little closer by each step his body was able to grant him. The mace still in hand, as it seemed somewhat strange to forsake the grip on the hilt...it was a part of him, an extension of his will towards the world he so desperately strived to change into something better. On that same hilt lay the only two words he had access too when secluded into the wilderness, a request of himself to make sure he didn't forget who he was amongst his brothers while he sought himself. His name, or otherwise what the others addressed him on this mortal surface. Although he had a different name wherever the Virtues blessed him and chose his fate, in the land of Astral Winds,the wandering Barbarian, known as Tenais now crossed the boundries west of the land, ready to reinforce the ranks of all who still fought evil to their last dying breath.
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