Battle Is A Dance

The winds of the decaying dimension blew past Rowan, it carried his resolve and his unshakable aura toward the Primordial Keepers, and as their robes that were blacker than night flapped in the breeze, their sunken eyes lit up with a strange glow.

Wormtongue had cut them off from any communication with the Great Desert, and this was not an easy thing that could be achieved without great preparation, and the Primordial Keepers understood that a real threat had shown itself today.

Each of the Primordial Keepers was thousands of feet tall, and their flesh was dry and pressed flat against their bones, making them resemble corpses that had been left to dry out in the desert sun for years, which in essence was not far from the truth. No life flowed underneath their withered frame, except death.