The World-Walker

  Not to be confused with the Wyrld-walkers, those giant beasts whose footsteps shake the Mortal Lands, or the Walkers, the two precious souls condemned to walk the lands until such time as the Creator calls his people home at the end of the age. The World-Walker is a myth, a legend, a voice on the wind carrying stories from distant shores. No historian, loresmith or bard has been able to trace the origins of the legend of the World-Walker. Some say they never existed at all.     Their tales, should one chance to hear them on a rainy day in a tavern or on a sunny afternoon by the roadside, or even a clear night by a campfire and the stars, entrap the mind in a whirlwind of imagination. Valiant Knights, fierce dragons, fair maidens, and wicked fiends dance around the room, the road, the campfire, inspiring awe and delight in all who listen. Stranger stills are those stories whose roots are not embedded in the ancient fairy tales. Listeners in Poartlind Tales of the distant Land of the Lost, of the Isles of Maenkes, of hidden jewels of verdant islands on distant shores. Those in Cincini speak of tales of Poartlind and Dalreme, of the sparkling Shores of Shimshar and the Lunis Archiapelago. No matter where the World-Walker goes, stories follow. Some say they don’t hail from the Mortal Lands at all.   Those stories that have found their origin in the World-Walker are often found to be true, with slight embellishment for the entertainment of their audiences on the cold nights. Historians accredit many stories of deeds to have only been recorded because of the World-Walker. Even those that most would have set aside as ‘insignificant’ were revealed to have massive ramifications on events of the world, when put against the contrast of the fabric of history. Some say they aren’t Mortal at all. And then there are the legends that have no tie to the Mortal Lands. References to beasts not even Yevin has seen, wars that never happened, heroes who were never born or never died. It is these legends that often enrapture the audience the most, wondering whence such stories have come. Yet any attempt to put these stories to paper have failed; they seem to vanish from memory, like dew in the summer sun. Some say that not even the Stars know the World-Walker’s origin.   Those who have chanced to met the World-Walker-and though many have crossed their path, few can say with certainty they have met-can never say what they’ve looked like, what they were wearing, or even how tall they stood. They can say that the World-Walker never accepted payment beyond that which would pay for their next meal-if such a thing was even necessary. The dust of the road was always on their shoes, a hat always tilted to deflect the rays of the sun, some form of an instrument always at their side-but beyond that, the image of the World-Walker is that of a mystery. Many have sought the World-Walker. All have failed. None have been able to trace their path, or predict their destination. They are a wanderer, winding their way through the Mortal Lands, through History, as if on nothing more than a summer stroll. And yet… There is a Purpose. That much is certain.   But what that Purpose is, it is not yet time to Share.