Alqa Hacamak was a dead world. Not a world that brought death, but a world devoid of life. The wind moved constantly, bringing a foul smell of poison stained soil and blighted memories under the ever-twilight of the sky. Making a pilgrimage here was dangerous, for even the temperamental weather had a taint to it. It stung the knight's sensibilities, though he did his best to keep his mind free of thought and feeling. He stood within the mouth of a shallow cave, barely deep enough to shield him from the elements. 

Embedded in the blackened stone was a statue of unknown sigaldry, said to contain visions for those who sought them by the god Hyperion. The statue was a maiden, arms widespread and solemn in expression. The barest hint of a crack showed upon her left shoulder, and though the sculpture did not seem aware of his presence, somehow he still felt eyes upon him in this place of desolation. 

Calian Dwimmerblade felt this wasn't entirely fair. 

Two years he had waited to be allowed on this planet, for this exact purpose of guidance. For two years he had waited patiently as hundreds of thousands of pilgrims before him took their turns on this blasted ground to face their fears and learn of where their life was going. And now he felt he had wasted a trip in this backwater, and it was likely his own fault. Calian had always had a weakness for fast women and strong drink, and even in his knightly duties, he always looked for an edge in getting more bounty than he was owed. The last few years, he had worked as a patron duelist, or a 'champion' as the popular term. While not a dishonorable profession like a mercenary hedgeknight or a brigand, it wasn't looked upon fondly by the vast majority of the gentry. Legal work was legal work, necessary but without valor and more often than not, aiding and abetting in men who were guilty of some crime they couldn't buy their way out of. 

Letting out a sigh, Calian stirred and got to his feet, his boots scratching the surface of the cave audibly as he drew himself up. He pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking himself a fool for even coming here. The debonair fellow gave a bow fit for a queen, making his voice as delectable as ever just in case some maiden of Hyperion truly was watching. "It was lovely to make your acquaintance, mistress. I now take my leave so you may aid someone more receptive to your charms."

With a soldier's discipline, he about faced and walked out of the cavern errantry-style, his head held high, shoulders squared, and hand on his sword hilt. Stepping out into the bleakness of the dead world, he squinted his eyes and held his hand up to ward off the wind when his foot kicked something solid. Something immovable to his casual tread. Looking down, he found a piece of what looked to be abyssal-stone with a small carving within it. He froze, thinking he was dreaming for a moment. He looked around, knowing it was impossible for anyone else to be here, but also knowing this hadn't been here when he had walked in. Had the wind shifted the dust of Alqa Hacamak? 

Gingerly, he bent down and picked up the heavy slab. Calian wasn't as powerful as some of the bigger knights, preferring to rely on his lean body for speed and precision. But his body was honed from martial training, and he held the weighty block one handed as he turned it over, measuring it with his keen gaze. Was this a sign? He didn't know, but hadn't anything better to do, he realized. Sir Dwimmerblade knew of this material, even of this design. There were only thirteen towers in existence that used plates like this in their construction, and none had ever been on this planet if his history was not mistaken. And the closest place would be- 

"The Ebony Tower," he whispered.