The air was still, the rolling sand dunes whistling as the wind stroked their massive backs, a beautiful sandstorm patrolling the landscape. The salt lake bed was as flat as the Earth could be, with lie devoid of this tomb, like moths at day. They linger in the dark, in some decrepid place, away from eye. For the day was bright, almost too bright too see the bridge the pack of travelers was crossing. Their horses were strong and large, dwarfing them in size and they rode on, unaware of the place by which they enter. The lush green land behind them disappeared, leaving only a beige ruin in their wake. They had entered the Forbidden Land, and none of them would ever leave it.

"There it is," spoke one, his long streaks of blond hair creating a hood over his shadowy expression, "the Shrine of Worship. We'd better hurry up, before dusk arrives."