Tregor Gil
Tregor Gil. What more information do you need. It's hot out here. That's all I know. I'll not worry about it, at least not until I have to. Once we get where we're going, I'll take stock and figure things out. That's how the world's supposed to work, right? Yeah, right. Heh.

I always walked the fringes of the Desert of Desolation. As a
young boy, I'd stand at the edge of the wastes, sweat beading on my upper
lip. As I grew older, I grew reckless. One time, when I was sixteen, I
hiked an hour into the desert, my heart beating in fear and pride at my own
audacity. That was until the sandstorm swept up behind me. It was miles
away, but I started running. I knew enough to not tempt the desert winds,
yet I'd already drunk my canteen dry; my mouth tasted like sand. When I got
to the border, the desert got the last laugh; it dumped its final load on me
like a giant camel turd.