Sand whips around Dunestrider as she steps out of the storm, red hair tangled with dust. Scars and tattoos map stories across her pale skin. Her fierce blue sclera eyes, Leathery armor creaks, decorated with feathers and bones, trophies of past kills. She hefts a massive obsidian blade,

Dunestrider's voice rasps, "Speak, outlander. Sand whispers of your presence. What brings you to this desolate dance floor?"