He stuck to whatever fields and meadows he could find on his journey, needing his Lord's light now more than ever. His birth tribe had been thinned into the single digits; those who had survived the devastating plague had fled in fear, cowardice or perhaps even madness. He still hadn't any idea what had caused the outbreak, or even if Raas Himself had cast it upon them.

But no, his Lord was merciful — they had only been doing their holy duty.

Erastus loped through a sparse, sun-soaked field, turning his face towards the warmth of the Daystar and thanking Him for the guidance. He had been led here for a reason; these lands and those within it were impure. The scourge that had wiped out his tribe had been the work of the Darkness, and he would see to it that it was purged from this world.