Rosewater Oasis the palatine has all but fallen now,

dracarys wanders.

there was no use in remaining in the stone circle, it had became apparent to him that with the lingering absence of draugr that warhall was never going to become anything. though annoyance blossoms beneath the siren prince's chest, he pushes forward, sticking to the lowlands. the trinkets — dried bones and stones — he'd taken clacked together in the fox fur he had clasped tightly in his jaws.

he finds respite in the oasis, wondering as he sits his belongings down gingerly in the green grass beside him — this slice of paradise surrounded by a sea of sand — if perhaps he should call himself the prince of the sands. though, what good was a prince without a people? a home? here, in these wilds, he was just another wanderer. a grifter.

he laps at the cool, lapis lazuli waters, wondering if he could make this place home — perhaps temporarily — as he considers his next steps beneath the hot sun.