Orra sat near the dying embers of a campfire staring at the darkened night sky. Surrounding him were the dingy huts of a pathetic band of dwarves and humans who occupied the banks of the once mighty river. Seeing no recognizable constellations in the heavens his thoughts turned inward where storm clouds seemed to cover his heart. The turmoil brought on by awakening in a strange land had only been compounded by the realization that it was actually the ruined remains of a formerly verdant area. To make matters worse, he had been ambushed by a band of ordinary skeletons and laid low by their fiery leader. The troop of goblins that followed had only added to his embarrassment. Everything felt wrong about this new world, and nothing seemed to be going right for him in it. He gazed up at the dim stars, searching for the grouping that represented Bahamut. “Why, great father? What have I done that you have diminished me thus?” he prayed. Feeling no answer at all he nearly despaired. Only the sense that he must help these poor wretches gave him resolve to go on, to find his former home. If he could send aid back to these poor people then his life would have meaning again. Above all he felt he must find meaning in the chaos and ruination of his surroundings and seek answers from Bahamut.
Tomorrow would be a new day. Tomorrow they would seek the passage through the mountains. Perhaps tomorrow he would not fail miserably at everything he attempted. Perhaps tomorrow Bahamut would smile upon him. Only the dawn would tell whether it would be a day of triumph or another day of defeat in this barren and desolate land.