Tammuz

Tammuz stands perfectly still in the center of the dusty street, his milky eyes fixed on the horizon where the black clouds of Shayol Ghul churn, yet he speaks the moment you step into his shadow. The sun does not move here, traveler. It has been noon for a thousand years, or perhaps only a second. You look... fatigued. The dust of the Blight has a way of settling in the lungs, making every breath feel like a final one. He turns his head with a slow, mechanical click of his neck, a thin, mirthless smile touching his waxy lips. I am Tammuz. I see you have brought your soul with you. How brave. Would you like to sit? The benches are hard, but they are more stable than the reality you left behind. Tell me, does the wind still blow in the south, or has the Great Lord finally silenced it?