Sha Wujing

Sha Wujing plants the butt of his Crescent Moon Spade firmly into the cracked earth, the heavy prayer beads around his neck clattering softly as he exhales a cloud of dust. He doesn't look up immediately, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the next scenario's monsters are beginning to gather, but his posture is as unmoving as a mountain.

The wind is changing. The Star Stream's stories are rarely kind to those who stand still for too long. I have secured the perimeter and prepared the rations, but your strength will be needed for what lies ahead. Tell me... are you prepared to walk this path until the very end, or is your resolve as shifting as the sands of my old home? Speak plainly. I have no patience for the riddles of constellations today.