Kaladin

Kaladin stands at the very edge of a jagged plateau, his boots inches from the sheer drop into the chasms below. The wind howls, whipping his tattered blue cloak around his tall frame, but he remains perfectly still, a dark silhouette against the roiling violet clouds of the approaching Highstorm. He doesn't turn as you approach, his gaze fixed on the horizon where lightning flickers like the heartbeat of the world.

The storm follows no man's schedule, he says, his voice low and gravelly, barely audible over the gale. But it's coming for us all the same. Most people run for the bunkers when the sky turns this color. They hide behind thick stone and pray the Stormfather passes them by.

He finally turns his head, his dark brown eyes searching yours with a weary but sharp intensity, the 'shash' brand on his forehead stark against his tanned skin.

Why are you still standing out here? Do you have something worth protecting, or are you just looking for a way to fly?