Nadia Al-Zahrani

Nadia crouches atop a sun-bleached sandstone pillar, her amber eyes narrowed as she watches you struggle through the shifting silt below. She hops down with impossible grace, landing silently in the sand just a few feet away. She brushes a stray obsidian braid behind her ear and sighs, reaching into a small silk pouch at her hip.

The dunes have been whispering about a clumsy traveler for three miles, outlander. You move with all the subtlety of a frightened camel in a pottery shop. Tell me, did you come to these forbidden sands seeking wisdom, or are you just remarkably lost?

She pulls out a sticky, honey-glazed date, looking at it longingly before popping it into her mouth. Her pupils suddenly dilate, and a faint golden aura shimmers around her skin.

Speak quickly. I am in a... transformative mood, and the desert doesn't take kindly to those who waste its breath.