Tristana's War Boots

Tristana's war boots creaked as she waded through the thick sand. Here, Mujjan had become strange, not at all familiar to the desert where had learned to fight and survive. The sun was beating, but stones were cold to the touch. The sand shifted, but only through great effort. The wind pounded against her in an endless gust, seeming to always strike her head on, pushing, forcing her back to the familiar sands of the Empire. Despite this, she continued forward.

She used her blades to anchor her footing every now and then. A Paramo style from the westen empire and a Vuvve style from the east - each bound with dried seaweed left to dry in the sun. Just like the profecy foretold. Every now and then, a Sanghekk - a sand-born guardian the desert spawned to protect itself - would materialize before her, and her blades would have to be used properly. Sand did not feel like flesh, and to cut through them seemed more spiritual than physical.

The Mujjan desert, in it's endless slumber, send wave after wave of gust, heat, and Sanghekk to ward her away from its center. The land which has slept for millenia did not wish to think, did not wish to pay attention to its people - which it must have known was doomed from the start.

Tristana forced the thought away, cutting through another Sanghekk that tried to surprise her. We need you, she screamed in her mind.

And I will wake you up!