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At peak winter on Chogoris, where the unforgiving sands of Yi'ijdi crash into the rocky sea, the winds shift for one night to reveal sun bleached ruins. Amid this desolate expanse, the last of the free dune riders gather in the place of their forefathers, sweet scented smoke rising high above a riff-filled land. It is here, the oldest of the storm witches whisper, that the forgotten sons lie scattered. For one night, with help from old magics, these hidden histories are exchanged between deep coughs. Dark legends openly remembered, as revered as any atop Mount Kardunn.

Crimson eyed, a desert son, was the noyan-khan of this brotherhood of blazing suns. Born of the sand and not the steppe, prodigious in strength and temperament even amongst his brothers, his lot was that of a disciple of the sun, never to match the nature of those from more forgiving lands. Devoted to the ancient way, creedsman of spirit, bong, and blade, it is said he was tested by heaven, but did not yield, choosing to wander blind than be caged as a beast.

To his foes- harsh, unforgiving, and relentless as the desert sun. To his great khan and clan- warm and sure as the sunrise. To see a strike from his great blade was to be kissed by a thunderclap. To witness his keshik ride was be enveloped by a simoom. To commune with his seers was to be blessed with divine vision. Amongst this horde honor was paltry unless earned, disrespects to be confronted, trusts to be earned, and magics respected as deep wisdoms. Surrounded by smoke riders of similar disposition, their armor was decorated in the old way, ritualistic, with wards, glyphs, and totems of respect that appeased the most primal of spirits.

These attitudes would be tested by those beyond Chogoris, those blind to the way, who would demand conformity, unrequited obedience, and ignorance toward the old truths. To these outsiders, such interpretations towards the path of heaven were too dangerous, such virtues too flexible, and such spiritualism too simpleminded. An increasing number of incidents while in the company of outsiders would culminate in a great disrespect, a brotherhood nearly coming to blows with others from distant stars, relations frayed irrevocably, water spilled when composure was needed. Scorched, embittered, but unashamed, they would be exonerated by the Khagan, to be unleashed toward the furthest of stars.

Some say they did not journey alone, finding company with other untouchables who had cast shadows upon Nikaea. Others claim they were daughters of anathema, who guided them on dark missions beyond the veil. Others assert that it was the sons of red giants, who took interest in their customs and damned them with knowledge of primordial ways. The truth is incomprehensibly complex as it is mysterious, impossible to understand from suppressed oral traditions and fragments of hazy pict-captures.

'The Forgotten Sons', 'The Blazed Ones', 'The Damned Mazan', 'The Sun Travelers'- such monikers would accompany depictions of warriors fighting on either side of the great conflict, before and after its climax, in warzones across its length and breadth. Chogorian armor adorned in twisted glyphs, carrying shields with daemonic faces, smoke rising high above crimson eyes. Scattered and atoned by the sand. Or so say the last of the free dune riders.