On these sands rest our lives. Or so the saying goes. And as the wind carries steadily onward, so too does time carry ever forward; our lives are no more than sand on the wind.
Untold centuries have passed, kingdoms of men and elves have risen and fallen back into dust, but one thing has remained constant, unchanged. That unchanging ground, the boulder at the center of the desert, that is me, that is my brothers, that is my people. Here we spread the word of Fharlanghn, The Traveler; here we make passable that which has remained impassable. To those willing to aid in our continued existence, we gladly open the horizons and show them that which lies beyond.
At the beginning, well our beginning, a beginning, the desert split the land, separated one from another. At the beginning, three were chosen by the Traveler Upon the Horizon, chosen to do his will upon the world. Since that day there have always been three, no more, no less, who receive his words and lead us all towards his will; these three live on unending, to lead us in his faith.
His will is that we guide those who seek passage, but more so that we remain ever watchful for those who would close the paths we travel. The elders, those chosen of Fharlanghn, maintain vigilance in their duties, demanding no less from us, those who walk the sands. And so we train, day in and day out so that we will never be caught unprepared for anything the sands present us.
And so we carry on, following the paths of old, and blazing our own as the elders see fit, but times are changing, or so we are told. The elders hear the cries of the desert, feel the pain carried upon the winds. The world is at war, but we are to remain here, guiding those who seek the horizon, leading those who know only the pleasure of the open road.