I, Ulzonas, am not intelligent but I am persistent. I discovered an oddity, a relic, here in the Parch and it vexes me. So I am attempting to put my thoughts and suspicions to paper in order to better work out what it is that grates against my being.

I do not know if the windglass is formed from the sands of the Parch's storms or if the storms are formed from the windglass, but the two are linked. Prior to forging my very own windglass, progress through the Parch was an exercise in futility. Winds buffeted me about and sand coated my nostrils. Every step sapped me of my limited energy. The walls of sand laughed at me while they poured a never-ending cascade of smothering grit down on my head. Which is nothing compared to the pain the enemies littering that accursed district visited on my already-aching body.

The pain was not without its own boon. Each lucky strike from my enemies renewed my vigor and as a result, I quickly stumbled upon my first windglass splinter. Some instinct told me the small shard of amber glass in my palm was important and I quickly set my sights to amassing as many as I could. It took a while to deliver my own sense of justice upon all the creatures who injured me before, but as I did more of these windglass splinters came into my possession. It seems as though the splinters are imbedded in the creatures of the district or as if their deaths summon forth the splinters. Either way, with a bouquet of them in my pack, I journeyed to one of the rooftop oases to rest and experiment.

Creating the windglass from all the splinters I gathered was a far simpler task than I anticipated. Instead of requiring a forge or magic, the pieces simply latched on to each other and become whole as I assembled the relic. The windglass appeared to be a handheld fan the color of a sunset. When waved, it generated a gale which blew across the serenity of the rooftop and dissipated deep into the Parch.

I sit here writing this account baffled by all I experienced and saw. To think that so many obstacles and creatures in the Parch are linked to the windglass is frightening. I do not know whether I created this relic of my own volition, or if it is yet another aspect of the district put in place to guarantee that this windglass rests in my hand. From the sand, to the residents, to my own actions, everything is related to the windglass. I hope it is a benevolent relic. I hope it demanded to come to fruition to help me explore or survive in this sandy wasteland. But, to know that I was pushed to creating it by some unknown force chills me to the bone. I think I shall wait a while and rest my weary form. Who knows what lies in wait now that I possess a windglass, but the same instinct that drove me to assemble the splinters into a usable relic urges me to ready myself. Something waits in the sandstorms.