The character in this TRW snippet is Kazerath Rizea, who is really my brother's character. I don't think he's been detailed on in anything here, but he could potentially show up anywhere. Hopefully this descriptor scene shows some information about Kazerath.
WC: 1,009
“Keep watch,” Kazerath told his apprentice. “I will be meditating.” He settled down and retreated to the Windrose.
Crimson rapids greeted him. The dominant feature was a brightly-colored tree from which the blood rapids flowed. Rings of color decorated the tree: the largest was a purple crescent moon with little sets of wire-like marks that occasionally glowed. Pink and gray halos made rings around branches and roots, interspersed by black blade-like patterns that moved over the wood. Buckets of paint for his amusement hung off the branches. The tree would have looked comical with all its colors and markings, except that each set of marks represented Kazerath’s membership in a group of legendary power and reflected his own ability.
Kazerath himself floated perfectly balanced over the hilt of 14 swords that jutted forth from between the roots of the tree. Directly below him, where a shadow ought to have played on the water, was a void. The void followed him if he shifted his meditative floating position, but did not appear through the tree, if he chose to turn and scale its short height and rest between the branches. He might have a cup of tea here without the magical pressure of the blades and the void beneath him. And if he wasn’t meditating on a problem of some sort, he would usually relax in the tree, gazing out at the river and the scenes that played on both shores.
The banks of the river were polar opposites. One side was a wasteland of weapons—those of the people he had slain. In the waves of the River, Kazerath could see the faces of those gone and dead—many by his hand. Sometimes their voices haunted him as well. More than once he had intended to meditate peacefully only to be caught up chatting with a restless spirit. Some were friendly and forgave him, permitting him to use and practice with their lost weapons. More often they were hostile, and loudly distracted the peaceful mental landscape. The dead could not usually intrude in the realm of the Windrose, but Kazerath knew that every creature he killed deserved at least a separate sanctuary in his memory. He spent most of his time there—either sitting in solemn observance from the spot above the fourteen swords, or on the banks of the dead, practicing so he could prevent those on the living side to from crossing over and spilling their flesh and blood into the red river.
The other side was an endless playground on which silhouettes of the living dwelled. This side was bright and colorful, but not without its dangers. After all, he was the training general of the elite Guard of the Ayami military. Visions and memories of the demanding training Wall showed up as often as the cluttered office his father, a professor of magical lore. Yet these brief glimpses of his family and friends that appeared kept him going when he was away from them.
Today Kazerath decided he wanted a little more respite. These days he just wished for the old times when he could just sprawl out on the couch and talk to his wife. But Elestia was over two years dead now, since the Lightspeed Battle. Training the Fatespinner had always been his destiny, and as talented and well prepared for that task Kazerath was, some days he felt the pressure take hold of him. He rose from his spot and followed a sprawling tree root towards the living shore of his River. A couch materialized there—the couch that had been in his apartment near the palace. That had burned down many years ago in the Hundred Day Siege. Nova had appeared after that, and Kazreath hardly saw his home or family after that. But in the illusion of the River, his wife sat calmly next to him, sipping tea as she browsed through pages of political text. Demitrin—their daughter, now an Object of Holena— would be practicing her aim, throwing her three magical stilettos at the same point on the wall. Her younger brother, Wyn—now the Ancilla Queen of Cups—would be playing with sparks of magical energy in his palms, keeping a quiet ear out for his father or Uncle Wen.
“I’ve been so tired lately,” he told the illusion of his wife. “Rielle’s ranger found the Gate of the Immortals. I think it’s a sign the Final Battle’s coming up soon.” He reached his hand out even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to touch her. The Elestia before him was just a mirage created of his memories. “Nova’s shaping up well. I don’t want to jinx anything, but I think he’ll be ready to face the Fatum.”
Kazerath stopped trying to touch the illusion. “I miss you,” he confided. Nova fighting Fatum, the legendary world-ending monster, was only part of the Final Battle. There were other people fighting with him, some of whom had started off worse than Nova. He hoped his drilling would pay off. “I trust the team, but…I wish you were fighting with me.” Nothing would change that. Aside from maybe Wen, his pilot and best friend, Elestia had had the best synergy with him, both in and out of combat.
Abruptly, the mirage of his happy family vanished. When he arrived in the River that session, the sky had been murky and clouded, reflecting his unfamiliarity with his external setting. But now, above him, the sky cleared into a russet sunset, with only a few fluffy clouds to mar the continuity. Kazerath’s face turned serious again and he headed back towards the tree. His purpose for meditating more or less complete, Elestia—or the memory of her—would not permit him to dawdle when there was work he could do. When he opened his eyes in the real world, he would be all the more prepared to face the challenges within the Gate of Immortals. He closed his eyes to the River. “Immortals, eh? Bring it.”
