I am a soldier of Shienar. I stand in the way of all who would destroy our way of life. I was born with a sword in my hand, and will die the same way. It is what I know. It is all I know. My life is nothing if I flee only to see our families and towns burned and pillaged by Trollocs. I am Tiro Kasagi.

When I was a small child, barely able to walk, still in the garments of an infant, I was given a wooden sword by my father. The first games I recall with my friends were swordfights. Some of us would be warriors, and others would be the Trollocs. The Trollocs would wear masks to appear beastly, like the real things, and the warriors would fight them. Cuts and broken bones were the truth of our upbringing. Very often, we would be brought to the Aes Sedai for healing after our games. We all knew that we were playing for today, and learning for tomorrow.

My wife is also of Shienar. Timika was one of the girls who watched our games as a child, and often wanted to play in them. Sometimes she did. She is no warrior, as I am, but she does know how to use a sword. And I know, should I fall to the evil that may flood these mountains, she will use it bravely to defend our home. If I fall, likely she will as well. She would no sooner run away from the danger on the other side of these mountains than I would.

My relief on watch, another young Shienaran who I have not yet known the name of, calls from behind me. If he were to approach without announcing himself, it would most likely be deadly for one of us. We know only the battle against the Shadow. If there were to be peace for the rest of our lives, we would still watch, and wait. "Peace favor your sword," I say, as he takes his turn at watch, to allow me the time to eat and sleep before another watch. The cycle will repeat many times, before I will rotate back to Fal Moran to be with my family. Truly, I miss them, but even more truly, I know that serving as a watchman of the blight is my calling. Somewhere, beyond those beautiful mountains, lies Shayol Ghul, the heart of the Shadow. Somewhere, the forces plot and plan the destruction of our homes, our lives, our way of life.

The ugliness of what lies beyond the mountains, called the Mountains of Dhoom, is concealed by the beauty I see in them today. Were I not from Shienar, I would, perhaps, not know the corruption of the blasted lands, the desecrated beauty of Malkier, the pure evil of Shayol Ghul. This rotation, I am on guard, watching for incursions and raiding parties. My next rotation, I may stand guard at Tarwin's Gap, or I may ride into the blight itself to attack the Shadow in it's home. I will serve where my leaders tell me to. I will stand in the path of the Shadow, and spit in it's eye should we come face to face again.

I take my meal out of the pouch on my belt, and sit down on a rock, looking still at the mountains before me. Sleep will not come easy tonight. It never does for those who guard the blight. But, nothing ever does come easy in the Borderlands. If it did, we would be weak. We are the swords of the land, tempered in the furnaces of battle with the Shadow. We wear our armor with pride. We wear our topknots with pride. We will fight, if not today, then tomorrow. We place our bodies between all that is good, and all that is evil. Those mountains. So beautiful, so deadly.