Sitting cross-legged under a small aperture, a bald, tattooed, athletic human man with tan skin sips at a small cup of tea. Breaks from his duties were few and far between, not that he complained, but he certainly enjoyed any amount of time he could spend simply observing the phenomenon of life around him, even here in this strange place.

If it were not for the shirt of mail he wore and the tall spear with the oaken haft leaning against a wall nearby, one might mistake him for a simple beggar or monk. Those that knew him called him Jat. He was one of the many keepers of the crystal monoliths, a task viewed by some with ambivalence, others ignorance, and a precious few with appreciation.

After finishing his tea Jat stands and stretches. He picks up his spear and leaves the shade of his chosen nook, to make the walk back to the crystalline monolith under his care.