I call this man Veritas.
A simple word in a language nearly as dead as the principal behind it has become in this wasteland; A word that has never been so important. Truth. That is what he brings. A dangerous commodity in a world where deception and lies are the currency of the land.
Veritas learned long ago that Truth is the only weapon we have against madness, and it is oh so easy to befriend madness in the waste. This man has gathered up his men, we Non-Prophets, and together we roam from place to place to carry this weapon to those ready to wield it. We stand in open defiance of fear and gather behind the voice of Veritas as we work to find a new way to live together.
There is old magic in words. Perhaps some of the only magic left to us in this place. We forge each step forward with phrase and verse, and each syllable carries us closer to Reason. Veritas, humble though he may be, is the blacksmith.
No one holds a blade the way a blacksmith does.
No one wields the truth in the wasteland like Veritas.