"Eight legged, human body, magical and damnation. That's what they are"
Travelling the shifting sands at night was always a dangerous task. Freshly recruited into the Ouzquin Dremorix army, young Fallava and Moruz followed the grizzled veteran before them. They were hunting a band of Latrani orcs, and the trail was fresh. The grey-haired Avaki raised two fingers in a sign of silence as the trio neared the top of the rise, and slowly, the man breached the top of the dune. "Aaahh," Avaki exhaled mournfully as he slung his Ouzala over his shoulders. Down the other side of the dune lay an oasis, and as Fallava and Moruz came forth they saw the reason for Avacti's sigh. The corpses of a dozen Ouzquin Dremorix lay in pieces across the bank of the water. Blood stained the sand. Without looking back to the young man and woman, Avaki spoke softly, "Vauraki has fed well this night."
A chill ran up Moruz's spine. He could have sworn he heard a wilting howl inside his head.
Somewhere in the endless deserts of Iuhai, Daazan the Iron Gate and Utheleii the lovelorn Earth Elemental wait for time to end.
Herein lies the story of Aurali; the ghoul of Axtrami. The Vultuin Xactaki.
The city of the Bright People fell, but the spirit of its people remains. A legend of the Ouzquin Dremorix.
Come, face Hak-Hakunin, the accursed and undying spawn of Dancer Kallina. Watch him trek through eternity, a cruel and heartless executioner of infants and innocents. A cold toy of the Gods, a death bringer and prisoner of fate.
A certain type of demon cannot not be hit by ranged weapons or attacks. Attacks have to be made up close and personal for the damage to mean something. Ranged attacks are to impersonal.
Possibally a way to make the ranged attacks more meaningful would be to coat the arrow head or what not with the shooters blood. Of course, they'd better be a good shot, otherwise they're wasting arrows and already bleeding to boot.
Spells: wizards might have half or no effect, preist might work due to divine intention.