"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 world whose lands are made up of huge terrain spheres that rotate constantly with most portion underwater. As time passes, the shape of the bodies of water change, landmarks shift inside the new border lines, and mountains tilt to different degrees. Land dwellers are gypsies that can never build anything permanent, and somewhat ironically, the only stable settlements are large structures built at sea.