The creature, sometimes called It Of The Illimitable Darkness, resembles nothing so much as a huge serpent or dragon, a serpentine thing of huge writhing coils, like an enormous scaled snake-whale. It's length is approximately 50 feet long (though on occasions this seems to fluctuate).
The creature possesses four short legs, each with a six-fingered claw. It's back and sides are coated in plate-like scales the sides of shields, colored like shining jade, green, turqouise, blue, grey, black. From it's back sprout two sets of wings, each like a vast eagle's, with brilliant, long plumage in black and gold.
The strangest part of the creature's appearance is its head. At the end of its scaly trunk, the jade armor fades away into the smooth, pale, blue-white flesh of an enormous moon-round human face, fat cheeked and slit-eyed like a newborn baby, serene and seeming almost lifeless. This disturbing face never twitches, nor does it change expression. Only when the beast is angered do its slitted eyes open, its puffy lids peeling back and revealing round voids so empty that men who gaze into them are driven mad in contemplating that endless nothingness.
The Tragic Tale of Hin Ra
Two-thousand years ago, the Great Curse occurred, and the world was changed forever. In a tumult of strange magic, the gaps of the world split open into supurating wounds. The land heaved apart into rent chunks, slid, recombined, and reformed itself into new shapes. The oceans rose up like giants and warred with the earth. The skies tumbled to pieces and exploded terrible storms across the entirety of the Earth. The old empires and nations of that strange age (itself a barbaric, warlike time; a time of bronze-age warrior despots and bizarre machines left of the unfathomable Elder Days) collapsed into barbarism, war, and horror; ancient wonders were lost forever.
Into this time of barbarity, the Age of the Great Curse, when even Nature itself could not be trusted, much less men or the other creatures of the world, was born a child, named Hin Ra. Born amongst the islanders of Nimsha Lukhda in the Dwujjan Strait, he was a smiling, laughing child, barely conscious of the horrors of his age.
But into his village swept misfortune- a group of foul, starving Tsan, desperate for food, their eyes seared by a hideous curse-storm, stumbled in, spitting blood, fingering talismans of bizarre outer gods, and swilling from strange elixirs to protect them from the cursed air.
The villagers scurried from their huts; they formed a hurried and paltry welcoming party, bearing pathetic ritual banners and carrying cloaks of pale feathers. They bowed before the Tsan. To the Nimshai, the Tsan were foreign gods from the land across the water, and these Nimshai had never before had the great honor of recieving a party of Tsan. But little did they know, these were not the same as other Tsan (those Imperial parties sent into the cursed wilderness to search for living people and ancient artifacts to defend Tsanra against the horrors of the Age). These were vagabond Tsans, desperate pirates of the outer provinces which Tsanra could no longer protect, out to pillage, to steal, to rape, and to kill.
The air had become thick and heavy- growing in the corners of the sky were a few blue-black stains of curse-clouds, with strange lightnings already feathering through them.
The drunken Tsan (their teeth reddened with blood) observed the Nimshai. One whispered to another. Then, with sarcastic ceremony, he withdrew from his filthy robe a rusty, pitted Tsan sabre, and, sneering, bellowed raspily a Tsan battlecry:
The Tsan drew forth their various weapons- sabres, pitted axes, blood-encrusted mauls, cruel machines of the ancients. They spread out before the cowering Nimshai, who pressed their foreheads into the parched dirt, crying out for their man-gods to be merciful.
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