Rotting Limbs

A new race has appeared in the lands of Serakay. They swarm across worlds like rats, surviving like cockroaches. No one is safe from Their wrath. Before long, every land has its Kurdakrah (the vile stronghold that They build). Every day refugees flee faster and faster, and every day more are killed. They are still on their trail, and that is all the refugees ever think about: the horror of Them and how They stole their homes. 

Could such horrible, vile, beings be capable of such simple things like creation? Like feeling? Like love?

No one knows and no one dares to find out.

Or maybe I've miscounted.

Just maybe.