In small caves hidden amongst the crags and hills, the hags of the Alik’r keep a wary yet ever watchful eye upon the busy road to Sentinel.
Their bodies have become corrupted by the very nature of the dark magics they practice. Their leathery skin is as gnarled as the bark on the desert palms, and their root-tangled hair is as alive with bugs as the desert scrub. Their eyes have become so narrowed by the baking sun that it is now impossible to tell their true colour. But whilst their hunched bodies seemingly hang loose and decay upon their skeletal frames, their minds remain as sharp as a duneripper’s claws.
Woe betide any lost wanderer or lone straggler from a passing caravan, for once the hags have you marked as game, the first and last you shall know of it is when you hear their loathsome cackle.
At a distance the hags use their noxious magics to drain your life essence till you are but a shrivelled, empty husk. Yet if you allow them too close, they will gleefully and spitefully club you to a pulp with their twisted staves.