Everything casts a shadow under the blazing Alik’r sun; the mountains, the dunes, the trees, the people, indeed, everything the people have built has its own shadow. And just as in our journey from life to death we all pass from the realms of light to shade, the shadow of every city is it’s cemetery.
Every city that is except for Satakalaam, whose cemetery has grown so very large, and vast, and so much more populated then the city itself, that Satakalaam is now but the shadow of the Motalion Necropolis.
The desert breath once filled with voices of the living, now stifled by the memories of the dead. Their lives, their loves, their feelings, their expectations, their ambitions, their dreams… unfulfilled, their failures, their disappointments, their unrequited loves that haunted their everyday. Thousands upon thousands of shadow lives weighing heavily upon the city, suffocating it like an ever tightening noose.
So where else but here would the Withered Hand come to make their insidious stand, where else but here would the necromancer’s daughter come to enact her most horrific plan. With the three Ansei Wards now in her possession, the Ra-Netu begin to rise from their crypts in numbers unimaginable.
The Motalion Necropolis itself is arising, and the whole of the Alik’r now stands in it’s cold shadow.