Certainly, these foul creatures were a disasterous plague upon the people of Aura, and
would be better remembered in the darker tales that chill the blood around the warmest of
fires, were it not for the simultaneous plague of fiends and incubi and devas unleashed by
the death of the gods.
Great aeyries, skies black with their taloned forms, herds of helpess human and half-human
victims - all these things and worse were inflicted on the people of Aura.
Families recite the names of those that fell to them, in the secret rituals of Azzul's Night,
when families gather to remember those dark times. Those times of flight
and terror, of helpless enslavement.
But the demons left. No-one that knows will say to where they fled. And the winged
monsters of the air, unchallenged in their reign as lords of thier realm, fled soon after
- wheeling in terrified flocks to some destination known only to themselves, fleeing,
flying, far to the south beyond the deserts and the seas, abandoning
their slave-pits and aeryies, abandoning defiled temples and strange treasures.
Still, on dark nights, when the claws of the storm scratch at shutters and doors, brave
men wake in fear of old tales, of times when random death might descend on wings