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From a place beyond the mortal realm...

Hidden between twisting layers of reality...

The hushed whispers of a million damned souls called through the Event Horizon between Worlds.

"Har... bin... ger..."

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The damned souls of the Ruuheerin beckon the presence of their once-chieftain and only survivor. 

The isle of their birth has mutated since the Great Cataclysm. Morbid murals of people's imprinted silhouettes now wandering empty city streets.

Most cried -- each stuck in the morbid reality of what had been lost.

Some sang and danced -- these seldom few embracing their pseudo-immortality in a perpetual manic self-delusion.

Then there was a special select few -- the ones that had truly thrived in their passing...

Skinwalkers.