Kurash'nar, the Unseen Hunger

    Kurash'nar are beings born of shadow, fleeting as smoke, burning with a coldness that sears even the desert's heat. The Kaharan people speak of these bringers of misfortune only in hushed tones, for calling their name openly might just draw their attention – a whispering, malignant terror that lurks in the shadows.

Nature and Manifestation

  The Kurash'nar don't stalk the land with willful intent or even malice. Their manifestation is a subtle thing, a small distortion of the very air—just like a tiny heat haze above desert sands but infused with an unnatural coldness, a shiver in the summer's heat, or the shimmer of a distant mirage carrying the faint tang of ash and ozone. Their form is a whisper, a fleeting, almost invisible movement just in the corner of one's eyes that suggests a presence where only emptiness should be.   On the rare occasions where they are cornered or confronted, they show their true form: towering columns of swirling smoke and ash, shot through with veins of glowing, cold azure light that burn from within. Their touch, if they ever make contact, is said to be like a sudden, profound emptiness—a chilling absence of feeling that leaves one drained and exhausted. And while the clouds leave no physical trace, no claw marks or scorchings, what remains is the echoing silence of despair on memories that once were and the chilling void of what has been lost.   To the Kaharan people, they are "Whispers of Misfortune," unseen predators preying not on bodies, but on raw, potent despair and misery. Drawn to the plight of mortals, they gorge themselves on human suffering to survive. They are drawn to emotional pain, to places and individuals where sorrow, despair, bitterness, and loss are most potent, amplifying these feelings within their victims. The more profound the suffering, the stronger and more sated the Kurash'nar becomes, gaining in subtle power and allowing it to manifest with slightly more clarity.   They have no goals, no aims, no purpose besides their very existence - but the path they leave is littered not with physical scars, but shattered spirits and empty husks utterly devoid of hope or joy forever.   And worse, spoken only in hushed voices amongst the wisest of scholars and the most forbidden of scrolls there are rumors of a disturbing, perhaps distant, kinship between the Kurash'nar and the Kurash'tarr - another being born of roiling shadow, but of fire in place of coldness - one which is infinitely more dangerous and driven by a raging, alien intellect.      

Origins

  It is said the first of the Kurash'nar came to be with the first thought of hate and misery. Their creation was not a willful act of deity or demon, nor a natural one - they formed themselves from the deepest, most pervasive currents of anguish, bitterness, and regret that have ever plagued sentient life. Some scholars who dared to research them speculate that they are the very echo of ancient calamities, the collective despair of fallen empires and countless lost lives given insidious, semi-sentient form—an everlasting hunger. They are thought to be as old as suffering itself, existing in a realm just beyond the veil, occasionally ripping holes through it to feast on places of widespread misery.    

The Kurash'nar's Shadow

  For centuries, storytellers have woven tales of beings born of roaring ash and frozen fire, entities of despair given form to devour the souls of the living. These stories took root in every culture, every home, subtly reshaping every aspect of life. Across sun-baked plains, windswept seas, and the mire's emerald depths—the people of Aran'sha embrace simple pleasures, shared laughter, and strive for acts of unexpected kindness. Yet, the Kurash'nar are never truly vanquished; they endure, ever seeking purchase in silent despair and every spark of hope that flickers and dies. The truest defense against the Kurash'nar isn't a blade; it's the unwavering light of life lived without regret.   The way of life on this continent isn't an easy one, but most cultures believe that openly speaking one's feelings and emotions is a path to a soul steeped in light. While not every culture across the continent embraces this practice with the same openness, many believe the fates will smile gently on those who do, and each finds their unique way to shed their burdens.   The Mahani sculpt masks from clay, imbuing them with grief, then ritually shatter them under the twin moons, casting off their old selves. In Ri'kahar, those burdened by sorrows gather at dawn by shifting dunes, whispering their sorrows into handfuls of golden sand, releasing them to be carried away on the eternal winds to be forgotten forever. Along the Coast of Winds, the people of Sahil Al'Riyay carve their unspoken anguish into river stones, entrusting them to the turbulent, indifferent sea to be washed away forever.   All these rituals aim to shed one's burdens and to ward off evil and misfortune. Over time, countless other subtle charms and regional customs emerged. By far the most recognized one is the Eye of the Eclipse—an ever-present safeguard against misfortune and gloom. It's commonly used when faced with the unnatural or simply ill omens as a quick hand gesture, but also worn as a talisman or even carved into homes —a prayer to the twin moons for shelter against all ill.

Qal'Rasan - The Burdened Weavers