The desert lands had no name.

The sun burned fiercely, turning the silhouettes of migrating birds into a vapory image. A shade of yellow had been cast over the gigantic dunes and the humble settlement in its center, an oasis with camels resting under the shade of palm trees and occasionally taking a sip from the natural spring. The neatly organized tents went over a hundred in number and the pathways were roofed with sheets of white cloth. They swayed gently with the breeze, but the searing heat had kept the inhabitants of the land indoors all afternoon.

A tall, strongly built man watched this township from atop one of the dunes. Draped only in a white clothed lower garment, he stood there drenched in sweat, holding onto the interlock of ropes that were tied to his muscular arms and torso.

“We have reached, Ash-hur-mijal.” he spoke to the wind.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward and heaved with all his might. He began to descend from the dune, and the ends of the rope revealed what he had been pulling for the last several weeks: the giant stone idol of a beast called Yazahur.

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