As the Fayheran celebrated the arrival of Kalador and their goddess' joy, a rickety caravan trundled past the sentries surrounding the Olm. The confused cries of the watchers went unanswered, yet the wagons were not accosted, for they were familiar. 'Twas one of the first groups to leave as missionaries of Fayruz, that had gone south some weeks ago in search of tribes beyond the rocklands that had yet to experience the beatific peace of Fayruz's rule. Naught seemed amiss as the procession wound through camp, though pack mule and Fayheran alike swayed as though exhausted. As they progressed through the camp, the group splintered, each family and individual angling towards old haunts.
The screams began moments after the conclusion of Fayruz's dance, and as she and Kalandor looked up in surprise a pair of men crashed through the circle around them and into the firelight. At first, it seemed as though the old feuds had reasserted themselves, but then one of the men vomited black sand in the face of his victim. The other man spasmed, his body twitching like a marionette with tangled strings, and then both men rose as one. The Fayheran around them gasped in horror as they saw the black sand dribbling like spittle and tears from the mens' eyes and mouths, and they screamed when the two terrors charged towards the, mouths opening to reveal throats choked with that accursed darkness.