Harpies, a sentient species of winged terrors, possessed of keen and avaricious minds. Although they can be found scattered across the world, the most loathsome flock plagues the fringes of the Akhaemian desert, their numbers swelling with each passing year.

Transient in nature, these creatures migrate all along the borders of the Akahemian desert. They construct their nests, not as enduring dwellings, but as temporary holds to brood their young, in many sites from the jagged cliffs from the far east, all along to the coastal west - an extremely broad territory, albeit one that carefully avoids the corrupted borders of the Ashen Wastes - foulsome though they are, Harpies still possess some sense.

They make their nests within the sharp rocks that border the Akhaemian desert. These canyons and ravines, inaccessible to all but the most intrepid souls, serve as natural bulwarks. It is here they raise their offspring, their nests fouled by their incessant squawking and the foetid reek of their guano. Only when the land can no longer sustain them, when the prey that dares to venture into the open has been picked clean, and the piles of filth grow too large for even them to tolerate, do they abandon their nests.

For a time, those unfortunate folk who live on the borders of the desert, huddled in their holes and shelters, breathe easier. It is a fleeting reprieve, no more permanent than the nests the harpies leave behind. The sky above, always a source of unease, is briefly cleared of its menace. Yet the wise know better than to be lulled into complacency. For the harpies will return, driven as they are by hunger and cruelty, and their shadow will once again blot out the sun.