Literature
Birth
Two ghouls perched atop an open wooden cart, their hollow, sunken eyes glimmering with a predatory hunger as they scanned the darkness for the remains of the unfortunate. Ghouls were not just scavengers—they were creatures twisted by years spent in the shadowy underworld, their forms gaunt and sinewy, skin stretched thin over bones like old parchment. Their flesh, a pallid grey, marred by scars and the stains of old blood, and their long limbs ending in clawed fingers built for digging, grasping, and feeding. Instead of human feet, they had cloven hooves—split, hard, and adapted for traversing the uneven stone and filth of their subterranean world, leaving behind strange, crescent-shaped prints amid the grime. With elongated faces and protruding jaws, they possessed sharp, yellowed teeth like a hyena’s, designed for crushing bone and tearing flesh. Ragged tufts of coarse, bristly hair sprout along their spines and across their shoulders. They moved with an unsettling, loping