You hear a voice. Disembodied- but black and dry as ash. It echoes within the tomb and rattles within your ribs. “Who dares speak the name of Anurama? Who dares wake this lord of death.”

He appears before you in the body of a man- with a jackal’s head clad in opulent linen. He has the presence of a divinity- your gaze drawn inward as though commanded to look upon him until your last breath. His eyes glimmer with the glow of undeath- though you sense this being is very much alive.

Patron of an ancient city, claimed by the god Inaros-Anurama and sunk beneath the desert. It’s people, either dead or transformed into lycan-faced servants of the funeral-prince.

Inaros-Anurama takes the form of a man with the head of a jackal- body diminished as though mummified for thousands of years. He can glamour himself to appear more beautiful if he believes he will be received better but is perfectly willing to reveal his true appearance to intimidate the fearful.

He once made an agreement with the first king of Inioch that he would accept all the king’s subjects into his kingdom of the afterlife- so long as the king maintained worship of Inaros. Many generations passed and, eventually, one of the king’s descendants forgot to give thanks to Inaros upon the death of a family member- who promptly condemned the city below the sands in rage.

Now, he is a forgotten god with no city to worship him. The irony isn’t lost on him and he has become a mite humbler since then. He is eager to have worshippers again. As such, speaking his full name aloud is likely enough to get his attention. Man is his favourite race, as they have the shortest lives, allowing him his many opportunities for funeral rites.

“No Men among you? Hmph… Why do you speak my name?”