A storm from the north raged over the rocks at an unnatural speed, obscuring the horizon. After only moments, the savage clouds filled all view, and suddenly ceased their advance. Silence fell heavy on the ears of the Amlik'ir soldier. From the depths of the clouds and with sounds of rolling thunder, a Mahrid emerged; a Djinn of terrifying power, strength, and violence. The soldier's breath was stolen away, his eyes instinctively but foolishly darting left to right in search of safety. The Mahrid was carving carefully into it's flesh, likely a macabre ritual before a manhunt. Thunderous noise rose as the Mahrid drifted towards the soldier. The Amlik'ir fell to his knees and raised his hands up in submission, knowing there was no hope. The thunder fell to silence, and the Mahrid stopped, floating there; it even held it's knife still, dark blood oozing from the wound and down the blade. After a moment or two of deathly quiet, the Mahrid gave what may have been a nod to the Amlik'ir, and faded away with the wind into the vapor. The soldier, both confused and relieved, had no explanation for what happened. Not yet, anyway.
- The Traveller
Excerpt from "The Omenshard"