Imagine a desert of burning red-gold sand that stretches from horizon to horizon. A place of barren emptiness that was once home to a civilisation lost centuries past, leaving only ruins behind in what might have once been fertile oases and river valleys.
Imagine a ragged coastline to the north and east of this desert land where two river deltas meet the ocean, and where great stone-built cities stand above the desert and above the sea and house teeming hordes of humanity beneath autocratic rulers.
Imagine the two rivers that feed those deltas snaking through the desert, through rocky valleys and through low marshlands. Here and there along the fertile shores are villages and other settlements where hardy clans live their lives and defy the harsh conditions.
Imagine, futher out in the desert, there are small tribes of nomadic people, proud and independent, moving from oasis to oasis, trading where they can, raiding where they can, in an eternal series of feuds against their neighbours and rivals, scorning the rising power of the city states.
Imagine far to the south and west the highlands and the mountains rising higher than the mind can comprehend, hard and strong as iron, the home of secretive folk who guard their borders jealously and slay intruders without mercy.
This is Chaha Ris the land of the Sun Hawk, the indifferent god of the cities of the Blood Coast, who flies from east to west and sees all beneath him. It is a place of hardship and luxury, of nobility and decadence, of independence and of tyranny. Desert clans guard their herds and raise their crops and feud with their neighbours. City dwellers trade with strange folk from across the ocean and grow fat and rich in their lives of greed and luxury. Barbaric nomads fight for their tribal honour and the strange small gods that they carry with them. Mysterious mountain kings look down on them all with hostile and wary attention.