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Description
Apologies for having been absent for a long time. My actual job has me being busy, and I've not been entirely confident in my artistic skills. I did this to give some exercise to my hands and hope that it'll get me drawing more.

That said, some lore about this work:

The planet of Aurora is massive, enough to dwarf the Earth when going by the old recorded estimates. However only a tiny 5% of the planet is inhabitable, with the rest being enveloped by constant storms that rage across the world - storms so powerful that it becomes almost impossible to establish a permanent settlement worth the costs in maintenance alone. These "Black Storms" as the native Deltan population call it, are also the only storms they dare not attempt to cross - as even their uniquely durable skin and strength cannot endure such power. As such the Deltans only appear to openly settle in the pocket of land that is largely untouched by the storms - and only ever venture out through the use of their yet to be explored cave networks.

The Black Storms would mysteriously be kept back from ever entering the pocket of land that the Deltans populate, with the much weaker weather issues breaking through. Storms that would be hazardous to humans but are barely an inconvenience to Deltans would come every other day, with much stronger storms appearing almost seasonally. These stretches of "peaceful" weather would last for thousands of years with at least one generation never even seeing the terrible storms. However eventually one would break - and when it does, it is an apocalyptic event that shakes every clan throughout the lands.
At first the skies would darken more so than usual, with all blues done away by a growing veil of red. The winds would bite harder; the stray sands scraping hard enough for a full-grown Deltan to take notice. The normal whistling of the wind becomes low and deep. Were one to look to the horizon, the seemingly endless hills and mountains would fade under a haze of growing black. By then there'd be a brief window where every living thing must find shelter, for if they don't then they'd catch sight of the Black Storm's true power - a monstrous event that kills all who witness it, save for two souls who lived to tell of it.

From the retellings of the fall of Rouke, the great Clan that produced two Gods: Rouke the Glorious, God of Battle; and his adopted son, Avgnar Baal the War God of Brutality. They stood long enough to watch as their once beautiful land was erased by one Black Storm that had pierced into their home. Avgnar fled at the command of his father, while Rouke stayed to witness the disaster that came of his homeland.
Quickly the skies were swallowed whole by violent clouds of dust, turning the open air into a cave - the only light coming from the sun in the distance, as it struggled to shine through the blackness. As if possessed by a beastly will, the storms stretched downward with titanic columns of swirling winds that slammed onto the ground - tearing the lands up into the air. The air roared with such an intensity that Rouke could barely hear the masses of his people screaming for help - nor could he hear the cracks of lightning and fire that struck throughout the air. The air whipped him at every turn, even when he stood far enough away to be untouched by the storm itself - yet from where he was he could see figures of his own people, thrown violently at every direction, their limbs whipped in such frenzy that you'd believe that the bones were pulverized the instant the storm came to contact. Entire buildings from the once glorious city, made through centuries of work, were ripped with the same ease a farmer plucked his greenery. Eventually the sun was successfully beaten, and in a near-instant it felt like the whole world was eaten by a darkness so terrible that you could barely make out your own nose.

The God Rouke would somehow find shelter, but he was the lucky one. On that day, according to vocal accounts, approx. 200 million people died from the Black Storm. The Region of Conq-we-lay was permanently scarred - the lands of Rouke was erased and buried by an entire continent's worth of sand. Human excavation teams would occasionally find signs of the Great City of Rouke's existence through recovered treasures and pieces of rubble, creating a trade and piracy industry.

Meanwhile the native Deltans still travel through its land, as much like the humans who now colonize it...

No one alive has ever seen such terrible storms.

Description
Apologies for having been absent for a long time. My actual job has me being busy, and I've not been entirely confident in my artistic skills. I did this to give some exercise to my hands and hope that it'll get me drawing more.

That said, some lore about this work:

The planet of Aurora is massive, enough to dwarf the Earth when going by the old recorded estimates. However only a tiny 5% of the planet is inhabitable, with the rest being enveloped by constant storms that rage across the world - storms so powerful that it becomes almost impossible to establish a permanent settlement worth the costs in maintenance alone. These "Black Storms" as the native Deltan population call it, are also the only storms they dare not attempt to cross - as even their uniquely durable skin and strength cannot endure such power. As such the Deltans only appear to openly settle in the pocket of land that is largely untouched by the storms - and only ever venture out through the use of their yet to be explored cave networks.

The Black Storms would mysteriously be kept back from ever entering the pocket of land that the Deltans populate, with the much weaker weather issues breaking through. Storms that would be hazardous to humans but are barely an inconvenience to Deltans would come every other day, with much stronger storms appearing almost seasonally. These stretches of "peaceful" weather would last for thousands of years with at least one generation never even seeing the terrible storms. However eventually one would break - and when it does, it is an apocalyptic event that shakes every clan throughout the lands.
At first the skies would darken more so than usual, with all blues done away by a growing veil of red. The winds would bite harder; the stray sands scraping hard enough for a full-grown Deltan to take notice. The normal whistling of the wind becomes low and deep. Were one to look to the horizon, the seemingly endless hills and mountains would fade under a haze of growing black. By then there'd be a brief window where every living thing must find shelter, for if they don't then they'd catch sight of the Black Storm's true power - a monstrous event that kills all who witness it, save for two souls who lived to tell of it.

From the retellings of the fall of Rouke, the great Clan that produced two Gods: Rouke the Glorious, God of Battle; and his adopted son, Avgnar Baal the War God of Brutality. They stood long enough to watch as their once beautiful land was erased by one Black Storm that had pierced into their home. Avgnar fled at the command of his father, while Rouke stayed to witness the disaster that came of his homeland.
Quickly the skies were swallowed whole by violent clouds of dust, turning the open air into a cave - the only light coming from the sun in the distance, as it struggled to shine through the blackness. As if possessed by a beastly will, the storms stretched downward with titanic columns of swirling winds that slammed onto the ground - tearing the lands up into the air. The air roared with such an intensity that Rouke could barely hear the masses of his people screaming for help - nor could he hear the cracks of lightning and fire that struck throughout the air. The air whipped him at every turn, even when he stood far enough away to be untouched by the storm itself - yet from where he was he could see figures of his own people, thrown violently at every direction, their limbs whipped in such frenzy that you'd believe that the bones were pulverized the instant the storm came to contact. Entire buildings from the once glorious city, made through centuries of work, were ripped with the same ease a farmer plucked his greenery. Eventually the sun was successfully beaten, and in a near-instant it felt like the whole world was eaten by a darkness so terrible that you could barely make out your own nose.

The God Rouke would somehow find shelter, but he was the lucky one. On that day, according to vocal accounts, approx. 200 million people died from the Black Storm. The Region of Conq-we-lay was permanently scarred - the lands of Rouke was erased and buried by an entire continent's worth of sand. Human excavation teams would occasionally find signs of the Great City of Rouke's existence through recovered treasures and pieces of rubble, creating a trade and piracy industry.

Meanwhile the native Deltans still travel through its land, as much like the humans who now colonize it...

No one alive has ever seen such terrible storms.