This is mostly hearsay from travelers who have lost their way in Naix or pilgrims who have returned alive from treks in the blasted wastes where the Creator died. But I feel like the essential parts must be true, as they line up well.

We call it the Dead Hand because it consists of five bodies of water radiating out from a central plateau. They might well be called lakes or seas because while they are quite large, if quite thin, they are salty. So salty, in fact, that nothing can survive in them and a few mouthfuls are fatal. Many a pilgrim, I imagine, has made it through the Naix wastes dying of thirst only to perish after a few bitter mouthfuls.

Around the fingers is a broken landscape rent through with canyons and gullies; all heading downhill, as the fingers lay at the lowert point of the basin. Thunderstorms in the highlands, the result of clouds from the sea breaking on their peaks, routinely send gouts of water through the canyons to carve them wider and deeper. Any unwary in them are drowned by the brief torrents.

There are wilder tales of the inner plateau, of nature behaving strangely and of impossible occurances, but anyone who has made it that far would be mad with thirst.

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