Ahh, the scenic valleys of the Vakimal. The lush, verdant corpse gardens of the fungal caverns! The reptile-stinking hollows and dens of the defomed beasts that roam the sands! The garbled shrieking of cymotheans and the hiss of stale, repeatedly respirated air! The warm, nostalgic glow of undetonated Dreikathi airship ordnance is a sight for the sorest of pus-bleeding, ylem-sickness-blistered eyes.
But, sadly, it's not all pleasure. Ever since the Dreikathi instituted cordons on the southern and eastern borders of the Vakimal Wastes, presumably to stop the marauding bands of deformed wyrms that tend to spill out of Basrai's depths and fall hissing on the nearest township, banditry and cut-throat bargaining have been rife. No longer can the prospective tourist stop for a refreshing glass of filtered vakmut urine in one of the many Vierkathi souqs, at least not without presenting a hunter's warrant card or a loaded crossbow.
What of Basrai, the fabulous Maw of Urokt, home to not one but five yearly cull-and-capture raids by stout-hearted and heavily armed hunting bands? Tongues have been waggling, at least in those whose tongues have not been eaten and replaced (along with their spinal column) by hissing insectile horrors, and rumour has it that a string of hospitality violations have really driven down the Maw of Urokt's tourist retention rate. Reports include screaming in the night, the dry shift of scales and quills on leathery hide, the crumbling, vacant eyes of ancient citadels, and a recent spike in the peron melon trading market. The once-popular Caentoi city is now no longer an ideal vacation spot, even less so than the period immediately after it was bombed into barren wasteland from above.
The underground gateway, though - the one permanently shrouded in shifting darkness and the wailing of the endlessly tormented - well. Everyone says it's to die for.