On a sprawling mound of steel and rust and hate sits a clockwork castle, the technological dread that is a machineÃ¢??s delusion.
Sometimes a painting is just a painting.
This is not one of those times.
The party comes across a nice hermit in the woods. He gives them food and lodging for the night. They awaken to his terrified screams. "East! It's east! Stop it! It'll kill us all!" The poor horror-stricken hermit dies thrashing in agony, one boney arm outstretched, his finger pointing to the east.