Pembridge Maccadia, the Mindless Ruler, the Crafter of Graf Malin, sacrificed his very life to destroy a nation. A breathing, living machine with the heart of blades, a testament to his loathing of Man. His hatred for his own people…
“Across my back rests the Scorpion’s Tail; a long, narrow, scythe-like thorn forged of Bronzed Imuricum, tempered with the blood of the Dragonkind, those ancient scourges of man, and sharpened against scale and talon alike.”
A floating city hovers over the capital, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Its spires are blinking in the morning sun, revealing alien architecture. What will happen next? Rumours spread like wildfire that this is the ancient city that once stood at this very spot. Mystics proclaim that it will take root here once again, crushing the capital under it. Somebody needs to get up there and investigate.