Deep in the remote Storm Horns lies an ancient and deserted city of giants.
Dal Nastro, little more than a smudged footnote in mankind’s history of expansion.
"The Tower of Ill Omen!" the old gypsy gasped as she glimpsed the shattered structure at the mountain’s peak.
The tiny shrine doesn’t look like much; a tumbledown temple overgrown with weeds, fading quietly into obscurity. But appearances are oftentimes deceiving.
Termites, in certain places, make homes that can be eight meters high and only a half meter wide. They are built facing North to South to take advantages of the suns travel, maximum heat in the morning and evening and little in the afternoon. Imagine grassy plains with vertical structions facing a certain direction all over the place. Ambush? Maze? New creature? Larger structures?