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.
The Wizard-Brewers of the Old Empire stored memories in bottles of mead, passing their brightest ideas, most subtle magics, and most important decisions on to their heirs in bottles of oddly-flavored honey-wine. A cache of these ancient magical vintages has been unearthed, but does anyone dare drink from it? The ancient mead's creator is a complete mystery, as are the thoughts he left behind.