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.
In ancient Rome, social appearance and respectability were everything. The most hated men were punished with damnatio memoriae, damnation of memory. Every trace that a person had ever lived was removed. Busts were shattered, freizes were marred, records were struck. Any sign of the hated figure was destroyed.