The western frontier of the Seventeenth Continent consisted of mountain peaks and dense, untamed forests.
Iron-Scale landed heavily on the roof of a dilapidated wooden hut as his clockwork grappling spools hissed, retracting their high-tensile wires back into the heavy leather belt at his waist.
He surveyed the settlement below to find it nearly empty, with only a handful of injured and starving beast-kin huddled near a dying fire in the central square.
He dropped to the ground, his interlocking metallic scales clinking sharply with every movement.
The villagers immediately recoiled from the terrifying shadow of the Vanguard's supreme military commander.
He carried the Star-Iron scythe of the Inquisition strapped across his back and approached the eldest beast-kin by the fire.
