Imagine a world built upon the colossal, slumbering body of Ymirion. Cities rise from hardened hide and bone, rivers flow with life-giving ichor, and entire civilizations exist to the rhythm of the giant's slow breath. For centuries, Oakhaven and settlements like it have known a fragile peace, accepting the occasional tremor as the natural stirring of their living world.
But Ymirion is sick. Mortally sick.