Many centuries the winds rustled over the walls of the Tower, rivers of blood washed its foot, but it stood stern and unapproachable, strong with the petrified hearts of its sons. Having covered the border from the evil spirits rushing into Land, those marked with an iron heel crushed the population of the region. But there is a limit to everything, even the patience of vassals. A smiling friend turns into an insidious enemy, swords flash over reckless heads, stone walls crumble. And nothing remains in the souls wounded by betrayal except a wild thirst for revenge.