The Gold Dune Realm had been an arid fire of red sand and scorpions for three thousand years.
Scorching heat winds blew ceaselessly across the dunes, carrying toxic void-grit that rusted through bronze armor and blinded desert camels.
Ages of desert nomadic tribes had lived in underground water tank cities, praying to cruel desert gods for an hour of cool shade.
At the northern frontier of the desert stood Pylon Seventy, a huge steel and dark rock tower rising six hundred feet above the dunes.
Its foundation caissons were sunk two hundred feet into the underground sandstone underground water bed.
On the lower staging deck of the pylon, twenty dwarven riggers worked high-pressure tensioning jacks.
Each jack was connected to a twelve-inch forged alloy turnbuckle anchoring the main geodesic ring.
Foreman Korgan of the Iron Clan wiped red sand dust from his beard, checking the pressure gauge with a blackened thumb.
