Manus

The Frost Giants mutter of a time when, many cycles after the Schism, they battled a powerful enemy whose brash Casters attempted to raise fallen Giants from death. The relics of this conflict are the Manus; immense, amputated claws walking on the digits that remain to them, terrorizing the Waste between the Inland Forests and the northern Cerulean mountains. This chaotic hellscape is resplendent with lighting-threaded sandstorms and uncanny volcanic activity; a seemingly endless stretch of blighted terrain. Violently inhospitable, the sandstorms alone are capable of scraping the surface bare. These conditions speak volumes of the beings that reside there.

Resistant to these madcap elemental forces due to their scale, density, and unliving nature, Manus can rival even a Walker of the Waste, and often do. The bones have petrified in the arid conditions, their thick hides pulled tight over their frames, any moisture drained long ago. Unlike some of their Undead kin, they possess nor develop intelligence. It is believed they instinctively know the paths to follow that suffer least from the elemental rage of the region.

How the Manus came to be larger in scale than the limbs of their donors is a matter for dispute. It is possible that they grew in size over the many Rotations, or perhaps it is the Frost Giants that have diminished over this period. The Giants are not forthcoming on this matter.

The speed of these necrotic sauropods is reported to be astounding for their size, records stating they can pounce frightful distances. Should a traveler roam the Waste and survive the deadly conditions, they may find themselves pulverised by a descending digit. Memoirs of a survivor of one such ambush claims the predator then rolled in the pulped remains of her companions; a grisly spectacle that allowed the witness opportunity to flee its territory. It may be that this gory bathing ritual is a rudimentary means of absorbing living matter and Anima. Prudent wanderers of the Waste would be wise to keep an assortment of distractions on hand - fireworks, even a kite - anything capable of diverting attention well away from themselves.

Cold hands that do no work and give no comfort, cast malignant shadows on lands once green.