Six Years ago, an expedition travelled east along the ancient roads of Tibet, and through the dry wastelands at the edge of the Gobi. They found a small settlement by a lake, and marked it the edge of the known world, and the lands beyond it China.

The camp sat there for several moons, investigating the region and searching for sign of civilization. They found rumours of a state to the south, and others to the east, but nothing usable. But one thing that was discovered was that there was something strange about the weapons of the people of this region. Their weapons were metal scrap, but... fresher than most. A few of these were taken back when the expedition returned along the northern road.

It was Iron. Good Iron. Better than the stuff found in the Fergana, and seemingly in more generous supply. When it became apparent through rumours heard in the south, that the great distant empires of the ocean had such materials in great supply, it suddenly became a vital commodity. And so the southern expedition died at Leh, years early. The army was mustered, Elephants gathered again.

And so, a lonely force made its way through the wilderness in a corner of the world, and towards a great prize. A lake that whispers of Iron.