Xintil is a city of ticking brass and whirring gears set among the shifting mountains of the Realm of Metal, an ancient seat of artifice where the boundary between machine and sorcery has long since worn away. Its streets are patrolled by tireless clockwork automata, its towers wound with vast mechanisms, and its scholars pursue the cog-magic that made the city a wonder of Chamon.
Under the banner of the Cities of Sigmar, Xintil's artificers craft war-engines and mechanical servitors that few other cities can rival, and its vaults are said to hold devices from the lost Age of Myth whose workings no living mind fully comprehends. This hoard of half-understood genius is both the city's glory and its curse, for such power draws every covetous eye in the realm.
The servants of Tzeentch scheme without cease to unravel Xintil's secrets, and the treacherous nature of Chamon itself means whole districts may transmute or drift free of their moorings without warning. More than once the city has ground to a terrible silence when its automata failed or turned upon their makers, leaving avenues choked with rusted iron and the dead. Yet Xintil endures, its great mechanisms rewound and its foundries relit, a monument to the truth that in the Realm of Metal, nothing is ever truly finished, only rebuilt.
The atlas continues
