I rest upon the ancient relic. It screams in response, shouting in an ancient tongue, unaware of who or what I am. The w

I rest upon the ancient relic. It screams in response, shouting in an ancient tongue, unaware of who or what I am. The words begin to distort my vision...

First Spawn demand tax. Pay units immediately.

A small green hand reaches out through the stone monolith, its fingernails yellowed and dirty. It opens to show an empty palm, and waits for my response.

This feels like part of an ancient tradition. There is no malice, just cold expectation.