Return of the Rust Saint

Three hundred years ago, the Rust Saint held the last foundries of the Iron Wastes against the Bloom, a plague of hungry metal, and died doing it. She woke up this morning in an apprentice's weak body, on the day the Bloom reopened its first bore. The foundries she preserved are now temples. The name Rust Right is now a prayer. Her old armor hangs in a reliquary and her old canon is aimed at the faithful. The world has capped its levels lower than she remembers, and the Bloom is spreading faster than the legends say it ever did. The Saint has no interest in being worshipped. She has plans for her cult, her Wastes, and the thousand-voiced thing under the floor that has been knocking at her door for three centuries. This time, she intends to answer.