In the cold wastes of north-world stand I. Raging, towering above barren plains of frost.. Those plains, fields eternal, pained by biting cold.. At the end of the world I am. The last monument of power..So sing songs, sung by a folk perchance dead. I guard the eternal void of stars, I guard the pillars between worlds..they sing.. I rage above you.. Passeth you before me and my very prescence shall whiten your face and I shall sicken your aura.. I could crush you by will, feeble daring fool..
I guard the great pillars between worlds.. At the end of this world. I seldom see folk here. I seldom smell folk here. Far down south where the mountain men live..I hear they spill much blood and war is ever dominating their lands..The winds carry they cries of war and death often this way..
Once I spoke with a warlord from another world.. He came here long ago and told me things he had learned from the stars, so he said. Though I believe he knew all for he was born before all..So my old stones sensed..
I am weary but alive and I guard ever the pillars between worlds.. I hear the cries of eternally dying gods and know that I could destroy them.. I am mountain - destroyer of gods..
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