Wind swept through the snow covered mountains, a great wasteland of nothing but cold death spread out until it came to the sea. A deep blue light shone from giant shards of crystal-like material scattered across the hills, their brightness only dimmed by the light of the moon. Wolves hunted small rabbits and deer through the snow, their howls echoing throughout the entire area.
In the middle of this vast wasteland stood a giant stone structure, four great spires of marble etched with runes, their tips tapering towards the top and coming to nearly meet each other in the center. A squadron of giants stood ready, their massive bodies clothed in quality mail and plate, their hands grasping swords made of the material of the giant crystals, what they called Velium. Standing 20 feet tall each, their faces showed the battle-worn scars of their seemingly eternal war with the Coldain dwarves.
Discussing amongst themselves their coming raid on the dwarven city, they began to hear the disconcerting sound of wolves sounding the alarm. Looking around them, they brandished their weapons in a defensive circle, sending out scouts to discover what was coming their way. Overhead, the moon began to turn a dark crimson, and the sky filled with dark clouds torn by gargantuan threads of lightning.
Considering retreat to a nearby fort, the giants began to mutter amongst themselves.
“Some dwarven treachery is this...them and their dark magics.”
“...be the dragons, only they have such power.”
A grizzled veteran, missing an eye, spoke calmly, “This is nothing, stand tall, stand proud! You are the Kromzek! This is our land, and no dwarf nor dragon will say otherwise!”
Even as he spoke, the ground cracked beneath him, and a giant fireball exploded within the spires. Dark mists began to engulf the entire valley, and the screams of dying giants filled the air. An explosion so loud the dragons in their city all the way across the continent looked with fear towards it, shards of marble flying across the blood-covered snow.
As the dust cleared, a figure began to take shape in the center of where the spires once stood. Clothed in black, a hood covered it's head, a scarf hiding all of it's face other than the eyes, eyes that burned with an unholy fire. Humanoid in shape, it's tattered robe glimmered with tiny flames.
An inhuman wail coming forth from it signaled the shadows beginning to take shape, the ghastly forms of undead creatures all around. Trolls, goblins, skeletons of massive creatures long dead, zombies, elves...nearly every race on Norrath was assembled in this massive menagerie of death. Stepping towards the bodies of the giants, it's wail came forth again.
Lightning struck all around as their fingers began to twitch, and their blood steam. Their lifeless bodies began to rise from the ground, hands clasping weapons once more. Screams of rage tried to fill their throats, but only helpless croaks came forth.
Cackling madly, the dark figure began to walk towards the city of the Coldain, his footsteps behind him sizzling into the snow. Behind him, the valley was strangely silent; all living creatures absent, the ruins of what had been the spires completely melted into the earth.
