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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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