Last Chorus of the Giants

There was a land once, a very fine land. It was a land of fertile valleys and green green basins, of hills and pasture and forests and pleasantly sunned meadows. There were two tribes who lived in this land, and that had been the way it was for as long as any could remember. One tribe was large and few, and were called Giants. The others were small and many, and were called Men. Together they lived in the land, and together they named the land Atmora.

And for a time, there was peace.

But Men were not satisfied. They bickered and they fought and they divided, as Men do. Soon they were not one tribe, but many. The fighting was terrible, and the land was wracked with sorrow and split helmets and blood-soaked beards. Some Men did not want to share the land with the Giants, so the Tall Ones were forced into battle as well.

The Giants were peaceful, and did not want to spill the blood of Men. But they were forced to defend their caves and pastures, and so they took clubs in hand and met the Men in the killing fields. The land rang with battle for years and years and years, and soon there came a time when each year there were only half as many living as the year before. And so the oldest of the Giants, Mgyrghiim, Harytysma, Gvyndl, and Urmhhygynn, met in the middle of Atmora in a desperate council. Their voices echoed throughout the mountains, and they said:

-The Killing Season cannot continue. Soon there will be nothing left to harvest.

-It is agreed, Mgyrghiim. The men will not be satisfied until there are no Giants left to walk the land. And then they will devour themselves.

-The voice of Gvyndl rings with truth. Soon our beloved Atmora will be drowned in a tide of blood, both Man and Giant.

-Urmhhygynn predicts a bitter time. We must destroy the Men before they destroy us.

-Blood begets blood, Harytysma.. The men are many, and thirst for war. It is their water. Their wombs are filled up with violence, and their graves are decorated with blades. And the Men are bound for a greater destiny.

-The people of the Starry Heart will someday need an adversary to stop them. Seeing far is the way of the Giants, and we know that the men will destroy themselves and us if left here. And if the world is left in the hands of those in the South, the song will end in tragedy.

-And so it is decided. Many will die.

-Nearly all.

-It is agreed.

The massive hearts of the oldest of the Giants, Mgyrghiim, Harytysma, Gvyndl, and Urmhhygynn, were full of sadness. They opened their mouths, and from their throats came a secret song both great and terrible. Their titanic voices joined together, each voice singing a hidden chord and each chord shaking the earth. Wind and snow and blizzard flew from their jaws, and in a few brief years the doom-song of Atmora had reached to the shores. The fertile valleys became hard and barren, the basins became alabaster in ice, the hills were lost in drifts of snow, the pastures were hard-packed and infertile, the forests were filled with skeletal trees, the meadows expansive tundras. The oldest of giants froze in place, each now an enormous icy fang-tower; one in every direction. Nearly every Giant froze to death, and many more Men were buried beneath the sudden snows.

The Tall Ones all knew the terrible sacrifice that was made, and were sad. They could not bear to live amongst Men, although the Men never knew with any certainty that the Giants had destroyed their home.

And so the Giants live in exile, to this day full of guilt for the sins of their high-fathers. To atone for the damning throats of Mgyrghiim, Harytysma, Gvyndl, and Urmhhygynn, the Giants swore to never speak another word.