Highcrag Falls Under the Last Mountain Lord

Gromthar the Worldshaker

In the frozen highlands of Amia, where the bones of ancient titans still form the mountains themselves, Gromthar the Worldshaker walks again. 
A living avalanche of gray flesh, matted hair, and centuries-old rage, he is the last of the mountain lords who once ruled before men raised their castles and called the land theirs.

The Fall of Highcrag

The mist clung to the valley like a shroud as Gromthar rose over the ridge above Highcrag. His shadow swallowed the entire city in one slow step. 
Snow and stone crumbled beneath feet the size of watchtowers. 
The castle on its hill once a symbol of human defiance now looked like a child’s toy.

He did not roar. He simply reached down.

One colossal hand, fingers thick as oak trunks and scarred by forgotten wars, descended over the outer wards. Roof tiles exploded like glass. Walls folded inward. People poured into the streets only to be swept aside by the casual brush of a single finger. 

The great bell tower of the cathedral toppled, its final peal cut short as the giant’s palm pressed down on the keep itself.

Far below, the survivors watched their king’s banner vanish beneath living stone.

Gromthar straightened, beard dripping with frost and dust, eyes cold as the peaks that birthed him.

In Amia, some walls are built to last a thousand years.
Others are built to remind giants why they once broke them.