It was quite a sight to see. A band of jötmen and hauler trolls came striding up the serpentine path cut out of the steep mountain side. Each member was top-heavy from equipment stacked high on their backs. Leading the trek was was Arvek called Suresight, respected for his sharp eyes and ability to navigate difficult mountain paths. He was shorter than anyone else in the train, barely reaching more than seven feet above the rocky ground he walked on. Behind him was two jötmen. Rutgar and Gorgrim. Gorgrim called Bonecrusher was the prime personal guard of Chieftain Rutgar. He was respected for his great strength and aggressiveness, and had in his life surely downed more foes than anyone else. He was the second tallest of the jötmen, only shorter than Rutgar next to him. Chieftain Rutgar called Thoughtwringer, was highly respected for his battle prowess and wisdom of the world. He was the tallest—surely taller than any jötman—reaching a height half way between eight and nine feet. He was almost as tall as the hauler trolls following them. Four of these pale gray hauling creatures followed, they were tall and heavily built, but there was little activity in their thick skulls. Short fuzzy hair grew down the back of their bodies like a coat. The hairs caught the frost crystals sparkling in the sun—masking their otherwise hideous appearance.
Rutgar was caught in thought about the nature of the world, like he had been for much of his life. How was it that he who was shorter than the trolls, could assert dominance over them, even though they were taller? He had felt that it was unnatural and wondered if it was right, but he had come to think of it as tallness can be of the spirit as well. If the myths were true, he and his fellow tribesmen carried the ancient blood and spirit of the long dead jötunns, with trolls and similar creatures only carrying the blood. As he thought about this, he laid his eyes on Arvek confidently walking the path in front of him. Arvek was short—but it was his spirit that took them up this mountain.
"Arvek's spirit is surely tall," he thought to himself.
Behind the hauler trolls followed the rest of the entourage. There was the troll handler—Zanath called Hideskin, there was the hunter—Garad called Longreach, and there was two of Rutgar's favorite concubines. They were Mula called Fenwanderer and Fara called Secretkeeper. Mula was a skilled herbalist, and Fara was knowledgeable in the magic of nature. They were all members of Rutgar's closest circle. Finally, running up and down the line, was a large white wolf. This was Rutgar's favorite pet and hunting companion Snow. As they neared their destination, Snow could feel Rutgar's growing excitement as if it were her own. But unlike him, she didn't bother to hide it one bit.
Rutgar's excitement was greatly amplified by the itching of the rune carved into his upper left arm. This rune, called Ord, had been carved into his flesh by Fara using a knife made from black stone while uttering strange words of power. With the flesh exposed, Mula then poured a hot thick ink into the wound. She had prepared it by gathering five different herbs, from five different mountain peaks, and boiled them to a dark tar-like substance in a rusted iron pot. The whole ritual was extremely painful, but Rutgar's spirit was nothing but glad. He felt confident in this being a step to taller power. A stranger had been passing through their village one night, and Rutgar had invited them to stay in his abode. In exchange for Rutgar's hospitality, the stranger taught him about the rune's power and explained how to prepare it. The stranger had promised Rutgar this tall power, but only combined with that which lie in the mountain.
He had several other runes carved into his flesh, some which gave him strength in battle, some which gave focus to his spirit. These runes were known by wise men, but this particular rune had a peculiar strangeness to it—it felt old and forgotten. Another thing about the rune was that it had felt void of power. There was no sensation of greatness, no gift of strength or wisdom, it brought neither good nor bad fortune. Since it healed, he had felt nothing from it.
Nothing—until now.
The rest of the jötmen were of high spirits too. Climbing this high on the mountain made them feel like giants, and the harsh cold air and their hard-working limbs filled their bodies with a pleasant burning sensation. The trolls weren't complaining either. They were almost naked, but their heavy bodies and fuzzy skin provided enough warmth for them to be content. One of the trolls stopped and laid his gaze on the horizon visible through a dale between the mountains. The bright sun and sparse white clouds threw shadows that drifted calmly across the landscape. The snow-covered mountain peaks reflected the bright light, and the dark mountain walls below framed the dale. Sparse, golden vegetation peeked through the blanket of perfect snow, and the maybe the troll thought that it was a beautiful sight. More likely however, the troll had simply stopped because of the itch in his nose. He shoved a finger into his right nostril—which he found difficult to do while walking—scratched around for a couple of seconds, decided he was satisfied, and promptly started walking again to catch up with the others. If he had thought anything about the view, he had quickly forgotten it. After all, he had recently eaten, so there was not much to think about.
As Rutgar climbed the last few steps of the path, he arrived at the sight of a camp built on a small plateau in the mountain. Before him was several jötmen, who started humming a low tune of greeting. One of the jötmen Rutgar knew as Tarvath called Rockbane, approached them with a jug of hot broth and waited for Rutgar to speak.
Rutgar drank from the jug, passed it along, and put his hand on Tarvath's shoulder "Well met, Rockbane. I received message of your findings. Tell me the message is true, without a lie." he said, with an anticipatory look.
Tarvath was of average height, just inches short of eight feet, and respected for his skill in carving into mountains. He put his hand on Rutgar's shoulder, reciprocating the greeting: "Well met, Thoughtwringer. We would have shouted your arrival, but the mountain hates noise. I did send you the message, and it is true." Tarvath beamed with pride "My carvers have found and opened the chamber." He gestured towards the camp "Lay down your burden, and I will show you right now!"
Rutgar smiled and nodded, and gestured to the others to join the camp. He was a bit weary from the climb, but the broth had been good, and he could not resist the eagerness to see the chamber. He followed Tarvath to an opening in the mountain wall, but had to stop suddenly. A troll was just exiting with a load of ice and rocks, and they paused to let it through. When the path was clear, they walked through the opening. Rutgar noticed two things: Even though burning braziers lit the tunnel, it was colder in here than it was in the outside air. Also, his tattoo had begun to pulsate together with each of his heartbeats.
Tarvath noticed Rutgar's reaction, turned to him with a wide eyed smile and said, "magic!"
They walked down the narrow and winding path, meeting more trolls hauling waste material. They climbed down the steps of wooden structures, and crossed bridges laid across old abandoned tunnels.
"These tunnels are ancient. We do not know who carved them, but they were short, so we had to make them taller," Tarvath explained, gesturing to the trolls bending not to hit the ceiling.
Rutgar noticed that the further into the mountain they came, the more the rock walls started to look like solid ice.
"Is this ice?" he asked, knowing the answer.
Tarvath understood Rutgar was seeking a comment, and answered, "We are in a part of the mountain that seems to be pure ice. There are large portions of it. Very easy to carve."
After a moment of silence, he continued, "The cavern opening was sealed as if it was part of the mountain. We must be the first to set foot here for many, many lifetimes."
Rutgar's Ord rune started to feel almost painful, but he enjoyed the powerful sensation. In his mind, pain was the result of a well-fought and deserved victory—like the aching in his joints from the trek up the mountain. They turned a corner, and the narrow tunnel opened up to a large chamber. He stopped in his tracks and just let his gaze fall upon what he saw before him.
Tarvath's smile turned into a reverent expression, and he turned to Rutgar, "I did not tell you precisely what we found, because I wanted you to see it for yourself first."
Rutgar snapped out of his initial loss of words, grabbed Torvath's both shoulders, put their foreheads together, and sincerely said, "Tarvath, you are surely tall." He released him and inspected the chamber.
He thought to himself, "And thank you, stranger, your words were surely true."
