In high passes, where stones rest, the cries of wolves echo down from mist-veiled ridges, piercing the soul, longing for the days of old. Ancient glaciers weep tears of ice. Elemental sorrow, silent mourning. The pillars of this majestic temple slowly collapse in ruin.
The guardians of the sacred mystic throne; elder reflections of an empire long forgotten. Forsaken by their ancient ritual, pale shadows of what they once were.
Haunted by astral memories, concealed, frozen in time, Armed with swords of flint and bone they wage eternal war.
Battles rage and temples fall throughout the ages. The wolves of winter sing a desolation song.
Wolven cries echo over lands erased by time and ice.