Part I

The Nine Nights of Fire

In the dwindling days of the three crowned kings of the Eutunaz, many princes were sired from the line of kings. Last and of ill thoughts, malicious and cruel by his very nature, was stirring among those next laying claim to the kingship of the giants. Nidgram was his name, the last child of Krónaðr, who first ruled his people. For ambition burned fiery hot in his heart, vain he became, for as he toiled away in the crafting houses and smiths of the giants, his royal kinsmen became decadent and fools in his eyes. He devoted himself fully to the nature of intricate things, ignoring all signs from the world outside his forge. Yet trying as he might, he could never devise any craft or invention of truly amazing quality. As he spat out all things, they were merely adequate, and he received no exaltations nor praise of any kind. Every day, his mind turned to dark thoughts as he further did the bidding of those born sooner than him. As he toiled, the very touch of silver turned his fingers and hands a sickly pale and blueish hue. The whites of his eyes first became a pale yellow and then faded further to a dark silver. His lame eye he hid from many often, and any imperfection upon his body he sought ways to mend and right. His fingers twitched and he groaned often as he arose each day, for the work of his labor was grueling to him and he neglected his very health in pursuit of perfection.

Yet it had been by his hand that the first draigs flew, by his hand had this come to pass. He had tended the royal stables of his kingly kinsmen and had successfully bred the first flying draigs that had come to fight and destroy as the Eutunaz commanded. Before him, the draigs had been landed; before him, they spat no fire, they had only performed great labored tasks, pulling carts and stones for building. Their strength lay in their legs, but by Nidgram's ingeniously they came to fly. This was the cause of his standing; he had done a great service to his people and yet nothing more had he done since the days when the second great peace had come, and now his war-steeds were grounded.

Far more terrible were the Kunkal, the walking machines of war forged by the greatest Eutun smiths and magicians. Where it seemed a walking mountain, inside sat a secretive fire constructed by Eutun magicians on the day of King Krónaðr. Striding on two feet like Men, the Titans possess no visible mouth; their eyes are cavernous, black as tar, and resemble an animal. Yet once they awaken and wish for doom, their maws open and reveal blinding light, flames, and smoking white-hot fire that shoots from them and destroys all. They are terrible to behold, an imitation of life; some among them speak in a hushed voice in the language of their creators, others in a language all their own. 

Though now they are long forgotten, the Kunkal were the earliest predators of Man, so destructive and apocalyptic, those men not reduced to thralldom in the pits and mines of the giants were reduced further to hiding in caves and the deepest bogs to avoid the glare of the mountains that walked. During the age of the Dawn Kings, the Kunkal nearly brought about humanity's extinction. Their fear was so great that many did not speak of them, doing such was to invite their wrath. One existed that became the most dreadful of their make, first and most terrible in power and might, one who would be called many names in the tongues of Men. Táramaðurrin, though this behemoth was no man at all. Unbound in its creation by any restraint, Táramaðurrin became a demonic foe, and all that fell below its shadow met swift death as the Doom hunted man relentlessly. Táramaðurrin’s dread was such that the terror spread across humanity, perhaps would never truly leave. Fear would plague Man, fear of the return of the Black Titan.

Táramaðurrin and the Kunkal were feared by the giants themselves, for in their hatred for mankind, they did not care for the nature of the beings they created, and soon, their minds became free of any restrictions placed upon them. They spoke in their own tongue, learned from Táramaðurrin, who spread this language among them. Soon, the Eutuns would be faced with a new challenge: to curb the power of their great machines. Yet they would have one more task to do in the service of the giants. For in the final years of King Hrunir the Vain, Eutun, and mining Men unearthed a great evil beneath Mikilhuld. Whispers of the Gehn, the long vanquished primeval foes of the great high ones Nila and Kataka. As they burst through the surface, they spread a blanket of darkness with them that seemed to grow steadily as they writhed and let out a most vile scream, as light itself was unnatural to them. Desperate, Hrunir the king decreed that the Kunkal were to gather along the city walls as the Eutuns were evacuated from their great city. Men inside the city were left to the terror of the Gehn, and as a great silence, save for the screaming Gehn, came over the city as the Kunkal arrived in might before the Auldrnal.

With but a solemn wave of his hand, the Titans breached the walls of the city and set their hot flame against the mass of the Gehn inside. For nine nights, the screams of the Gehn were heard as the giants watched from below their walls, and in the darkness, the wails of the giants were quietened by the clanging wrath of their great war machines. Táramaðurrin and the Kunkal razed and scorched Mikilhuld to the very root and stem. The Auldrnal spilled forth torrents of flame, wrapped in blood and ruin, and the earth trembled beneath their scorn and groaned as they enflamed it further. The blasted heath where Mikilhuld’s splendor once lay was sunk and fallen, sagging far below the very land surrounding it. After nine terrible nights, the grizzly work of the machine beasts of the Eutunaz was finished, yet Hrunir, the king’s heart, was so destroyed by the deed he had done that he died as it finished, his very heart stopped beating as Táramaðurrin and the Kunkal vacated the wreck of the blackened city.

Part II

The Massacre of the Princes

Among those who witnessed the Nine Nights of Fire, many children of the three kings were there. Many did not know what to do after such a calamity; many spoke of rebuilding the city, but by now the land had been scorched so thoroughly that no plant of any kind could be grown in its vicinity. Many spoke of building a new city, renewing the deeds of the old fathers, and starting again. At this, many agreed, but disagreement arose over who now as to lead them, for the three kings had sired many children, of noble and ignoble stock and mind. Before the deluge of flame, many had thought to follow those who were ordained to follow by the decree of the king, but Hrunir made no such decree, for he did not think his time of death would be approaching. Among the children of the Dögun, twelve camps arose, each backing a differing claimant to the vacant throne. As they spoke, they readied blades and rose shields against each other.

Foremost among the tribes was Varvitir, eldest of their number, but as unstable as water was he; he flinched under responsibility, and he inspired no loyalty among those who followed him. Next was Varinsyn, who gathered a great host of able warriors, yet her claim was lost among their warcries, and she held no control over them. It was a spearpoint of the Varinsynlings hurled at their enemies that led to the brief bloodshed that preluded the appointed council to come. Third was Vangin, who was among the most valorous and good of those assembled to speak. Wiser in words than many, she was clear and reconciled many of her kinsmen with one another. She led those who called for this great council to amass, and she spoke to the Varinsynlings to put down their blades and listen to reason. For this, when the assembled had all spoken, she was nearly appointed the new monarch and first queen of the Eutunaz, yet this was not to be. Fourth was Horsade, whose very name means praiseworthy, for he was the most courageous and keenest in battle and speech among the host of the Dögun’s children. Many thought him the natural choice for leadership, and he held the second-highest number of supporters. Fifth was Verthlaun, who was conniving and shrewd, dealing often with the other tribes and, among them, was often to be appointed to a place of high honor should they become ruler. Sixth was Gaðathur, who was considered the humblest of those presented before the council. His head was bowed low when he spoke before them, and he offered but his keenest leadership and wisest rule should he become their king. Seventh was Mataúgr, the strongest of those presented, his feats of strength impressed many but in character, he was a brute and dull, weak of will, he held no interest in rule, and was prone to the machinations of others, for this reason, he received the third most votes in favor of, for many wished him to sit upon the throne so by proxy they could receive alms and power. Eighth was Báratta, wry and frail, yet very firm of mind; her struggle was in battling against the notions of the physical nature of a ruler, and many did not think highly of her, though she possessed many good qualities. Ninth was Hermathur, who was of great skill and strength, blessed with a mind equal to his body. He was well-liked and respected and had sired many children early in his years; his tribe consisted of most of his own offspring. The tenth was Velakedi, who was well known for his cultivation and magical adeptness. He often claimed that if made king, he would rule much in the manner of his father Voldugr, as he claimed to value wisdom and knowledge, but many thought him overeager and overzealous in pursuit of it. Eleventh was Hægri, brother of Nidgram and penultimate son of Krónaðr; he was well-tempered and well-loved by the tribes. He compiled and collected the deeds of many of the other children of the Dögun and his council in this matter was taken firmly into effect. Last of the twelve was Vitugr, the youngest and the only son of Hrunir to be considered. Vitugr was keen and enthusiastic, but his youth was made known to all, for he was naïve and overreached the nature of himself in casting his lot among the others. He was derided for his wearing of a bright and luminous coat of amethyst, which the decadent Eutuns saw as decadent beyond reason.

These were those twelve who made their names known in contention for the throne of the Eutunaz, who each would be ancestor to the twelve houses of the Eutunaz. In their council, a discussion was made, but no verdict was reached as the supporters of each tribe rallied and supported only their chosen candidate, deriding all others as pretenders and usurpers. Each’s claim was firm, save for perhaps Vitugr, whom many disliked, and each’s presentation before the gathering was taken into the deepest of consideration, for as their vices were sometimes known, their virtues were made clear and evident in their speech.

Present among them was another with the blood of the Dögun in them, but the nature of them was that they were not broadly supported by those who held the nature to do such a thing. As the chosen twelve barked and argued with each other, Nidgram looked on, and a growing sense of disgust with them and growing superiority in his heart began to emerge. Who were they to claim the crown by words, by nothing but their past deeds, of which few of them truly had? All claimed the kingship based on their ties to the three fathers, yet truly none of them had the reason to see that they did not possess any qualities of kingship in his eyes. Perhaps it was there that a flame of ambition was truly burst in Nidgram’s heart, in seeing the supposed heirs of the Dögun squabble and betray one another, he saw the future of his race doomed to their mediocrity and deceits. It is known that after the adjourned tribes departed, Nidgram began his schemes.

In those days, it was custom among the Eutunaz to shed armor in bread breaking with one another, and so as the twelve contenders for the throne each arrived within a grand new hall to dine together, each left behind their arms and armor for they felt in trusted company among kin. As a servant first, Nidgram entered the long hall and saw that this was the case, and a dark thought came over his mind. A dancing thought of power and prestige came over him; he made his exit, and he gathered those who held similar feelings for the selection of the next king. To them, he made lofty promises, many promises made by those who had made them among the council of the daytime, yet by his cunning, he persuaded those who would listen that he had the measure to make dreams real, to ensure that the great golden era of the three fathers would continue. What whispering words Nidgram played in the ears of those giants is not entirely known, but he gathered many who were dejected by the day’s presiding, and he swayed them to his cause with his twisted words.

By his order, they bore their iron weapons, and they strode in silence and began surrounding the long hall where the twelve were. As each of them was beginning to recline and begin to fall asleep, they had sprung upon the hall, and Nidgram, behind them, aroused those within to the nature of what he had done. 

“Wake now! Awaken and listen! You twelve here are now doomed to death, for by my merits I seize that which none of you are worthy to claim. For the people may grieve for you, but I shall not, for a king grieves nothing. Blade carriers, do thy work!"

And at this word, those who entered each as the twelve leaders of the Eutunaz were each slain by the patriots of King Nidgram. It is said at this a great shadow came over the lands and the hearts of the giants; those who supported the kinslaying came to be wicked, and their deeds would come to reflect their wickedness when new enemies came ashore in the West. Blood spilled and whipped upon the walls and ceiling of that hall where the twelve ate and dined together, and the slaughter did not stop until Horsade and Mataúgr lay slain, as they had fought on the longest. Even at the sight of his own brother, slain and dead at his feet, Nidgram’s darkness still lingered, and his ambition burned on. After they had done their vile deed, those who now called themselves aligned with Nidgram sat upon the very bloody benches wherein the twelve had sat. There they gourged themselves at the pleasure of their new king.

“A deed well done, here each of you dine on and drink well, remember well the simple relishing you have here, for by my rule you shall know even greater rewards than these simple treats I give you now. Drink well, and when the sun rises, it will bring a new dawn for the Eutunaz!”

And so, the princes were massacred by the machinations of one they did not think to placate or eliminate. Lame-eyed Nidgram, silver-skinned and vile, Nidgram did indeed seize that which those twelve did not seize themselves. In the years since that night, many among those still loyal to the tribes of the twelve would attempt to quarrel with him, but their power was lacking, and they did little but slow his ascension. By the end of these wars, Nidgram was lord, unquestioned lord of the twelve clans of the giants and their master. 

Part III

The Lord of Balengar

Whether he happened upon it or whether by his dark and evil magics he orchestrated its construction, Nidgram moved the residence of the giant’s king to the great keep of Balengar. That place of dread was between the mountain that is deemed Krónaðr's Fist, and the mountain wherein the river Vemlin empties into Lake Balug. A great pike of towering dread, Balengar’s very being was unlike any fortress or keep ever known. Its walls seemed of an organic kind, as if they sprang from the earth like molten lava, cooled and hardened as its jagged edges scraped ever outward and became spindly and twisted beyond reason. A garden of black thorns and of shadow and flame, the owner of Balengar matched the dreaded aura of that terrible place.

Now, no weakness would the giant king show; he wrapped his very being in shadowed black armor of great quality, his eyes cast downward with eyes red as blood, and all who came before him now would show their appropriate fear and reverence to him. Cloaked in his everlong shadow, Nidgram stood tallest and proudest, striding in black, he brought down all those petty pretenders to the great throne of the giants, those who sought to challenge his ascension to power. Along his throne, atop the tower of Tarlun, bands of gold and iron rings lay across his feet, taken from those dead kings and queens and those rent from power and cast to the depths of Balengar’s dungeons, where sunlight ever abated them. The gold and iron he had cast into a molten crown, sprinkled in gold and topped with sharp pikes of iron atop his head, the unquestioned lord of all giants.

The great king was a villain, thoroughly and truly, for in power, he desired supremacy and dominion over all the world. He sought out the comfort of this goal, for in the simplicity of total rule, his machinations and his designs could be carried out as he desired. Prideful in the domination and servitude of others, he sought power, and he wielded it like none before nor since. He wielded the dark magics of his people in ways never before imagined; no better master of the magic arts could be found among the giants than in their dark king. Secrets of the nature of their magic were known and never shared nor given to any other save him. Nidgram the Tyrant reigned, yet he remained cunning, for this was not the visage he cast down on his own people. To the Eutunaz, he was Nidgram Ironcrowned, Nidgram Ironclad, Nidgram the Savior, and Nidgram Westbane, for he was the greatest and most terrible defender of the giants ever known. Even the Dawn Kings had never contended with the enemies Nidgram faced west of the Adwine in the coming age. Dancing in his very mind was the thought of himself as the fourth of the Dögun, a splendid king of the Dawn, the builder of a new Mikilhuld, a new dawn kingdom for the giants, built from the spilled blood of the Men and Fae of the West.