The men of the Frostlands are no friends of giants, and have often warred with them. But they have always respected certain traditions. Certain prophecies. They have always held the life of the Giants' Jarl inviolate, until he has an heir.
Sadly, the adventurers either did not know of, or did not heed, the ancient tradition, and stumbling upon the latest young Jarl fishing in the wilderness, slew him for his crown. When they returned to town, they were not greeted with the adulation they expected, for the men of the Frostlands knew what would happen next...
High in the mountains, the Cairn of the Fourfold King crumbled, its occupant freed once more, to claim the crown that now falls to his undead hands. Lord of giants by birth, draugr by death, trolls by might and dragons by skill, he will raise an army the likes of which the world has not seen in many ages, and march on the lands of men...
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