The Valley of the Giants, despite its name, is not your typical valley. It's an expansive, rugged land filled with towering mountains, rolling hills, shimmering lakes, and a mighty river that snakes through its heart. This region teems with life, particularly, the colossal figures known as giants. While a few aquatic species, like the rare ichthyosaurs, swim through its waters, the land itself is dominated by the presence of sea giants, a subspecies of these massive creatures.
This place is more than just a home for giants. It is their origin, the very cradle of their kind, and the largest sanctuary for these titanic beings. Giants of every type can be found here, from the formidable Mountain Giants to the single-eyed Cyclops and the blazing Fire Giants. Metallic giants like the Silver Giants and Gold Giants also call this place home, beings of great height and strength, rarely seen beyond the Valley's borders. It is said in whispered tales that the legendary Bram was born among the golden giants, though these claims remain nothing more than rumors, passed from mouth to mouth, never proven.
While the Valley lacks the icy peaks necessary to attract many frost giants, a few do reside here, though their numbers are sparse compared to those in the north. Their presence is a reminder that even in the varied terrains of the Valley, where snow-capped mountains are absent, rare does not mean impossible.
Bastain, a wanderer and friend of the frost giants, had spent many weeks searching for a particular tribe, the Snow Spear Tribe. They had migrated from their homeland during a time of war, forced out when their snowy mountain was no longer safe. After much effort, Bastain finally found them.
"Brother Bastain, aren't you going to stay with us?" one of the young frost giants asked, his voice filled with hope.
"Yes, brother," another chimed in. "The new chief has welcomed you with open arms. He knows what you've done for us. We frost giants don't forget those who have helped us."
The children of the Snow Axe Tribe, whom Bastain had taken under his wing, were finally reunited with their kin in the Snow Spear Tribe. Life had become too perilous to live alone in this harsh era. Even though Bastain had passed down essential skills to these young giants; skills of survival, combat, and hunting, it was clear they needed the protection and strength of their tribe.
The chief of the Snow Spear Tribe, upon hearing of Bastain's deeds, immediately offered him a place among them. It wasn't just a symbolic gesture; the giants, especially the frost giants, were straightforward and sincere. They saw Bastain as one of their own, despite his mixed blood, and genuinely wanted him to stay.
For a moment, Bastain felt the weight of their offer. Loneliness had always been his companion, and the thought of belonging somewhere tugged at him. But he shook his head, offering a kind smile. "I'm sorry," he said gently. "I have unfinished business. When it's all done, I'll come back to visit."
Though it wasn't just an excuse, Bastain truly was preoccupied. His mind drifted to a mysterious tower, an ancient spire that had haunted his memories. "It's exactly like the first one I saw," he murmured to himself, "but also completely different."
The Snowy Owl had once spoken in riddles, twisting words into knots of confusion, yet his memories of that tower were real. It had been a relic of power, once taken by the Bram The Great from a nearby elven tribe. Those elves had fallen in battle, but not before their wizard's tower had made things difficult for Ion.
In the Valley of Giants, the ruins of that tower were now under study by the Valley's greatest spellcasters. Witch doctors, shamans, and even elven wizards from distant lands had been summoned to analyze its structure. Yet, the more they studied it, the stranger it became. It appeared to be just a simple tower to all of them, with none of the magical circles or spells one might expect from a wizard's lair.
The truth of its nature remained a mystery, like so much else in the Valley of the Giants, where legends, power, and danger intertwined in ways few truly understood.
The unexpected revelation sent shockwaves through the gathering, leaving everyone in stunned silence. Murmurs rippled through the crowd as all eyes turned toward Bastian, the bearer of this astonishing news.
"This can't be true," whispered one of the chieftains, his brows knitted in disbelief.
But this time, no one accused Bastian of lying. Instead, many leaders and chiefs began to recall their own unsettling experiences.
"Wait," an elder spoke up, his voice tinged with realization. "In our region, the elf tribe also has this spire. Or perhaps it's more accurate to say the spire was there first, and then the tribe settled around it. It was constructed before we arrived, and then, as if cloaked by magic, it vanished. But our ancestors remember that part of our history."
The leaders, wise and perceptive, began connecting the dots. They lacked neither intelligence nor insight; what they had been missing was a unifying clue.
"Think about it," another chief interjected. "Unlike the various subspecies of giants, the ancient elves are branches of the same lineage. Yet, how can tribes thousands of miles apart simultaneously build towers with identical designs and unknown purposes?"
"And the fact that these towers become hidden after they're built only deepens the mystery," added a warrior, his eyes narrowing.
Despite their best efforts, they couldn't uncover the truth about these spires. Their failure only intensified their curiosity and concern.
Bastian was bombarded with questions. "What makes these towers so special?" one leader demanded.
He could only offer a perplexing answer. "They look exactly the same," Bastian said slowly, "but they're completely different in essence. It's hard to explain, but something about them just feels... wrong."
Clairvoyants were summoned from far and wide. Though rare, they weren't impossible to find, especially in such critical times. Even two necromancers joined the investigation. After careful observation, they all reported the same thing: "This is just an ordinary tower."
Their conclusion only fueled more speculation.
"Maybe the tower itself isn't the point," suggested a voice from the crowd. "Perhaps it's the location that matters."
Bastian's eyes lit up. "The geological vascular theory!" he exclaimed. "According to elven lore, the souls of the dead congregate at certain places, their last stop before passing into the void. These 'venation points' are crucial. Whatever the elves are doing with the souls of the dead, these locations are key."
To test this theory, they conducted a grim experiment. A captive was brought to the original site of the spire and sacrificed. A clairvoyant observed the soul's journey.
"Look!" he cried out. "His soul is being drawn into that 'great hole' where the spire once stood. It's vanished in the blink of an eye!"
At that moment, the puzzle pieces began to fit together. They started to grasp the full scope of the elves' actions.
"According to the ancient texts," Bastian explained, holding up a worn book from the "Sages' Series," "the elves believe that the souls of the deceased are a form of energy to be harnessed. They've built spires at these venation points to intercept and refine souls. This energy powers their magic puppets, fuels their war machines, and grants their spellcasters seemingly infinite power."
Gasps echoed through the hall.
"How could they commit such an atrocity?" a young warrior asked, his fists clenched in anger.
"It doesn't matter how," Bastian replied urgently. "What matters is, how do we stop it? How do we prevent this from continuing?"
Silence fell as everyone grappled with the enormity of the situation. Then, the elder who had first spoken stepped forward.
"Bastian, your arrival has brought the core of this dire problem to light," he said solemnly. "Without you, we might have remained ignorant until it was too late. You've given us a chance, a glimmer of hope."
The atmosphere shifted. While vigilant eyes still watched Bastian, the suspicion had eased. He was now seen not as an outsider, but as a crucial ally.
Determination etched across his face, Bastian looked around at the assembled leaders. "We must act swiftly," he urged. "So I ask you all, how do we stop this?"
The leaders of each tribe gathered in their tents, faces etched with worry and fatigue. They held emergency meetings one after another, racking their brains for a solution, but no answer emerged.
"This is hopeless," muttered one chieftain, rubbing his temples. "We've tried every strategy we know."
"Infiltrators have provided us with clues," another leader added, "but even our insiders among the elves can't find answers quickly enough."