Thangorodrim

Everyday we sit here and wait.

Watching. Waiting for them to come pouring out. Every time we hear thunder, we look to the North, expecting the hordes from our nightmares.

It has been this way for almost 400 winters. Not very long by the reckoning of my people, but an eternity for those of us who wake every morning to the three maintains born of pure hate.

Plainly visible, they belch filth into the sky and steal our laughter. Poisoning our minds as surely as our land. Ever present on the horizon, they constantly remind us: He will not rest forever.