Within the heights of frigid rocks and barren peaks stands a refuge in the north, a flickering flame of burning hope, and at one time no more than the vents of the homes of the Snow Dwarves. Elinathrond was a city made for all that could reach it to hide from the evils of men and the curse spread from the southern gods.
When the wars between gods in the ethereal lands came to the world of their creation, the kingdoms of men, elves, and dwarves clashed against one another. It was the latter two that fought together in the end and were the last to stand in open war for their own people. Those between the gods it began, it became a fight for survival for many. Those of magic fought those against magic. It was a holy crusade for men and a desolation for those that could no longer call men 'friend'. The gods of the south had deceived men to their own ends and suffering was unending.
Many magical races fled north into the mountains and within the walls crafted by dwarven hammers in haste. The city of Elinathrond at its height was impregnable. The Black Shards, crystalline gargoyles had unceasing gazes to watch the walls and lands beyond them. Any entity breaching their gaze of ill intent would become as ash. Even now within the walls is a Temple to the god of the North Wura, the trickster upon the polar lights, and a Priory to Kel, the war-god. Each stand as sources of hope for the people.
At last, there is the Estate, the home of the caretaker of the city in charge of guarding the sacred vein of magic burning deep within the mountain. An ever-burning source of magic to protect the people from the ravages of the curse meant to be their undoing, to be their bane.
But Elinathrond is fading, the city is weakening, and the world of men send one to undo all what that has been done to protect those of magic. The Winemaker shall be the one to undo all that is within the sacred refuge...
Read more in book one: Winemaker Of The North
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