The hammer of the Frost Giant once again falls on the land, sending forth it's blasts of coldness. We retreat into our huts and gather about the Stone of Images as the gifts of Carbos dance tantalizingly before our eyes. When will the Maiden of Spring come, and bring with her Lord Helios upon his golden chariot? Our hearts grow found for her lush greeness.
The Axe Lord watches over the Slave Pit with his cold stare and a firm hold upon his axe. His eyes meet no ones and no one eyes meet his. The hood hides whether he smiles or not as he walks amongst the slaves. He holds a scale in his other hand, and measures the value of your deeds and time. But even the greatest heroes can fall weak and prey to his blade. Is he alive or is he a wraith sent from death himself, we do not know, but the Lords of Stupidia have summoned him to do their bidding, and do it he must.
Whether a messenger of the Frost Giant or the blade of the Axe Lord, most feel a coldness upon the back of their neck. Only the Princess of Stupidia, enraptured in a warm robe of self love, seems immune to the dark cold. But that warmth is like the warmth one feels from drinking Fire Water, it quickly fades and its wearer is found frozen from it's deception.
If the blade falls or if it is held, that is the command of the Ancient One. May his mercy be found upon my head. Once again I leave you with these words: Fear not, for the Axe Lord is a not a master of the axe, but a slave to it, and upon his neck, is the biggest axe of all.
