There was something hidden atop Sangora's peaks, a mystery, a treasure, a danger lying in the mists. To traverse the mountain pass was a journey most treacherous – one wrong step, and you'd lie in a snowy grave.
Yet despite its dangers and the death that awaited at its feet, the mountain called to us. Its low growl, the murmur of a slumbering beast, filled the night air and visited our dreams. An unspoken promise.
A group of men heeded the call, wishing to not simply pass unscathed, but to climb, climb to the top and see what lay obscured in the fog.
The mountain growled, and the growl grew louder and louder, echoing throughout the valley. Then: silence, ominous, and lasting the briefest of moments, before an avalanche rolled down the hills. Larger than any before, and leaving naught but death in its wake.
Once the fury and tumult had settled, we found the ten bodies tossed out of the mountain pass. Battered, bruised.
Unworthy.
And the slumbering mountain returned to the quiet growls haunting our nights, asking for another soul to venture towards it and face it.
But no one dared.
