I arrive at the foothills of the White Fall Mountain, the quickest way across it seems is a trail that leads all the way up to the summit. Unbeknownst to me the peak is the home of the giant Malvor, the king of the mountain; well in his mind anyway. I guess they do say that a Kingdom is not a place but a state of mind. As I reach the summit and survey the lands from his mountain home I can see why he might feel like a king.

Giants are not often seen in Cyrodiil nowadays, thy tend to stick to inhospitable mountains and the Northern wilderness. In Skyrim and Orsinium giants are said to be a common sight, often more nomadic and travelling in groups with herds of mammoths between seasonal camps across the lands. Giants in Cyrodiil however tend to be much more solitary, only gathering occasionally at ceremonial sites to trade, and mate, usually away from the prying eyes of man or mer.

The common perception is that they are harmless if left alone, but when disturbed become very territorial and aggressive to perceived intruders, be they man or beast. They seem more tolerant of Nords however, perhaps because of familiarity, or maybe that some Nords consider them but distant cousins. Certainly some Nord maids I have met have shared their grey skin and hairy feet. They seem particularly hostile to elves though. That may be because elvish alchemists in particular prize their toes as an ingredient for their potions, apparently having a positive affect upon ones good health, stamina, and oral hygiene.

Malvor clearly was not expecting any visitors today as he seemed most put out by my presence, greeting me with a swing of his massive club. As I entered the Ayleid entrance which led into a tunnel down though and eventually out of the mountain, I contemplated his demise. A solitary king is never safe, for whether in the own mind or worn atop the head, it takes but a sceptered blade to sever crown from pate.

S.K