Publisher's blurb: "Aaron, I don't like this place." The human side of my half-orc companion shakily spoke as we dove deeper into the frozen depths of damned Steel Mountains. The bulky barbarian somehow looked smaller and his yellow eyes childishly sought mine; I have never seen Grizkh afraid. I was, however, serene as we climbed up the small rocky plateau. Enormous, carefully carved face stoically watched us, with darkness of its mouth inviting us in. Noticeable hole in the helmet's face was more than revealing. Silence was ominous, birds ceased to sing. Rough, crumbling slopes framed the scenery hinting that there was only one way out of here. A way in. Live mountain was given the visage of the relic I craved for decades. Grizkh was a master tracker, yet those marks a child would track – a huge, earth pressing, stamp-like footsteps. I was aware of the ill-tempered frost giants. Yet, the helmet will be mine.