The northern lights are dancing in the quiet night, a path of the dead moving to the west, for rest, for penance, for rebirth. This is a silent land, filled of melancholy.
Here lies the shell of a the great dragon, huge ivory bones rising from glittering snow and ice. An eyeless skull buried deep under a mountain of ice. Hoarfrost decorates the bones in silver patterns, gleaming in the faint starlight.
A battle was fought once, in the sky, above this place - and the dragon fell, lost. A beautiful creation smashed upon the ground, now only the bones remain.