Over the ice capped mountains ride the great white stalions of the clouds. Each one sculpted as if from marble; the perilessent shining up the hills of the reciding mountains. From which the innocent people live underneath. For these people do not relize their unexpected fate of what is to come from the clouds. They do not hear the shreaks of death that they sound. Rippiling through both the mountains and the heavens themselves. For which these clouds bring nothing but the greatest evil known to humans. The wrath of nature herself. Through these clouds is stored the tears of her remaining strength as she is killed slowly from the humans underneath. These tears bring nothing but pain and suffering from nature and in tune bring the pain down to the people of the valley, through the wrath of this storm will be unstoppible to all forms of life, even the great mountain himself.