Giants belong to some of the oldest stories told in Skógdalr.
Long before the first villages were built, before roads crossed the valleys and before anyone remembers who first settled the land, the stories say that giants walked among the mountains.
Almost every region has its own tales of them.
Enormous boulders resting alone in open fields are sometimes called stones thrown by giants. Deep valleys are said to have been carved by their footsteps. Unusually shaped mountains may be described as sleeping giants, while great cracks through cliffs are occasionally attributed to ancient battles between beings large enough to break stone with their hands.
Few people take every such story literally.
Yet the stories are remarkably widespread.
Farmers, miners, hunters and travelers may all know different versions, and places associated with giants often carry traditions far older than anyone can explain. Some ancient stones are avoided. Certain mountain passes have names connected to giants whose stories have otherwise been forgotten. Children hear tales of enormous figures crossing the mountains in only a handful of steps.
Whether these stories preserve genuine history or merely explain strange features of the landscape is impossible for most people to know.
Giants themselves are usually described as enormous humanlike beings rather than mindless monsters.
Old stories speak of giants who could talk, build, craft, argue, trade and remember. Some were said to be violent and dangerous. Others avoided humans entirely. A few stories even describe friendships, bargains or agreements between giants and the people who once lived near them.
As with most folklore in Skógdalr, there is no single agreed account.
Some believe the giants disappeared centuries ago.
Others believe they retreated into remote mountains where humans rarely travel.
And then there is the island.
Off the coast of Skógdalr lies an enormous landmass known simply as The Isle of Giants.
Everyone has heard of it.
Its mountains can be seen from parts of the mainland on clear days, rising beyond the sea beneath clouds and mist. Dark forests cover much of the island, while rocky shores and steep highlands make large parts of its coastline difficult to approach.
High among the mountains stands something even harder to explain.
The Giant's Fortress.
Even from great distances, its scale is apparent.
Its walls and towers were built from enormous blocks of stone, and travelers who claim to have approached the island describe gateways and structures far larger than anything built for humans.
For many people, the fortress is the strongest evidence that the stories of giants contain at least some truth.
Exactly who built it is another matter.
Most assume giants.
Scholars occasionally offer other explanations.
None have provided a particularly convincing answer to why anyone would construct doors several times the height of a man.
The island itself is not forbidden.
There is no law preventing someone from sailing there.
People simply tend not to.
The surrounding waters can be difficult, suitable landing places are limited, and there is little reason for an ordinary fisherman or merchant to risk the journey. Expeditions have occasionally been attempted by explorers, scholars, treasure seekers and people hoping to prove or disprove the old stories.
Accounts from those journeys are frustratingly inconsistent.
Some describe nothing more remarkable than wilderness and enormous ruins.
Others tell of footprints far too large to belong to any known animal.
Campfires have supposedly been seen burning high in the mountains.
Sailors occasionally claim to have seen enormous figures moving along distant ridges.
Strange structures have been reported deep within the island, although descriptions rarely agree.
Some expeditions returned with stories.
Others returned having found nothing.
A few never returned at all.
None of this has settled the question.
People on the mainland sometimes watch the island from the coast, particularly on unusually clear evenings. Children may be shown its distant mountains while being told stories their grandparents once told them. Sailors use its peaks as landmarks. Inns near the coast accumulate increasingly ridiculous stories about what supposedly lives there.
The Isle of Giants is therefore not some forgotten secret known only to scholars.
It is part of Skógdalr.
People know where it is.
They know the stories.
They know about the fortress.
What they do not know is whether giants still live there.
Some insist they cannot.
Others point toward the distant mountains and ask a simple question:
If the giants are truly gone, why does smoke sometimes rise from the island?