Post by Giant Dad on Jul 19, 2019 3:18:20 GMT 1
“If I ever see them again I will rip them limb from limb.”
The giant cursed and sputtered threats to no one but himself in between incoherent grumbling as he walked with eyes darting from here to there. It was the third day into is treacherous search for his beloved Zweihander, a blade of unequal power thus seen on the expansive land of the warring factions. He had only crumbs to go off of, but his resolve would not be so easily swayed, he was sure it was here somewhere hidden away, and he would claim what is rightfully his. There wasn’t much time until the cowards who attacked him returned to swipe out his weapon from under his feet, which meant every step was precious and care needed to be taken in which spots he chose to search.
“...in the south ...in the wastes”
It was the only clue provided to him, if it was even truthful to begin with, but he could not sit idly by at let those cretins win.
His mind constantly went back to how he lost his precious two-handed sword. He had saved runes from the communal efforts in slaying dragons, had traded for these magical slabs and was the first in the land to forge the highest grade rune seen thus far, but also had gathered materials to bring to the factions honorable smith in an attempt to craft the first weapon in a new league of craftsmanship, and despite the smith’s doubts of his skill, was still able to best the odds and craft the powerful blade. The first of their kinds, combined together, made the deadliest weapon in Agonia. Despite being a reserved giant that let his actions speak more than his words, he could not help but boast about his accomplishment and intimidate the opposing faction. Shortly after announcing the success of this, he received a message from an old enemy, Ragnar, who had bested him before but of whom never had the opportunity to challenge in one-on-one combat. Ragnar invited the giant to a dual, once he had the chance soon to properly equip himself with a weapon of equal strength, which the giant eagerly agreed to.
The day finally came, a time and meeting place was arranged, and letters were sent out to both factions to not interfere. There was one condition however, a race to see who could dish out as much blood as possible before the other fell, so no armor was to be worn, simply shirts, swords and axes. The giant set out as far as he could walk before settling down for the night, and although he fell asleep, he was stricken with a terrible dream. He dreamt he was ambushed by three small figures, like flies buzzing around take small nicks from him here and there, and while he swung wildly and nearly cut them in two, they would flee into the darkness only to reappear fully formed once more. Eventually the dozens of cuts wore him down, being defenseless without any protection, and he seemed to fall asleep whilst already dreaming. When he awoke fully it was to an all too familiar scene, a grey world with varying shades of grey. “No, no way, I can’t believe this...” he felt the essence of life grip him once more as he felt as if his very soul was being pulled from his body and flew through a doorway of light as his feet hit solid ground once more.
Immediately he sent off notices to his brothers and sisters, and to Ragnar as well. The fiends who had attacked him came into focus in his mind, he was unfamiliar with their faces but had heard of them a band of bandits before from the Fellowship known to be dishonorable, the names of Jabbathehut, Cliff, and Gimli. Was this a trap set up by Ragnar? The giant knew of no Fellowship skilled in the art of two-handed swords, so who would want the weapon? Reports from his comrades returned swiftly, stating that invaders had already been spotted and killed, but alas no equipment of note was claimed.
“You killed them?” he asked his friend Bjorn, “Both of them, Jabba and Gimli,” Bjorn replied proudly.
“...where’s Cliff?”
Search parties were immediately sent out, heading west as fast as possible, but even with the fastest and most readily available scouts, the third bandit was never found. Ragnar replied to the giant’s message with genuine shock and sent out messages to Cliff through every means he could, but alas was not provided a reply, however Ragnar had spotted Cliff nearby and approached him. Both wide awake, Ragnar once more apprised Cliff of the situation of the duel and requested that the sword be surrendered to him. The norsk's patience was wearing thin, after a day of a lack of response and again when asked directly, gave into the last resort option and cleaved Cliff in two with his large and newly minted axe. Ragnar took no pleasure in cutting down the young thief, but he knew what had to be done and was willing to risk the consequences of his faction in order to uphold his honor of the duel, and aimed to make things right. After a quick search of the body, Ragnar was shaken to find that the sword was not on the body here either. “Hmph, the scoundrels must’ve stashed it.” As Ragnar was writing back to the giant, he finally received a letter from the newly reborn Cliff.
Despite the openness and repentance offered as compensation for the death, Cliff remained playful and taunted the norsk. After a handful of brief exchanges, the only information Ragnar was able to pry out of the bandit was:
“...in the south ...in the wastes”
Ragnar relayed this immediately back to the giant, who then sprinted back to the spot he was slain. “South. Wastes. South of where I died in the wastes? How far south? Hell how far west for that matter?” The giant walked due south and began searching every square inch of the massive wasteland, and even though it would take days and days of nothing but searching, however he was fueled by a fiery rage that would not rest until his Zweihander was returned to him and all three of the bandits’ heads were skewered upon its blade.
The giant cursed and sputtered threats to no one but himself in between incoherent grumbling as he walked with eyes darting from here to there. It was the third day into is treacherous search for his beloved Zweihander, a blade of unequal power thus seen on the expansive land of the warring factions. He had only crumbs to go off of, but his resolve would not be so easily swayed, he was sure it was here somewhere hidden away, and he would claim what is rightfully his. There wasn’t much time until the cowards who attacked him returned to swipe out his weapon from under his feet, which meant every step was precious and care needed to be taken in which spots he chose to search.
“...in the south ...in the wastes”
It was the only clue provided to him, if it was even truthful to begin with, but he could not sit idly by at let those cretins win.
His mind constantly went back to how he lost his precious two-handed sword. He had saved runes from the communal efforts in slaying dragons, had traded for these magical slabs and was the first in the land to forge the highest grade rune seen thus far, but also had gathered materials to bring to the factions honorable smith in an attempt to craft the first weapon in a new league of craftsmanship, and despite the smith’s doubts of his skill, was still able to best the odds and craft the powerful blade. The first of their kinds, combined together, made the deadliest weapon in Agonia. Despite being a reserved giant that let his actions speak more than his words, he could not help but boast about his accomplishment and intimidate the opposing faction. Shortly after announcing the success of this, he received a message from an old enemy, Ragnar, who had bested him before but of whom never had the opportunity to challenge in one-on-one combat. Ragnar invited the giant to a dual, once he had the chance soon to properly equip himself with a weapon of equal strength, which the giant eagerly agreed to.
The day finally came, a time and meeting place was arranged, and letters were sent out to both factions to not interfere. There was one condition however, a race to see who could dish out as much blood as possible before the other fell, so no armor was to be worn, simply shirts, swords and axes. The giant set out as far as he could walk before settling down for the night, and although he fell asleep, he was stricken with a terrible dream. He dreamt he was ambushed by three small figures, like flies buzzing around take small nicks from him here and there, and while he swung wildly and nearly cut them in two, they would flee into the darkness only to reappear fully formed once more. Eventually the dozens of cuts wore him down, being defenseless without any protection, and he seemed to fall asleep whilst already dreaming. When he awoke fully it was to an all too familiar scene, a grey world with varying shades of grey. “No, no way, I can’t believe this...” he felt the essence of life grip him once more as he felt as if his very soul was being pulled from his body and flew through a doorway of light as his feet hit solid ground once more.
Immediately he sent off notices to his brothers and sisters, and to Ragnar as well. The fiends who had attacked him came into focus in his mind, he was unfamiliar with their faces but had heard of them a band of bandits before from the Fellowship known to be dishonorable, the names of Jabbathehut, Cliff, and Gimli. Was this a trap set up by Ragnar? The giant knew of no Fellowship skilled in the art of two-handed swords, so who would want the weapon? Reports from his comrades returned swiftly, stating that invaders had already been spotted and killed, but alas no equipment of note was claimed.
“You killed them?” he asked his friend Bjorn, “Both of them, Jabba and Gimli,” Bjorn replied proudly.
“...where’s Cliff?”
Search parties were immediately sent out, heading west as fast as possible, but even with the fastest and most readily available scouts, the third bandit was never found. Ragnar replied to the giant’s message with genuine shock and sent out messages to Cliff through every means he could, but alas was not provided a reply, however Ragnar had spotted Cliff nearby and approached him. Both wide awake, Ragnar once more apprised Cliff of the situation of the duel and requested that the sword be surrendered to him. The norsk's patience was wearing thin, after a day of a lack of response and again when asked directly, gave into the last resort option and cleaved Cliff in two with his large and newly minted axe. Ragnar took no pleasure in cutting down the young thief, but he knew what had to be done and was willing to risk the consequences of his faction in order to uphold his honor of the duel, and aimed to make things right. After a quick search of the body, Ragnar was shaken to find that the sword was not on the body here either. “Hmph, the scoundrels must’ve stashed it.” As Ragnar was writing back to the giant, he finally received a letter from the newly reborn Cliff.
Despite the openness and repentance offered as compensation for the death, Cliff remained playful and taunted the norsk. After a handful of brief exchanges, the only information Ragnar was able to pry out of the bandit was:
“...in the south ...in the wastes”
Ragnar relayed this immediately back to the giant, who then sprinted back to the spot he was slain. “South. Wastes. South of where I died in the wastes? How far south? Hell how far west for that matter?” The giant walked due south and began searching every square inch of the massive wasteland, and even though it would take days and days of nothing but searching, however he was fueled by a fiery rage that would not rest until his Zweihander was returned to him and all three of the bandits’ heads were skewered upon its blade.