Day One of the Giant Fight

The chilly dusk settles uneasily around the gang of townsfolk and the adventurers, who are all poised in position surrounding the pair of giants. Everyone is nervous. Londer’s javelins are wobbling out of the flaming red-headed male giant’s shoulders, the pinpricks causing him to draw his enormous greatsword. The gang is attacking. Londer stands in front of the giant, blonde hair waving in the wind, looking dashing and defiant, like the hetero hero from a fairytale. The one that saves the princess.

The giant’s lady companion is working single-mindedly to free the huge, tree-sized tangle of metal from the ground. The adventurers can see the giants’ hot breath in the cold air, billowing from their mouths like rancid clouds.

For cover, Miss Moss has rushed behind a rock close to the female giant to get a better angle for attack. Meanwhile, Leshanna realises giddily that she can understand Giant: the giants are calling to the orcs to stop slicing and dicing the townsfolk and start on the gang of attackers. The orcs oblige, turning their attention to the gang.

As smoke swirls above from the fires on the east side of town, Thoradin centres himself. His eyes roll into the back of his head momentarily as he creates spiritual mace, aimed at the male giant from his vantage point near Darz’s small house. Gunther, in a moment of deep bravery he ensures everyone is there to see, rushes from where he is hiding inside Darz’s house, draws his shortsword and swipes at the giant, delivering a devastating blow. Gunther yelps with delight at the hit, looking around to make eye contact with as many of the gang as he can, nodding at their acknowledgement of his strike.

But, while Gunther is basking in his success, the giant lunges at the small group, knocking both the nearby Ghelryn and Gunther to the ground, but narrowly missing Thoradin. Lia, crouched on the roof of the Lion’s Share, sees her chance and puts a hunter’s mark on the male giant.

Orthovir then attacks the giant with fire, causing the giant’s armour to glow red but not much else. The fire, much to the adventurers’ surprise, only causes the giant to look magnificent, like a superhero with radiant might. The adventurers realise with alarm that these are fire giants. Using fire against them will never work.

Suddenly the female giant roars and Leshanna hears her bellow, “I’ve got it, let’s get the fudge out of here!” She looks pleased with herself but annoyed at the tiny pests her friend seems preoccupied with. Little mosquitoes biting.

The male giant responds to his friend’s voice, turning his enormous head and trunk towards her. He then lifts one huge foot at a time off the dusty ground and starts shambling towards the hunk of metal his friend has freed. He doesn’t get very far, however, before Leshanna hits him square with a ray of frost. She’s an exquisite aim with her spells and the giant’s movements immediately slow, him now seeming to be struggling through wet sand, his mouth slightly agape, eyes a little glazed.

As the male giant realises he is in trouble, he turns to escape. Ghelryn rushes after the giant, hatred in his eyes, dealing a supreme and deadly blow with his magnificent battle-axe. The giant topples forward, dust billowing out from under his armour, rivers of blood spreading. This giant is dead. Ghelryn hates giants.

The adventurers and townsfolk are surprised and relieved at the giant’s death, but this fight is not over.

Day Two of the Giant Fight

The female giant, not the brightest of the bunch, is looking wildly around her in alarm, having finally caught on that her opponents were fiercer than she had given them credit for and that her friend was down, maybe even out, she couldn’t tell. She’s on her own. The adventurers could see her looking for the best escape route, glancing at the huge piece of metal she’d just manhandled out of the ground, her treasure, then around at the gang, then to clear paths out of the mayhem, and back. It’s obvious she’s confused.

Orcs, just a couple remaining, were still riding the poorly-natured axebeaks and attempting further slashings. Soon, though, many friends and foes alike stopped to see what was about to go down with the female giant. Darz, who has been eating chips hiding behind the counter in the Lion’s Share, satisfied at his efforts with Narth and the orc, peeks out the window to watch, bewitched by the possibilities. Darz can hear Orthovir on the roof above him, presumably also steadying to watch the show.

The minute the life went out of the male giant’s eyes, Lia’s hunter’s mark was transferred to the female giant. This, unfortunately, didn’t make Lia a better shot, with a disappointing effort as she attempted to hit the female giant with sharpened arrows, over and over, to no avail. Lia’s mood tumbled and she swore under her breath, angry at herself for being off her game at such a crucial time.

Thoradin, being swift of action, casts a paralysing spell on the giant, giving Miss Moss time to rush over to dig her shortsword as hard she can into the standing giant’s femoral artery. She expects a pulsing river of blood, but just a dribble emerges from the giant’s armour. She also swears to herself. Dammit.

Leshanna turns her attention to the stinking, malformed orcs, scorching them with a radiant heat spell, their screams shrill and pained. If anyone was looking, they would have seen Leshanna wince for a split second.

Despite Londer declaring he’s absolutely fine, it’s plain that he is not. Thoradin sneaks over to heal him. Londer is grateful. Narth, seeing his moment, runs out and ushers a huddle of townsfolk into the Keep. The townsfolk are indebted.

Orthovir, in an inspired moment that took both the bird and himself by surprise, leaps from the roof onto a riderless axebeak, hefting his body onto the great bird’s back, grasping the reins and digging his heels into the beast’s side to propel it forward. The axebeak makes a truly ugly noise but complies, leaning its long raggedy-feathered neck forward, flaring its wings, heading towards the paralysed giant. Orthovir gasps but manages to hold on.

The bedraggled bird takes off, and in a moment of extreme quick thinking and war telepathy between soldiers, Orthovir and Ghelryn lock eyes. Ghelryn reaches out his arm at the same time Orthovir leans his body sideward and reaches his arm down towards Ghelryn. They grasp each other’s forearms and in a smooth motion, Ghelryn swings up above Orthovir, backflips, then in the nick of time plonks himself perfectly positioned behind Orthovir. All watching are amazed at the manoeuvre, with audible gasps heard.

The giant becomes like a paralysed pin cushion for the blows and slicing of the fighters, like a deer with a broken leg in the face of a pride of lions. She didn’t stand a chance.

Miss Moss, disappointed at the pathetic paper cut she’d managed to inflict on the lady giant, has another forceful stab at the artery. This time, success. Across the space of a minute, as the blood drains from her body and she succumbs to her many wounds, the giant’s eyes roll into the back of her head and she slowly falls to the ground with an enormous thud. Dust-covered blood is flung in all directions. The lady giant is dead. Ghelryn fist pumps the air and shrieks, “Yussss! Hallelujah!”

With all the orcs dead and the remaining riderless axebeaks fleeing, a strange calm settles over the gang of fighters. In a shocking moment of quiet after the ruckus, all are wondering if this is really over. It seems to be. Across two long days, the heroes, battling ferociously alongside the distraught townsfolk, fought the giants and saved the town of Triboar. 

Cleaning Up

The adventurers and townsfolk move the giant piece of metal and adamantine rod to the Lord Protector’s home, but not before Darz, never one to shy away from embarrassing situations if he has something to gain, begs for Darathra’s mercy, requesting a pardon. He doesn’t want to go back to jail. Darathra accepts, under the condition that Darz must sweep the floors and tend to whatever is necessary at the Lion’s Share for a month. It seems fair and all are in agreement.

Darathra ushers the adventurers into her office away from prying eyes and ears to talk to the gang further. First, she apologises for not listening to them in the first place. The adventurers all nod appreciatively, glad she’s finally caught up. Before they can even finish their nods, Darathra continues, pondering aloud as she looks searchingly off into the distance, what would have happened if she had listened to them right away, the heroes might have moved on. She murmurs, “The gods work in mysterious ways, indeed.”

Her eyes back to the gang’s grimy faces, she thanks them sincerely for their help and confirms she is, indeed, connected to the Harper network. Sister Garaelle was right to send the gang to her, Darathra says. Although, the Lord Protector explains, what Sister Garaelle hasn’t realised is that Darathra herself isn’t senior enough in the organisation to have full access to the Harper network.

The Lord Protector moves across her office, reaching for a small wooden jewellery box on the shelf. She takes out a platinum badge with the insignia of three boars charging forward – the town’s symbol. 

“Fire Giants attacking this far into the Dessarin Valley are grim tidings, indeed,” she says gravely. Darathra gives the badge to the adventurers, advising them to go east to the city of Everlund, 250 miles east down the Evermoor trail. There, she says, they should seek out Danivarr’s House, the inn. There, they should give the badge to Dral, the half-orc who runs the inn. 

With that, Darathra becomes quiet, refusing to be drawn into offering any further details. All she says is that all will be revealed in good time. 

They come to an agreement that it would be foolish to keep the adamantine in Triboar, as there is no guarantee that the giants won’t return for it. Darathra decides it will be stored in a cave in the hills. She explains that the location will not be told to the adventurers, as it will be safer for everyone.

Meeting adjourned, the adventurers head to the pub for a well-deserved drink. They’re exhausted, but satisfied. At the pub, there’s plenty of handshaking and back-patting going on, with the townsfolk well impressed with – and grateful for – the adventurers’ efforts.

During the evening it becomes clear that the adventurers are not off the hook, with multiple townies offering enticing tidbits, adventurous tasters, to the gang to nibble on as they consider their next step.

Darz’s Dangling Carrot

Darz saunters over the gang, who are congregated at a large table at the Northshield House, offering an intriguing revelation regarding a 5,000-gold-piece reward for bringing the notorious dwarf brigand, the Weevil, back to Mirabar alive. Darz has the gang’s attention, especially Thoradin’s, who doesn’t believe that a dwarf would be a criminal and fears lies are afoot. Darz goes on to explain that a friend of his, a merchant from Mirabar, passed through the Caravan Grounds in Triboar recently. The friend said that while in Longsaddle, he’d seen a wanted poster, but he swears on his life that he saw that exact dwarf in the poster cleaning the stables in Xantharl’s Keep.

The gang become animated, debating amongst themselves whether, in fact, this was reliable information. Darz interrupts to insist he was planning on going himself, but being imprisoned and the attack on the town has left him feeling an obligation to stay put. Besides, he’s too old for this shit, he says. The gang essentially ignores him and goes back to the hot debate over the likelihood of Darz’s information being accurate. Darz smiles and shrugs, sinking away into the shadows.

Orthovir’s Stash

As the night wears on, Orthovir and a few of the gang are deep in discussion about how to defeat the giants, should they return for the metal they were harvesting from the dank earth. Orthovir says that he knows the location of a stash of weapons held by the Magastar family in Silverymoon. Everyone is interested and quiets. He is asked how he knows about the weapons, but shies away from the question, looking away.

The expectant looks are bearing down on Orthivir, who then sheepishly gives in and explains that the Magastar family is his kin. He ran away from them to Triboar to build a new life, which was heartbreaking for him, he says, but his family worship the demon Asmodeous. He’s given up trying to negotiate with his moral compass and is now actively trying to even the ledger. In a defiant tone, Orthovir exclaims, “It’s about time they paid a price for their misdeeds. Let these weapons be used for the power of good!” 

The gang are agreeable and interested, and quiz Orthovir on the whereabouts of the weapons. The demon-worshipping family owns a three-storey tower in Silverymoon, and Orthovir goes on to give exact details on the location of the weapons and how to get to them safely. Leshanna takes careful notes.

Urgala’s Nonchalant Suggestion

Lia is leaning on the bar waiting for a refill, chatting amiably with Urgala, when Urgala reveals without pomp that she used to be an adventurer. Lia is instantly impressed and quizzes her for more details. Urgala used to run with a knight called Harthos Zymorven, a really rich ‘lifestyle guy’. Lia puts a hand up to stop her fabulous story, grabs their drinks, and drags Urgala back to the gang and makes them all shush while Urgala tells them the rest of the story.

Urgala goes on to explain the might and beauty of this rich man’s incredible weapon. It’s a magical giant-slaying greatsword that has the power to change the fortunes of battles. The gang are all leaning in, mouths agape, rapt. A magical giant-slaying greatsword? Hell yeah!

Looking around at the amazed faces of the adventurers, Urgala says nonchalantly that Harthos is really pretty old now, and probably doesn’t need his magical sword. Maybe the adventurers could pick it up from Zymorven Hall up on Rauvin Road Northwest of Silverymoon on their travels, and put it to good use?

Urgala, a slim bony figure, shrugs and says,”Just an idea!” then is drawn into conversation with a townsperson about water rates. She waves and mouths her goodbyes as she drifts off into the crowd. The gang look at each other, slack-jawed, nodding, saying, yes, we need that sword! Imagine!

Ghelryn’s Gracious Gift

Thoradin, by now very drunk, turns lazily to a tap on his arm, looking up to find Ghelryn standing at his shoulder, eyes glinting, a smile playing at the edges of his moustachioed mouth.

“Will you come to my shop with me, Thoradin? I have something special to show you.” Thoradin looks across at his posse, who are all otherwise occupied, laughing and telling stories, and shrugs, stands up and follows Ghelryn out of the pub. The pair of dwarves sing as they drunkenly stumble down the main street of Triboar to Ghelryn’s shop.

At the shop, Ghelryn brings out his writing pad and having prepared it earlier, signs a letter of recommendation for Thoradin and the party. Ghelryn says Thoradin should present the recommendation to King Morinn and Queen Tithmel at Citadel Felbarr, when they’re passing through. The Citadel, Thoradin knows, is an ancient dwarven city stronghold built into the mountain. Thoradin thanks Ghelryn profusely, not exactly sure what to make of it, but glad to have any kind of recommendation from another dwarf. Thoradin tucks the letter into his pocket.

The two dwarves talk about the coming journey. “Won’t you come with us, Ghelryn?” Thoradin asks earnestly, searching Ghelryn’s glassy eyes, but Ghelryn says he’s sorry, but he just can’t. He hopes to see Felbarr again one day, but shakes his head and laments that it is just not his year. Thoradin slaps Ghelryn’s back a little too hard in consolation.

Thoradin thanks Ghelryn again for the letter of recommendation, and turns towards the door to go back to the pub, but Ghelryn laughs and says, “Oh no, wait! That’s not why I brought you here.” Thoradin turns around to see Ghelryn pulling a slim chest out from under the bed and is intrigued. Ghelryn opens the chest, and grasping it from the shoulders drags out a very fine set of adamantine chainmail.

“You’ll need this more than I will,” Ghelryn says wistfully, presenting the chainmail to a gobsmacked Thoradin. Thoradin is overwhelmed with gratitude and love for his fellow dwarf. “What an honour, Ghelryn,” he says, flinging his arms around his dwarven comrade as tears prick at his eyes and threaten to overflow. It’s a very emotional moment for them both.

Eventually, all the drunken gang drag themselves to bed, with the plan for the following day to head east down Evermoor Way towards the city of Everlund.