To know the heart of a Giant

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
The history of how the Giants came to be in Solteria

Submitted: September 30, 2018

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Submitted: September 30, 2018

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“To know the heart of a giant, is to know our history,” it said, gazing into the fire ablaze in the middle of the cave. “Eons ago, in the early times of this world, of creation itself, far to the north, Ogres ruled. Their savagery and brutality matched only by their strength and prowess in combat. Among the greatest of all ogre warriors was a spell-blade by the name of Jorgunn. Jorgunn was the first and last ogre spell-blade. You see, many things come naturally to an ogre. Skill with a blade, hunting and fishing, forging brutal weapons and sturdy armor. Magic does not. An ogre which wishes to become a mage is often ridiculed and harassed as ogres see mages as weak. This is because in order to become a mage, an ogre must neglect its physical training and train its mind instead.

 

“Decades must they devote to the study and acquisition of magical knowledge. Jorgunn was different as you might expect. He was large and astoundingly strong, even by Ogre standards. Couple this with his passion for magic, and he was an odd one to be sure. His days would be spent training and fighting, like most other ogres. Unlike others though, at the end of the day, Jorgunn did not go and drink the night away. He studied magic. For decades he did this. At the age of 50, he was the youngest ogre to attain the title of war-chief. For years he lead his growing village to dominance from the front lines. Dealing bone crushing blows from his great war ax and summoning walls of flames to incinerate the enemy.

 

“Soon, his village grew from a small cluster of huts to a massive, thriving city. Unmatched and unchecked, they dominated the land and its resources. For the first time in history, the ogres had been united and had begun pushing out from their ancestral home. South into the three-suns plains where they met the noble centaurs in combat upon open fields, and east along the northern coast to the sea-needles where they encountered the Velsaema. Yet it was not destined to last. Returning from overseeing the construction of a new southern outpost, Jorgunn entered his home to find his family butchered and a note written on the wall in their blood, 'your throne or your life'.

 

“Though ogres are prone to rage, what came over him at that moment was something different. Something… deeper,” as it spoke, Ryhan could swear he saw an image forming in the flames. A slouching humanoid figure with what appeared to be an axe in each hand, walking slowly, deliberately. “From the ragged, new hole in his soul came a spell he did not know. He whispered the incantation forming in his mind. A whisper was all he could manage with the lump in his throat.” Ryhan could hear the incantation. The guttural sounds were feint but deep. Merely hearing them sent a tingle down his spine and made the hair on his neck stand on end. If the echo of this spell eons after it had been cast had this kind of power….

 

As the whispered incantation slithered from the depths of the crackling flames, the figure grew. As it grew within the flames, what appeared to be buildings began to sprout up around him. At first there were some buildings whose image expanded beyond the boarders of the flames, but the figure continued to grow. Soon it was larger than most of the buildings in the image. The figure threw back its head and let out a roar so powerful that its body, and indeed the buildings around it, shook. “In his rage, he laid waste the city he had built with his own blood and sweat.” With a single swing of its massive fist, the figure knocked a tower from its foundation, toppling it to the ground. With a massive foot it stomped on a house, sending cracks crawling through the ground around it causing two other buildings to collapse in on themselves.

 

Ryhan watched the images in the flames, eyes wide in horror, for what felt like hours. He could hear the screams of women and children drifting from the flames as the figure decimated the city within. Then, the images began to fade. Ryan's heart sank, it couldn't end there….Could it? He exhaled a sigh of relief when another image began to form in the flames. He hadn't even realized that he was holding his breath. It was the same figure as before, only… different. It appeared to be sitting atop a mountain with its head in its hands. “Jorgunn's heart broke when his rage faded and he realized what he had done. None had survived his rampage. The walls he had built around his city, to protect his people, which they had done without fail for many years, became their prison. So many that he had called him friend, gone. Not slain by a centaurs bow or the blue flames the Velsaeman sky-mages, but by the hands their friend. Their leader. And, as if a punishment from the gods, the incantation refused to be dispelled.

 

“Jorgunn fled into the mountains, attempting to escape the atrocity he had committed. It was here, after centuries of solitude that he created The Stones. He knew that there would be others like him and he did not want them to cause suffering, as he had. So he used The Stones to record his wisdom, that it might be passed down to them. When he finally faded from this world, the first Giants sprung from his bones. They found The Stones, their messages ones of contemplation and patience. Teaching us that we must never rush to judgment or conclusion. Taught us to recognize the immense power we posses and to temper it with every fiber of our being. Now, you know the heart of a giant.”

 


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