Stop right there.” It was a voice of measured power, a voice comfortable with command.

With these words, we are introduced to a new character in the pantheon of heroic figures, a giant in stature and strength who is but too human in aspiration. Nature has favored him as undefeatable in combat, society has cast him as military champion, yet he longs for tranquility of home and delectation of family. What must he accomplish to earn the right to claim his desire? What must he sacrifice?

The port of Girasol, known to all as “the beautiful jewel,” offers the giant a winter’s respite from his wanderings. He finds amicable welcome among denizens in the local tavern and there, too, he finds Soessa, the copper haired round girl who warms his heart through the coldest of nights.

When the village is threatened by pirate siege, local moneylenders implore him to raise armed defense but, averse to presiding over even one more battle, the giant defers accepting their commission. He encounters trolls with peculiar dietary penchants and wondrous skills, who fathom greater threat concealed within folds of the pirate attack. For they remember the Demonic Titans’ vow to take as brother he who releases them from interment imposed in ages past by the Great Powers. It is Schadenfreude, master of the pirate fleet, manipulator of lives, who intends to redeem the Titans’ promise. His cruelty is exceeded only by their treachery, his madness by their craving.

Town dwellers, bucolics of the country wide around, troll tribes, caravaneers from the distant east, and swamp-saurians crystallize alliances to resist their common enemy. However, their stand against the far stronger pirates is doomed without the giant’s aid. Devotion among the confederates to their families and to the beautiful jewel enables the giant to see his own thread in the grand tapestry of the ages and to choose a course of action by which he can both defend Girasol and attain the life of peace he seeks.

 

 

Some of The Giant’s Supporting Characters

A lizard of a man, the Saurian scout fell upon her with his teeth, biting and gnashing and tearing until she moved no more. The lizard’s tongue lapped blood from once beautiful flesh. He snickered quietly to himself, “Sweet. Very sweet.”

How in mid winter did one furry little Tribal Luminary, the troll princess Mozin Bur Mai, bid Girasol’s harbor calm with no more than chant and seashell? One might sooner know “why?” than “how?”

This, the townfolk thought, is the Polumphae we know. He may be short and fat, he may smell like sheep’s wool and bird’s feathers and clothier’s dye, his daughters may be the chubbiest maids in the village, but the assuasive sound of his voice reassures us he knows everything that goes on in Girasol and we can trust his advice.

Long awaited opportunity and Retsina’s desperation had at last crossed paths but they fought panic for control. Her head was dizzy, her stomach queasy, her legs trembled, and her arms ached. Absently, her fingers opened the little jar tucked in the folds of her sleeves. She dipped her thumbs and began to rub the medicinal ointment into her sore shoulders. Suddenly, she sat upright: her panic was no more. Dour she nodded. Grim she smiled. She knew now how to proceed.

Resigned to live out the day, Fressenspiel, captain of The Fourth Star, wrangled himself back inside, slumped splay legged against the bulkhead, and tugged his slack jowls with both hands. Then, eyes closed, he massaged his forehead and temples with the tips of his fingers. This, he thought, is my allotment of pleasure and peace for today, and the knowledge made him weep.

Bovid, first into the surf, was last out, lips blue and phallus shriveled to a nubbin by the frigid seawater. Complain he did of the cold air, the clingy sand, the hunger of his belly. Gripe he did about the long days aback a horse, the long nights since the last whore, the long ride before the next tavern.

Foushka took mischievous delight in teasing the pretty boy. Eyelids dimmed, her dusky gaze followed his sinews’ flutter and bulge under cumbrous loads he hove to impress her. Without subtlety, Foushka brushed her hammer to the floor as he approached. He bended his knee and retrieved the tool for to place it on the stone bench. But, before he could set it down, she wrapped his hand in both of hers. His heart swelled and, when her shoulder and hair swept his bare chest, so too did his loins.

In ports vulgar and exotic Cormelick attained his manhood, brawl by barroom brawl. It was always his felicity to get trounced from behind just as the prettiest maid was watching. He’d go down while the fracas clanged and bellowed around him, his mates would absorb the whale of the beating, while he acquiesced to the succoring of a sweet lass. Soon enough, did the brawlers luff at the end of their wind, whereupon Cormelick would kiss the girl and leap up to knock the last two staggering heads. Thus he remained the only man standing. Oh, ho, ho! The ladies did like that!

It was Shahriar who suffered most. Never before last night had he shivered with such cold or burned with such lust. He must have that slave girl ----- his property, in truth ------ and he could take her at his delight. But would she be his except for the collar? Would she choose him if free to do otherwise? Did that matter? Did anything else matter?

Captain Brueghel projected a fearsome mien. Armed and armored, muscled and mannered, erect and alert, he revealed only little of his inner life. One corner of his mouth always turned down in scowl, the other rose and fell in proportion to his approval of circumstances in his purview. With austere determination, he stepped up to the rostrum and scanned the eleven ships in Ellewan’s harbor. He thought, here is the last safe haven this fleet will ever know. Sudden calm in the air permitted duty, the smoky haze of habit, to lock him once again into shackles of command.

Qurael was so beautiful, so pampered, so trained, so clever, that her mistress gave her to this boy in reward for services a wealthy husband, advanced in age, could no longer deliver. Qurael understood. Riyadh was handsomely wrought like masterwork of a fine sculptor, endowed with a talent that made women rise up and sing. He deserved fine reward; she was it. But Riyadh, foolish boy, was easily led by the knob on the end of his staff and Qurael did so like to rise up and sing.

 

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