They Might Be Giants

Varan had enough of the giants.

The branch beneath her foot groaned and complained, threatening to snap from the weight of the ice elf -- correction, half-elf - but that didn’t deter her from going further on the limb to get to the best vantage point possible.

Are they coming? She asked herself through labored breath. Realizing it was her knees, not the ground itself that was shaking she rationalized they weren’t, she lost them. She lost the giant slayer sword, she lost everyone. She thought of a half dozen lies of skill and cunning which led to her escaping from being roasted, toasted or served ala carte, but the fact of the matter was it was just dumb luck that saved the elf -- half-elf from the huge coooking pots.

Her eyes narrowed as if it would increase the distance that she could see, only to find that it couldn’t, and with a dejected shudder, the elf -- half elf -- swung down a few rungs to a sturdier tree limb. Sitting back against the trunk she leaned her head back to scratch an itch against the bark thinking about the hunting party she’d been separated from. Rodelor, Coldiun, Nianys, Aveziar and sweet little Lyndis, half elves, half siblings, all dead. Presumably. At that moment giants were likely picking the meat of the elves -- half elves’ from between their filthy giant teeth, sucking the marrow from their bones.

One Giant. That’s all they had to kill was one giant. Return with its goliath head, but it hadn’t just been one giant they stumbled onto.

“SCATTER!” Aveziar had called as the group was ambushed by the hulking sacks of lumbering savages. Coldiun was the first to be nabbed, followed by Nianys. Varan found herself in the clutches of a third, and 1000 rainstorms couldn’t wash away the stench. Frozen with fear, she clutched the sword handle and when the massive monster closed its colossus fist tighter, it sliced its own finger clean off, allowing her escape.

Three cycles of the sun later and she still hadn’t met back up with her party. Rodelor’s torn pack, and a shoe belonging to Lyndis were the only signs she could find, adding to the mounting feeling of being alone.

Screams from the distance brought the half-elf back to her feet on the branch. They were screams of pain, but not from her brethren. Extending claws of ice from her fingertips, the elf… correction, half-elf slid her way down the tree trunk to look the source of the torture, her hopes bisected. Pat of her wanted it to be giants, to exact revenge for her kin, but the more dominant part hoped to the moon and back to never see one again.