A Tale In Shrink (Closed)

[Leopold]

A Tale In Shrink (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0RVIgZRRlmk)


3078




Closed to Luned (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25706-Luned-Level-3).


Berevar was anything but accommodating. Its snowdrifts, tundra, and crag-lined valleys are dangerous to even the hardiest adventurer. On the other hand, it is also a country of undiscovered promise. Its hostile nature acts as a deterrent, as well as a preservative. People who live in the wilds seldom hear of the outside world, and its culture remains proud, glistening, and intact. Life goes on in the jagged peaks exactly as it has done for centuries.


The country often dropped useless items into Salvar’s shattered heart. Strange creatures, curious artefacts, and rampant beasts tumbled down from the peaks of frosty ice and bitter winds. People in the ruined villages and mountainous towns often awoke to find homes devastated by behemoths, town squares full of tree trunks, and water troughs drained by thirsty titans. Invariably Leopold Winchester had to deal with the fallout. It was his responsibility to cart away the debris of the Old God’s rage. His red and white wagons were a sign that danger had been, and gone.


As he approached the village square of Promos, a smallholding on the border between Salvar and Berevar, he doubted if his wagons were big enough for this particular cargo.


“That is quite impressive,” Wilfred mumbled. The butler craned his neck up at the giant leaning against the village square’s clock tower. The hands of the ancient timepiece were battered, and its peak leant precariously under the strain. The red brickwork was crumbled, chipped, and worn. Though it had not told the correct time in years, it found a new purpose in offering the giant a place to rest. “What is he?” Wilfred added, adjusting the glasses on his crooked nose with a gloved finger.


“A giant, obviously,” Leopold chuckled. His gold threaded waistcoat, top hat, and giddy charm made quite an impression on the occupants of the town. The giant looked down at them menacingly as they approached, unimpressed with the man’s attire. “Hello, good sir, my name is Leopold Winchester.” He ignored Wilfred’s smirk, chuckle, and splutter.


“Hello.” The giant’s voice was rumbustious.


“The village mayor,” he prodded a gloved finger to the large, imposing, and locked hall behind the giant, “has kindly instructed me…” he curled his lips. He was, given his cargo could squash him like a bug, treading on broken ice. “Well, he has instructed me to get you to more prosperous ground.” No sooner than Leopold had finished his introduction, several people emerged from the side streets, their fear suddenly overcome by the strange man’s charisma.


People had come from all across Salvar, if not further, to see the ‘man as tall as a tower’. Reporters, mages, and politicians had sailed across seas and braved deserts to stare and gawk.

[Luned]

It was one thing to explore the world from the safety of a library, tucked away at her cozy corner desk where she could brave rugged landscapes vicariously through engravings and written accounts. It was something else entirely to actually experience and fully comprehend the disgusting, death-ridden majesty of Althanas' many faces. This was a lesson Luned was quickly learning about many regions, and Berevar was certainly the chilliest yet.

Business was difficult in Salvar, as the largely illiterate population had little use for Luned's services. She had to take what she could get, so when one of the few journals of the realm had a need for someone to track a story, she went for it. Now, Luned wasn't a reporter by any means; she was, quite simply, very desperate. She may have had to invent a few tiny, minuscule, barely-worth-mentioning white lies to land the position, but she did it. And so, from there, she was bound for Berevar.

Traveling in Salvar's climate was not a pleasant prospect so Luned relied on what she did best and made like a vagrant, hitchhiking with a caravan that was aimed for the general vicinity of the supposed story. Along their way she became unhappily aware of the flimsiness of her clothing, meant for the mild climes of Corone, and as the days passed and they rose in latitude, so did the likelihood of her traveling companions discovering a Luned-shaped popsicle in the morning. Her stingy nature kept her last few pennies tightly stashed away, but eventually one of the traders instigated a purely mercy-based barter in which he obtained a vial of disappearing ink in exchange for a hand-me-down sweater of sorts that wore more like a knee-length robe on Luned's comparatively smaller self. It was dreadfully itchy, made of coarse wool from the raggedy sheep that just barely managed to survive in such a tundra, but it kept her from dying, and she supposed that was good enough.

The trade would have been laughable in any other marketplace, but indeed, illiterate Salvarians had little use for writing supplies. They did, however, invent an alternative function for the product, and the drudgery of the remainder of the trip was eased by the introduction of a delightful little game. Each night a different target was chosen, and each morning someone would wake sporting charming artwork on his or her face. It was harmless in that it disappeared within a few hours, but the crew was getting entirely too practiced in their poker faces, so the poor soul usually didn't realize he'd been had until an opportunity arose for optimum humiliation.

Luned just happened to be the most recent victim, but was lucky in that the tradesmen were gentlemen (of sorts) and had swapped out their usual crude repertoire for a simple mustache that curled in exquisite perfection at the ends, certainly the envy of any dapper man. She had yet to discover it by the time they reached Promos and sadly the previous owner of her sweater's mercy did not extend past life or death situations, so she was left uninformed of her condition in parting.

Fortunately for Luned's dignity, spending the better part of the last decade in the household of a resigned old man did nothing to encourage her sense of vanity, and so she held her artfully enhanced head high as she approached the town square. The woman was quite a sight, clad in the poorly-dyed, muddy-blue sweater that all but swamped her figure, the hem of her finer quality skirt and worn calfskin boots serving as the only testaments to her civil upbringing. Her few belongings were strapped to her back, the polished surface of her wooden toolbox hidden from sight to protect it from the elements. Even her usually meticulously braided hair was loose, lending to an uncharacteristically barbaric appearance.

Luned arrived on the scene shortly after Winchester, notebook in hand as she hurried to scribble what was likely only the first of many sketches of this marvelous oddity. After some quick jotting she sauntered up to where the merchant and his manservant stood in conversation with the giant, figuring she should pick up the act of journalist lest her employer find out and decide not to give her money. She needed that money. Now, what does a reporter do, anyhow? Ah, that's right. Interrupt people for information.

Leopold had barely finished his sentence when Luned jumped in, her face turned up to the giant boy in effort to project her voice. "What's your name, son?"

[Leopold]

The tension in the square died. The fell winds rolling through the town carried away fear off into the countryside. The village seemed to moan with the weight of the giant, and not just the physical presence of the enormous man. Merchant, executive, and Old God alike all stared up expectantly, awaiting an answer. In the wake of the scribe’s chipper question, excitement crept into the cold landscape.

“Gurdon,” said the giant, with as much bombast to knock holes in castle walls. Leopold stumbled backwards unceremoniously. Wilfred would have stooped to catch him had he not been chewing tobacco, and rolling his neck through several muscle loosening rotations.

“Who,” the giant mumbled, “are you?”

“It does not matter who I am,” Leopold interjected, tucking his lapel down and righting himself. “More so…” He shrugged, patted himself down, and turned curtly to the newcomer. “It is about what I represent.” His lips curled into a smile, the sort of smile that an executive brought not just goods with, but entire continents, loyalties, and desperations.

Luned smirked. Leopold instantly began to admire the plucky nature of the youth, despite her intrusion on his territory. He had risen on this day above all others with the absolute intention of being a confident, collected, and successful individual. The more he looked at the scribe, and the more he thought about their curious, spurious, and interesting circumstances, the more the Old God began to feel weak. Leopold Winchester was on strange ground, and in Salvar, the people were even stranger.

“What do you represent, sir?” she said, with the sort of charisma that Leopold associated with woman trying to get answers. He smiled gingerly. She reminded him of the power his wife held over his bristled demeanour and secretive disposition.

“Whom,” he amended, regaining his composure. “That is the pertinent question, not what.” He turned to the giant. His curly locks, rugged breeches, and upturned collar reminded him of the well-to-do men of Scara Brae. He groaned. A man of considerable experience in these matters, Leopold realised this task in particular was going to be much more trouble than it was worth.

He corrected himself. She would be more trouble than she was worth.

“Who do you represent, then, good sir?” Her pen continued to scrawl secret ruminations on the parchment. The scribble, the nick, and the knack of her quill cut through the atmosphere. It would take more than that to faze Luned Bleddyn.

Leopold could only smile politely. He let his thoughts die a quiet death. They would do him no good here.

“Berevar,” he snapped his head to the giant, then the clock tower, and then back to the scribe. “What about you miss? Whom or what do you represent?” He shrugged, and Wilfred, dutiful as ever, shrugged alongside him. Leopold remained silent, bourbon stained and belligerent as he stared expectantly at the scribe.

“Sir…,” Wilfred whispered. He nudged Leopold in the rubs subtly and encouragingly.

“Do we serve a mutual interest, perhaps?” Leopold continued, eyes widening with surprise. The cold wind swept through the square, kicking up leather coat, soft silk scarf, and peaked cap in the sprawl.

[Luned]

As Leopold divulged the identity of his association, Luned almost seemed disinterested as she contented herself in sketching Gurdon's face from the bizarre angle at which she stood. She'd never seen a nostril from quite that perspective and it was certainly a test in her ability to foreshorten. Dark smudges of graphite had collected on her fingers and she raised her hand briefly to rub under her pink, frozen nose, unwittingly adding a touch of gray to the gradually fading sepia ink mustache.

"The whole of Berevar? One would think this tourism is doing wonders for the economy." Luned shrugged right back, lowering her notebook as she glanced over to the men at the gathering of more natural stature. "At the moment I represent the Knife's Edge Weekly Herald, here on assignment. But generally I am not above representing myself at the same time." She redirected her attention back up at the giant and projected her voice once again. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Gurdon. I'm Luned. Might you lower yourself for a moment so I can see you better?"

The lumbering boy obeyed and crouched, the creaking of his monolithic muscles noticeable as a whisper of sensation that traveled across the frigid ground and through the bottoms of the soles of their shoes. Gurdon knelt as softly as possible, massive kneecaps meeting the ground with a grand and gentle thud. It was quite something to behold, such control in such size. "Thank you. Now, how do you feel about this proposed––" she tossed a sidelong glance in Leopold's direction, then returned her gaze to Gurdon–– "Relocation?"

Gurdon's towering shoulders shifted in a puzzled shrug before he looked to Leopold. "Where?" He made an effort to keep his voice low but even that dwarfed a normal human's, his humid breath tousling Winchester's hair like a tropical breeze.

[Leopold]

“Do you know Berevar much?” she asked. Luned’s tone, though suspect of Leopold’s intentions, was devoid of malice when she addressed Gurdon. He shrugged, mimicking Luned’s earlier dismissal. Berevar was a stomping ground to the giants. The tundra were their battlegrounds, and the mountains their beds. Despite their love of the north, it changed too often for cartography to map.

“No, I did not think so.” Luned placed the tip of her writing implement quizzically on her lips. It was her usual way of storming her thoughts on the matter at hand. Journalists the world over, not just those at the Salvar Herald, had equally as strange ‘in the moment’ quirks. “Well, from what little I know of the country, it’s an ancient, ferocious, and barren land.”

Leopold grit his teeth, “for the most part,” he interjected, not wanting his homeland to besmirched without at least some counterpoint. “The central regions surrounding the Ahyark pass are habited by barbarian tribes, orc caravans, and if you know where to look…” He approached the duo, hands outstretched welcomingly, “there is the small matter of the city of Adelman.” The matter of fact way in which Leopold spoke the name of the Forbidden City, if either of the pair had known of its existence, spoke leaps and bounds of his honesty.

Several of the villagers, whose fear and morbid fascination with Gurdon had started to fade oohed and aahed at the mention. They had heard of the city of the giants in their myths, fables, and dreams. Only Leopold, he expected, had actually been there. He had received a particularly nasty thump to the chest during a game of menhirs, and not returned with welcome since. The villagers continued their approached, windswept and forlorn, and strained ears to listen in.

“You are going to lure this poor individual away from this place with legends?” She raised an eyebrow in a manner that Leopold knew all too well. His wife used it far too often.

“A man can only be at home amongst his own kind.” He turned to Gurdon with a grin. A light smattering of snow began to fall. “The giants are thought by most to be an extinct race, but the remnants of their kind can be found in Adelman.”

At the mention of other giants, the seemingly lonely Gurdon lurched forwards, each step an earthquake, each flex of his muscle a clap of thunder. “There are other giants?” The word curdled Leopold’s blood. The vibrancy in the creature’s voice almost shook the strength and marrow from his bones. It was odd at ease with the loneliness reflected in his eyes.

“At least three dozen,” he replied. It was a rough estimation based on his last visit, though it was three centuries ago. “Some of them are smaller than yourself,” to add confidence to the notion, “but all of them just as proud to be who they are!” He held his arms wide and welcoming. “There may be many hundreds more by now.”

“Any fact to this, any proof?” The journalist’s integrity baulked Leopold’s enthusiasm, and he shrugged, deflated, before he dug his hands back into the pockets of his overcoat.

“Just what else would you suggest?” he spat.

[Luned]

Luned knew of Adelman, it being one of those faraway places she'd read about in the library in Radasanth. The fact that this fellow knew of it and spoke of it as if he'd been there himself was enough reminder of just how out of her element she was to her to send a chill down her spine. Here she was, a small, insignificant scribe in those distant lands she'd previously only known on shallow pages of old travel logs and encyclopedias. She was living them for herself, discovering the lines between legend and truth herself.

Perhaps the man was delusional, perhaps Adelman didn't exist as it did in stories. Either way, Luned wanted to be there to find out.

"Well, then," the scribe gave in readily, dropping Winchester's bait and foregoing the argument a more reasonable person may have made. "Is there room for a third on this journey? Have you figured out the logistics?" The hint of a mischievous smile crept across her face, expression mirroring the curve of the faintly visible ink on her upper lip.

Gurdon was so enthralled in this conversation that he crouched, leaning over to bring his head close to his two smaller comrades', the breath from his massive lungs tousling their hair in rhythmic breezes. He continued to smile and looked to Leopold expectantly, reduced to nothing but an excited child at the prospect of finally having a real home. For him to think there was a place just for someone like him in the world conjured endless excitement. Promos had been his home, but for all his fears of homesickness, he knew in his heart that it fit him as poorly as his patchwork trousers.

Luned tried not to imagine the loneliness of being an outcast as he had been but it was difficult not to feel some level of empathy for the gargantuan fellow. Testing the waters, she raised her hand and tentatively rested it on the large boy's elbow in a gesture of comfort. Gurdon twitched and glanced down as if he thought a fly had landed on him, an eyebrow quirked as if he wasn't sure what to make of it, and then he looked back to Leopold to learn the mechanics of this voyage.

[Leopold]

Even the remotest concession of disbelief excited Leopold. He was not a man to fall for the trappings of pride, but he did enjoy being wholesomely right from time to time. He had not; he had to concede, made plans to get their mutual friend to his new home. He worked hard to conceive a way to complete a seemingly impossible delivery. The reputation of The Winchester Rose Trading Company was at stake, as much as the life of two-ton man. Gurdon, though considerably bigger than his usual load, was just another parcel.

“It is quite simple, really,” he lied without flinching. He began to walk around the giant, encircling Luned in his rotation. “The city is hidden in a low-lying valley in the heart of Berevar. To get there,” he held his hands behind his back, as if he were a military commander inspecting the troops, “you have to navigate the Ahyark Pass.” He mentally depicted the journey over the crusty, well-worn map that covered the desk in his study.

He paused for dramatic effect. The sound of his boots crunching snow into ice filled the silence.

“Go on…,” Luned mumbled.

“North from there, you travel over the tundra, through the rock wall of the north range, and into a secluded valley.” A gust of wind took his breath from him, sent a shiver down his spine, and rendered him shortly numb.

“You will find?” Luned asked, her impatience turning her mumble into a clear-cut question. Gurdon, as if agreeing with her, let out a trill yawn, and scratched his head.

Leopold continued with renewed vigour. “You will find a secluded construct describable only as a vast, impregnable, and utterly impossible gatehouse.” It was impossible because it was two hundred feet tall, a hundred feet wide, and carved not just into the mountain’s side, but also into its very heart. Adelman lay behind the dark fortress, its battlements eternally guarded, and the two guards remained on duty in shifts of decades, not days.

Luned, seemingly quite at home in precisely this sort of preposterous series of unfortunate events, could only roll her eyes. She tapped her finger on her chin, smiled sarcastically, as only a woman could, and then nestled against Gurdon’s inch thick pantaloons. Her motherly approach was not lost on the giant, who patted her, as gently as he might, atop her head.

“Yes, a gate, of course! This gate wouldn’t happen to be a gate that only you can open, would it?” She raised an eyebrow. Leopold looked at them both, taking in their mutual disbelief, before he slouched.

“Look, I know how that sounds, believe you me. I had just as much doubt as you when I first set out to find the city. I lost many a good man, at great expense, and I would not attempt the journey again if I was certain it were possible.”

In truth, the journey was almost too easy, now that Leopold’s trade caravans had mapped the region properly, and developed adequate thermal canopies for their wagons to safeguard the occupants in the most inhospitable realm on Althanas. It would please him immensely to hide that small, worth its weight in gold fact from Luned…for now, at least.

“Well,” she said, hesitantly. Her disposition, it seemed, was thawing. “If you could get him there, and ensure his acceptance amongst these other giants…” She could not help but enquire with distrust dripping from her literary tongue. She wished she had a newsroom at her disposal, to check facts before going to press, so to speak. “What exactly is in this for you?” Her heart, given her tone, seemed suspect money was at hand.

Leopold tried to grin, but performed a wrinkly-cheeked grunt as his cold, numb, and worthless muscles refused to co-operate. “I get the good satisfaction that I have done Salvar, and Gurdon here, a deed of good service.” There was much more to it than that, of course, but he was an executive, and he kept his cards very close to his gold-threaded chest.

“Word,” Wilfred mumbled.

“Was there something you wanted to gain from this endeavour, perchance?” He smiled. It was a warm smile, despite the dropping temperature, and one Leopold hoped would secure the reporter’s support.

Berevar would have to rely on women like Luned, if they were to survive the coming darkness of The Tap…If Luned wanted the scoop of the century, she would have to keep standing up for the rights of the people she would soon witness dying, turning on one another, and running for their lives. As he thought maudlin’ thoughts, Leopold waited to see what she had to say. All the while, Gurdon remained poised, oath-like, by her side.

The shine he had taken to her was endearing.

[Luned]

A brow quirked when Leopold returned the question to her, as the answer seemed rather plain. "This is my job. I do my job to make money." That blunt response did feel a bit heartless once it left her lips, however, and she appended it: "But I do get a lot out of meeting interesting folks and taking part in the making of history as much as humanly possible." As if out of second nature she quickly extracted a second journal from her pocket and jotted something concise in it, then replaced it in the pocket of her dress.

Leopold nodded in astute appreciation. "Quite the young professional. Let's make this the story of the century, shall we? No, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Decade will do."

The reporter offered a half-smile and took a journalistic action pose, pencil hovering with impending inspiration above the paper of her notepad. "Now, back to the plan?"

"Yes, the plan." Leopold rubbed his hands together briskly and looked about, soon spotting Wilfred. "We require traveling accommodations for our small party. Please see to it that they are arranged quickly, it's still early and I'm rather in favor of getting a head start on this mission." The manservant concurred and rushed off in a series of short, quick steps to see to these orders.

Something seemed to catch in Gurdon's throat when Leopold mentioned their departure, mouth open but the words lost to a busy mind. The giant's body was tense with excitement, his immense skeleton only increasing the presence of the suspense he was under, but his eyes shifted anxiously. "… Today?"

Leopold stood firm, intent to keep up the businesslike efficiency he'd established thus far. "Today."

Luned noticed the panic in Gurdon's crinkled brow and gave him a firm pat on the knee, figuring that was close enough to what she intended. "Do you have anyone you'd like to wish goodbye?"

The gravity of the decision to leave was weighing on the gargantuan boy's shoulders and for a moment he drooped like a wilted flower. Such shoulders were the shoulders of Atlas, but he wasn't prepared to carry these emotions, let alone the world.

"Will you introduce me to your friends? Shall we collect your things?" Luned attempted to redirect his energy, recognizing herself when she was first faced with the hard choice to leave home for her apprenticeship in Radasanth. Perhaps it was an inappropriate wish for him as she had no business imposing on others' dreams and goals, but she hoped with all her might that this was what he needed to come into his own, as well. His awkwardness here in the village wasn't just in size, she just knew it.

Gurdon nodded and stood, then gestured down the road where Luned assumed he'd been living. They began to walk, and with each step she felt the giant's bulk ripple through the ground in waves. She wondered for a moment how to describe such a thing. It was one thing to walk next to a lumbering beast, but another to know the company of an intellectual being of legendary proportions. This was where fantasy crossed over from everything she'd read, all those things she'd experienced vicariously through text.

The merchant stayed behind for the moment, assuming correctly that they would not wander far, and pondered their impromptu journey. The road to Adelman was a relatively easy one, but what was simple on his own could be complicated by the sideshow attraction he was to transport. It would be better to nip complications in the bud and, against his previous inclination, plan for them.

Luned had a habit of making friends of sorts wherever she went, not because she was an especially outgoing or gregarious individual, but perhaps because she sought a human connection whenever possible to compensate for the loneliness of her solitary journeying. These brief relationships never went more than skin-deep, a temporary relief from the drudgery of traveling solo, but they were satisfactory, and Gurdon was apparently the newest in the growing roster of unlikely companions. He led her to a modest home close to town, taking care to walk patiently as her much shorter legs carried her the half-mile trek, and hesitated at the knee-high fence that bordered a sorry little a garden, the plants yellow instead of green from struggling through early frosts and too many overcast days.

"Home," he declared, then strolled up to the door. It was apparent that he did not expect to go inside, as he sat on the small porch and opened the latch of the front door with practiced caution. "Hello?"

After a long moment there was the sound of footsteps against wood floors and an old man rattled out, wielding his walking stick as a weapon more than he utilized it for its original purpose. He shoved the door open with the old piece of timber, its surface as faded and cracked as he was. Piercing blue eyes were draped under layers of wrinkles and he glanced at Luned with a decided lack of interest before glancing up to Gurdon. "What?"

"Leaving," the boy struggled to articulate matter-of-factly, unable to disguise a hint of regret in his tone. "I'm leaving. A man says he knows other giants. He wants to take me."

The hunched old man seemed skeptical and looked accusingly to Luned. "And who's this?"

The woman offered her hand for a businesslike shake and was swatted away. "Luned. I'll be going on this trip, as well."

He scowled. "And what if there is no such place? Do you know this man?"

Summoning all the scribbly airs she possibly could, Luned dispensed an educated answer. "I've studied the whole of Salvar's history and lore, sir, and indeed, there is word of such a place. You and Gurdon here have no reason to doubt that it is possible, though not guaranteed." As for their leader's character, she had put in for a reference and her hand subconsciously hovered over the pocket where her battered journal resided. She'd check it when she had a moment.

The frown didn't leave the old man's lips, but he appeared to be convinced enough to play along. "You'll need your things," he grumbled, then hobbled off the deck and led them around to the back of the house.

There was a rather tall and very long barn built in the back lot of the homestead. It appeared to be populated by sheep that wandered every which way, but from the particular measurements of the thing, Luned determined that was where Gurdon slept. The boy stooped to collect his few possessions and the scribe sketched the scene in her notepad, finding herself surprised at how enamored she was of this backstory. It wouldn't take any effort to build empathy for this poor boy as she began her article.

The barn was old but sturdy, some parts charred and patched over in repairs after a minor fire incident. Around it was sparse, yellow grass, and to the left was what appeared to be a small cemetery with wooden markers. Luned walked over to read the names. The most recent one, labeled Betsy in white paint, was rather fresh. She couldn't help but wonder what loss they'd had. Was this old man a fresh widow?

Looking over her shoulder, Luned spoke to the old man. "I'm sorry for your loss," she offered with as much polite sympathy as she could muster.

The old man shrugged. "It was sad when the first few went, but after a dozen or so, you stop giving a––"

"Hey!" Gurdon huffed from inside the barn, obviously offended at the man's coarseness.

"You've had a dozen… what?" Luned inquired, wide-eyed, not sure if that many ill-fated marriages and children was impressive or one of the most upsetting things she'd ever heard.

The man sighed, irritated. "Sheep. Well, Betsy was a dog, but the others were sheep."

This development baffled Luned further. After all, in a place like Berevar, what use was there in condemning a useful animal's body to the ground? "How did… this happen?"

"Gurdon," the old man choked sharply. Or was that a laugh? "They all huddle around 'em for warmth at night, but once in a while he rolls over in his sleep, or steps without looking first."

"They were accidents," the boy whimpered, his large head now hovering, disembodied, through the open doorway of the barn. "I didn't mean to hurt them. It just happens."

"Won't butcher them if they go that way," the old man continued, his body wracked again by more cough-laughs. "Says it's too sad, that it's dishonorable. Gives'em a proper burial, speech and everything. I argued the first few times, but it's useless. Cries like a baby, he does."

Gurdon turned beet red and disappeared back into the barn with a sheepish frown, obviously embarrassed.

"So, how did Gurdon come to be here? He's so splendidly different." Luned ventured cautiously, hoping this wouldn't open some can of worms. From the naiveté of this giant, she didn't exactly want to be the one to break it to him that he was adopted if that was the case.

Meanwhile, Leopold reconvened with Wilfred to check on arrangements as well as discuss an idea he had to reduce the burden (and conspicuousness) of their precious cargo.

[Leopold]

Leopold stood statuesque for a few moments, pondering how someone like Luned ever managed to have fun. After all, if you spent every waking moment trying to right wrongs, when could you find time to relax? He shrugged, turned on a sluggish heel, and wandered to Wilfred’s side. He was ever dutiful, head first in a large crate.

“I won’t ask old’ boy,” he clucked.

“You asked me to think up a way to get that,” Wilfred emerged, prodded a withered digit in Gurdon’s last known direction, and grunted, “several hundred miles to the East unseen.” Leopold had indeed asked just that, but he was not used to Wilfred following orders without complaining.

“It is not like you to just, well,” Leopold smiled weakly, “get straight down to it.”

“Times change, but I guess the real reason,” he leant into the crate and tugged a large overcoat into view, “is that it is immensely cold, and if I stay still for the slightest second, things start to,” he patted himself down in several places, as if to indicate the sittings of unseen geographical injuries, “break.”

“I am sorry to ask this all of you.” Leopold buried his hands into the pockets of his overcoat in a bitter attempt to stop them turning into icicles. “I cannot say that I could have foreseen an opportunity like this waiting for us.” He glanced around the smallholding, and took note that the townsfolk had started to disperse with Gurdon’s absence. “It really is not the sort of place you would expect the Old Gods to rear their ugly heads.”

Wilfred dropped the cloth, and continued to unpack the various pieces of material, some small, and some large, whilst he processed Leopold’s comment. Whilst the manservant was no mere domestically inclined employee, the implication that Gurdon came from the Ice Henge was lost on him.

“That great lummox is a god?” Wilfred wrapped one of the furs, apparently not needed for the journey, over his shoulders. They stood opposite one another, imposing, but in entirely different ways, weighing up the merits of their ideas. Leopold widened his eyes when he finally caught up with Wilfred’s train of thought.

“Gurdon is, well, exactly as Gurdon appears. He is a giant, though a small one from past experience.” Though Leopold spent, a great deal of his life either drunk, drinking, or on his way, his memory remained remarkably astute. The last time he had seen a giant, he was twice as tall as Gurdon, and twice as angry.

“So where do the gods come into this?”

“The city of the giants is the largest remaining place of worship in Berevar. Though they are all but forgotten on the surface of the kingdom, deep in the shadows their heart beats true.” Leopold was saddened at the thought. Once, the temples to Raven, Rook, and all the other animalistic deities had touched heaven. Now, scared, lost, and beleaguered lesser races clutched at religious claws. The giants had held on to their beliefs with vengeance, and suffered much because of it. That small spark of pity was why he had to do everything, and anything within his power to find a home for Gurdon.

“So you’re curious, then?” Wilfred raised a whitened eyebrow. Unlike the other noble households in Scara Brae, House Winchester did not insist its servants keep up appearances. Wilfred was as wild and bushy as the ox that had died to keep him alive in the snow.

“Charitable is the word I’d prefer, but I daresay, despite my altruism, this is something that I need to explore. It is,” he smacked his lips, the pang of whiskey called to him, “a chance to forge an alliance.” If he managed to forge an alliance with the city of giants, he was not sure what he would do with it. He would worry about that another day. “So, how exactly are we going to do this, speak to me in words I can understand?” The three words Leopold understood the most, were logistics, Shiraz, and money.

“Well,” Wilfred seemed to jolt to life at the request, “after our mishap in the Ahyark Pass, our wagons have all been upgraded. The carpenters from Corone had given their wheel struts iron clasping, oak beams, and what they called redwood shafts.” Leopold nodded, he had seen, and subsequently signed off on the ledger. “We won’t have any difficulty traversing the surface, and we will be able to keep warm with the materials we can trade for from the villagers,” he prodded a finger at the large crate, whose contents were now piled on the snow. “I got all of that at good price.”

“So that’s our two main concerns for our caravan guard dealt with,” Leopold pursed his lips. The crowd had dispersed, and Luned and Gurdon were temporarily out of sight, but not out of mind. Leopold still felt stifled. He was finding it hard to breath. Had the reporter really gotten to him that much? “What do you propose we do with Gurdon, then?”

Wilfred smiled. He produced a dog-end from the hem of his shirt, slipped it between his lips, and let his hands disappear back into the fur. Something clicked, and a flicker of flame jumped to meet the tobacco with magic, mischief, and a rush of smoke. Leopold watched the plume vanish into the wind as quickly as it had formed. The smell reminded him of the celebratory cigar that would await him, if, and when, they succeeded in their endeavour.

“One wagon would never house him, because of his size, and definitely because of his weight.” Wilfred pointed to the edge of the village square, to the red and white striped canopy of his own caravan. The canopy had ripped in one place and the wheel strut shattered by a bear in another. They had only been in the village at the time of Gurdon’s appearance for repairs.

The men mused in silence.

“We could put two back to back with a bit of tooth and nail.” This was Wilfred’s colloquialism for planks and nails. “It’d be a bit like putting him in a stretcher.”

Leopold smiled at the plan. “We’re going to stretcher him nearly three hundred miles?” He had to give it to Wilfred; it was a novel, but entirely plausible solution to making the journey as easy for them, and for the giant, as possible.

“We can even cover him with several running canopies and a bit of slapdash haberdashery,” Wilfred nodded.

Leopold’s stubble bristled, his heart raced, and the smell of bourbon on his breath warmed the air. He took a sip from his hipflask, which appeared with a crackle from an umbra cubbyhole, and held it out to the bundle of furs standing next to him.

“Assuming, of course, that Gurdon will agree to be hobby horsed,” Wilfred added, glumly, as if he knew putting a downer on the celebratory toast was likely to get him in trouble. When Leopold did not immediately respond, he cocked his head to one side. He followed Leopold’s stare, and clocked Luned and Gurdon returning from wherever it was the giant kept his possessions. He sighed. “Ah, you don’t think Gurdon’s going to be the problem…” Leopold did not answer. Wilfred resigned himself to being correct, but took no pride in it. “She is…stubborn, I’ll give her that,” he passed the hip flask back, “but in an endearing sort of way.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Leopold quipped. He glared at her. “She’s also far too good at her job. She knows exactly who I am.” He was trying to get the best out of the circumstances to benefit him, but Luned, it seemed, was one-step ahead.

“You have never met her before in your life, sir, no need to throw around blind accusations,” Wilfred replied flatly. He stepped up to his master’s side, standing dutifully on his right hand. He took the flask back from Leopold, who had done nothing but hold it numbly, and downed the last of the liquor. He sealed it, put it into his own pocket, vowing to return it later, and put his arms back beneath his furs. The bristles and hairs danced in the breeze, which died down as Gurdon masked them with his bulk.

“Hello!” he whipped, using his tongue to force his voice over the gap between them. “Did you get all your things, Gurdon?” he asked, smiling to the giant, but not forgetting to nod curtly to Luned.

Leopold watched them as they closed off the gap, his piercing gaze set on Luned’s notebook. Something about it, the way it hummed off key, like a b flat in a D major orchestra troubled him. If she knew more about him, who and indeed, what he was…then their days ahead would be perilous forays into journalistic integrity.

“Welcome back,” he added, trying not to seem rude and despondent.

[Luned]

Gurdon's bundle was small in ratio to his own lumbering self, so even though his collective possessions formed something considerably larger than a typical human adventurer's pack, it made his material inventory –– and life here –– seem sparse. Luned caught a glimpse of the contents as he wrapped them up in a tarp and saw little more than a change of hodgepodge clothing and a small chest that was carefully packed in the center, something which she made note to pry about later once they were better acquainted. She couldn't help but wonder, what sorts of treasures did a giant keep?

"Yes," the boy replied to Leopold, setting his smartly tied parcel on the ground next to him.

Luned tucked her journal back in her pocket after flipping through it a bit anxiously on the walk back, then looked to Mr. Winchester and his servant with a hint of disappointment underneath her cordial expression. She made a point of snapping her eyes to crate that had been emptied, then back to Leopold. "How are things coming? Is there something I can do to help?"

The dapper man's brows rose and Luned took it as a modicum of surprise. "Help?" he echoed, glancing back to Wilfred, who shrugged.

"I'm not joining you as another piece of baggage," the scribe insisted. "If I can make myself useful to you, let me know."

Leopold nodded to acknowledge her, but there was a decided lack of journalistic assistance in the current plan, so he turned back to Wilfred to conspire. "It would be helpful to know the boy's dimensions, sir," the elderly assistant volunteered, and with that Winchester glanced back up to Gurdon with a critical eye.

"Twenty feet? Maybe twenty-two?" the merchant speculated aloud. The giant shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking at the ground awkwardly. Wilfred shrugged again.

Luned noticed Gurdon's body language and stepped closer, bringing herself into his line of vision. Her brows rose inquisitively, creasing her forehead. "How tall are you, son?"

The giant mumbled as if afraid his answer might be wrong. "Nineteen feet, eight inches."

"When were you last measured?" Leopold inquired.

"Last week," Gurdon explained, fidgeting with his sleeve. "A doctor came, questioned, measured, left."

Luned sighed. Apparently she and Leopold's party were not the first rush to ogle this intriguing creature, and she only hoped they hadn't prodded him like some failed experiment.

"Very well, then," Leopold verified with a nod. "We have a nineteen-eight boy on our hands and a journey ahead of us. One might wonder what sort of greens on which your mother raised you. Wilfred, will you––"

And then there was a strange sound, a gurgling, squelching roar, that swept over their heads and churned in their ears. It was a sound of longing, a muffled, inhuman groan of a pining beast…

Gurdon's arms crossed over his stomach and he looked at the ground again, obviously embarrassed. "Sorry."

Luned frowned. "Are you hungry? Shall we find something to eat before we leave?"

Gurdon shook his head sheepishly and brushed her off. "I'm fine. Always hungry."

It was then the scribe noticed, under the layers of patchwork clothes cobbled together from many a man's castoffs, the prominence of the muscles and tendons in the boy's neck and wrists, the hollowness of his cheeks. With his massive size it was difficult to look at his build objectively, everything was so huge –– but he was gaunt. If he was a normal man of average height, he'd be thin enough that a strong breeze might blow him away. After all, this was Berevar; harsh winters meant difficulty in maintaining pantries, even for small families. All at once the farmer's sacrifice in keeping Gurdon, clothing and feeding him, hit Luned like a bag of bricks.

The woman had, before this moment, had second thoughts about taking Gurdon away from this village. She'd wondered if it would be worth it to the boy to leave whatever he had of friends and family, whatever life he'd established. But what kind of life was it if he didn't know what it was like to feel full?

"In that case," Leopold interjected, then cleared his throat. "Short luncheon and then we'll hit the road, shall we?"

[Leopold]

Later That Day
The Ahyark Ascent, the Border With Berevar

As the caravan trundled out of the village, and east along the barren road, Leopold remembered a little home truth he had forgotten. In Salvar, a traveller did not hit the road. You might be lucky enough to get to where you were going with a few bruises, but the road most certainly hit you.

“Remind me why I allowed you to talk me into this?” he whispered to Wilfred, who only clucked and rolled his eyes from beneath the folds of his fur-trimmed hood.

From the innards of the front carriage, Luned interjected with typically womanly scorn.

“Wilfred did none of the talking Leopold.” She popped her head through the canopy, too scared to leave the feeble warmth of the indoors for anything less than an emergency. “I’m starting to wonder why I let you talk me into this!” All of the oratory intellect vanished from the woman’s charisma, leaving a cold, frigid, and scared woman in the shell of a former debutante reporter. Berevar did that to people.

With smarm aplenty, Leopold brushed her question aside. “I did only what must be done.” He cracked the reigns, the beasts of burden quickened their pace, and their determination waned as the valley began to slope up into the jagged peaks.

“He does that a lot, miss,” Wilfred chuckled. He took the reins from his employer when Leopold leant over, and the two men, in perfect unison, turned their heads owl like to stare her back into the canopy. Luned, it seemed, was more stubborn than both their wives combined.

“That is not an excuse.” Her voice was as cold and dry as the snowfall.

“We are on our way to give our mutual friend a chance at a new home.” Leopold’s ability to work his way out of any situation a woman was in control felt put firmly to the test.

“You keep saying that,” she replied, shrew like scrutiny undoing Leopold’s resolve.

“Are you going to come out, miss?” Wilfred, skilfully, slid to the right to make room between them for another. “It must be awfully stifling in there.” Noisy too, he thought to himself, given the giant’s tendency to snore, incessantly, every inch of their journey. Everything Gurdon did, he did to excess.

There was an awkward pause, and a silence formed, broken only by the turning of reinforced wheels over ephemeral drift. Slowly, but surely, she slipped out through the cloth and positioned herself between the large bulk of Leopold, and the wiry, smoke doused butler.

“Do not think for a minute this means I’ve changed my mind about you.” She darted Leopold a glance that could have written its own scoop. “I’ve heard some strange rumours in my time,” which she had, and in every scenario imaginable, “but this sounds like the biggest attempt to earn attention of them all.”

“Ah,” he said, flatly, and with a shuffle. He produced his hip flask, a silver totem of office Luned would grow fond of if it killed him. “That explains it.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You think I’m looking to make the headlines?” he continued. Though his mercantile nature would have loved the exposure, it would have been more damaging to announce his presence in Berevar to the world. His rivals, some more sinister than others, would have pounced on the opportunity. He wanted this to remain entirely under the radar, in the interest of Gurdon, and far from the madding crowd of home.

“Well, aren’t you?” The accusatory tone could have cut through steel, had any been to hand. Instead, her barbs lashed through the snow as it thickened about the caravan. It continued its ascent up the winding, precarious pass into the first of many plateaus.

“Consider for just a few brief moments, if you would, that my intentions here are entirely honourable.” He sipped from the refilled flask. The contents, a rich, heady whiskey from Corone slipped down his throat and made short work of his growing chill. “Look around you.” He waved a hand over the oblique view of snow, snow, and more snow. “Does this look like the sort of place that a man’s deeds will be benefits from a few choice lines in a foreign land?”

Luned remained silent.

“What he’s saying,” Wilfred began, leaning over with foggy breath to put his master’s point across in less confiscating terms, “is that if he were, he’d look to find a better, bigger, and richer story.” He would have ferried the gods across the oceans, not a giant across the broken back of Berevar.

“Is this man’s plight not big enough?” Luned shrugged. Her temperament was already at breaking point. She curled up into her furs, kept her eyes on the diminishing path as they crested another ridge, and seethed along in soothingly dull company.

Leopold felt his slim ounce of respect for her grow. She had been annoying, at first, but her persistence was a trait he would have killed for, or at the very least, paid handsomely to have amongst his staff. He pocketed his flask, satisfied with his still tingling tongue, and took the reins back from the butler. Wilfred winked at him over their passenger, and they all fell into silence as the open road narrowed, the cold became glacial, and Gurdon, still snoring, tossed and turned every foot of the way.

It did not take long for the silence to fade.

“We’ll put it right,” he affirmed, sincerely enough to warm the cockles of his own heart. “Do you believe me enough to know that my promise is as good as fate’s whim?” he looked down over the rim of his spectacles at Luned, and tried to smile warmly.

“No matter who tries to stop us,” Wilfred re-assured.

[Luned]

Eventually Gurdon awoke from his nap. The three traveling companions in the front of the extended wagon knew this because of two tell-tale signs: the snoring stopped, and suddenly the caravan swayed precariously with some unseen force, the axels groaning from the shift in weight from beneath. Luned was knocked between the two gentlemen on each side of her as they brought the horses to a halt, the sturdy beasts seemingly glad for a short break as relieved puffs of breath erupted from their nostrils and were lost to the wind.

"Whoa now," Leopold exclaimed, leaning back as to part the heavy cloth opening of the canopy and peer inside. Lo and behold Gurdon was awake and in a rather awkward position, having rolled partly over and now in a rather contorted pose that left them to wonder about giants' sleeping habits. "Careful, my hefty friend, or your tossing and turning will have us all walking to our destination."

The boy squinted sheepishly at the three faces who peered at him through the bright gap. "Sorry. I was trying to stretch."

Leopold arched a brow and glanced over his shoulder at the tundra. Not much was given for immediate cover, though there seemed to be an opportunity for privacy in the distance where there was a dip in the mountainous terrain and some scattered trees. "Patience. We can take a break soon."

Wilfred sent the team kicking and once again they were on their way, Gurdon having un-contorted himself onto his stomach where he propped his head up on his arms as to participate in the conversation. He was more thoughtful than awkward at this point, causing Luned to wonder just what sort of dreams he experienced over the past few hours.

"In this new place…" he began in a questioning tone, then hesitated with a meandering stare into the frigid blue sky ahead as if not really quite sure where he meant to go with that.

"In this new place…?" Luned parroted, urging him to relay his thoughts.

"Will there… will there be girls?"

In that moment Luned's heart was seized in a fit of endearment, causing her mouth to drop open in a silent "awww", and Leopold and Wilfred glanced longways at each other past her, humor in their eyes and the corners of their mouths.

This moment of silence made Gurdon uncomfortable and his face, already flushed from the cold, went a shade of red deeper. Ruffled brown hair obscured his face as he looked down at his hands and picked at a fingernail, seemingly awfully like an ostrich all of a sudden.

Leopold cleared his throat. "Oodles of girls," he reassured the boy, encouragement in his voice. "A lovely town of Amazons, I dare say, they won't know what to do with themselves when a new fellow comes to town."

Gurdon didn't look up from his task of tidying the dry skin around his thumb's cuticle, but a hopeful little smile was response enough.

When they reached their planned pitstop, Leopold and Luned helped Gurdon out of the caravan with as minimal strain on the structure as possible while Wilfred whipped out a smart little setup and heated some water for tea. As soon as the pungent scent of the steeping leaves hit the journalist's nose her stomach rejoiced quite audibly, causing the butler to offer her the first cup. She paced to warm up her legs and enjoyed the steam on her face while Gurdon received his share in an oversized tin mug, still humorously small in his gargantuan hands, but he accepted it appreciatively and displayed impeccable manners that Luned liked to think the farmer instilled in him.

"So, exactly how far is it?" Luned asked once they'd settled with their warm refreshments.

[Leopold]

The Plains of Adelman

“I’m afraid to say it’s quite some distance,” Leopold replied gingerly.

That was the last thing he said to Luned for almost two hours. Soon enough, Gurdon was fast asleep again, and Wilfred retired to the rear of the line of wagons to play cards and smoke with the lads. The caravan trailed through the blizzard afflicted mountains of Salvar, and heavier still the snow fell once they were well and truly across the border into Berevar. The plucky scribe twice had to pull more blankets around her, to fight off the shivers, and the shakes that rocked her body. Just as she thought, it could not get any colder – it did.

Whilst the climate worsened, the beauty of the otherworldly landscape only improved. The jagged peaks and troughs of the mountain range became lofty pinnacles and temples to the sky gods. Snowdrifts roiled down from overhead tundra, spreading sparkling diamond dust over the striped canopies of the wagons. Here and there, a nomadic spruce or a darting snow fox broke the grey and white monotony, and lurid howls from distant hunting packs broke the silence.

After a while, when her curiosity could contain itself no longer, Luned flinched.

“Okay, okay, I have to say it,” she beamed. She looked up at the portly man she had inadvertently befriended, eyes sparkling with the child like curiosity of a princess. She wanted answers, and she wanted them now. “Are we there yet?” she said, a mocking tone of despair smothering her words with sarcasm and irony. Leopold rolled his eyes, and cracked the reigns to urge the caravan into one final quickening of pace.

“Look,” he said. He jabbed a finger down the slope as the weight in the back of the wagon shifted forwards and audibly strained the well-wrought underbelly and the framework. “Down at the end of the valley stands the Uradd.”

“The Uradd?” she asked. She had to strain her eyes to see, but sure enough, ahead rested a black pinprick in a vast wall of rock and snow. It was a vertical cliff face formed naturally, flanked by the two sides of the valley, which continued only as far as the strange terrain allowed. It seemed to funnel all the strange spidery roads and cliff paths into one destination.

“The giants named it “Journey’s End,” for it connects all the roads in the mountains together. The flat plain you see before the doorway is entirely sheltered, and can only be accessed from two directions.” Leopold pointed over his shoulder. “Either you come in on the low path at the very bottom of the valley, or on the cliff face trails.”

“Or…,” Luned erred, looking around the cavernous ravine for signs of another way in. She could see no clear path, nor tunnel, nor portal or other such device. “There are only these roads…”

Leopold smiled. “There is the sky, too. Giant eagles live just to the north. They are tame, and I daresay quite fond of keeping their kin safe. The Giants tend to shy away from the common folk of the south, but they make friends and allegiances with eagles, bears, and more deadly beasts still.” Leopold thought it unwise to try to describe the Burr or the Basilisk to the scribe.

Luned blinked. “Okay, I’ve seen a lot of strange things since I stupidly agreed to listen to you.” She glared. “Are you really trying to convince me those giants…,” she mimicked Leopold’s prod with a prod over her shoulder, short and to the point, “like Gurdon…,” she sighed. “Can fly about?”

At that precise moment, Leopold found it in himself not to bite back. He had doubted the revelation himself, three centuries ago, when his guide had lurched into a vivid tall tale about the ancient kingdom of the Tall Folk. He had shrugged, sighed, and shook his head in disbelief. Then, right on cue, one such spectacle swooped north down the valley they had travelled and landed on the plain. Leopold cracked the reigns one last time, and the wagon levelled out at the bottom of the slope. The heavy hooves of the beasts of burden found softer, easier terrain as rock gave way to thick heather rolls and tufts of artic reed.

Luned could only watch, transfixed and awed. Her mouth opened and closed, but for once, nothing came out but exhalations and exasperations.

The giant eagle truly was gigantic, with a wingspan that must have reached two hundred feet. Its body, large as the torso of the giant it carried, danced with white tufts and chestnut brown feathers. However, still far away, the claws clean and razor sharp caught the rays of sunlight that pierced the shelter of the valley, and reminded Luned that she was far from the safety of a warm bed. This was nature’s heart, and she was staring at its protectors.

Leopold gave Luned enough time to assimilate all the information, before he held the reigns out to her. It would take a good half an hour to cross the distance from the slope to the city, which would give him just enough time to check the cargo, talk to his guards, and brief Luned about what would happen the moment they crossed the threshold into the world beneath earth. If she was awed now, then Leopold could only bide his excitement to see her reaction when she saw the delights of Adelman proper.

“It’s rather big, isn’t it?” he chirped. Luned nodded slowly as she took the reins. She did not even look; she caught them purely on instinct alone.

Leopold clambered into the back of the wagon, and tapped Gurdon square on the forehead fearlessly. First order of business was to get their guest of honour ready.

“Hey there big fella." The wagon rocked unsteadily.

The giant opened his eyes. His pupils, big as dinner plates, gleamed in the dark of the canopy. Leopold had to clench his teeth to avoid a gasp. Up close, the creature truly was impressive. Though immortal, Leopold still felt weary for his life.

“Gurdon is sleepy,” the giant groaned. His voice could have cracked rock. Somewhere in the valley, his voice cracked mountains.

“Yeah, I am sorry about the wait. We got held up.” Leopold blinked. “We have to get you ready for your grand entrance.” He paused. “I am no good at this…,” he grumbled. He looked over his shoulder. “Luned, will you Ermm, take the lead here?” His eyes glistened as he pleaded. He had the gift of the gab for business, but altruism was beyond his ken.

[Luned]

The big moment was upon them, and none felt it keener than Gurdon. His anxiety quelled Luned's enthusiasm as she knelt next to him in the wagon, watching his mammoth form contort in deliberation. He'd buried his face against the wall when Leopold clambered back to reclaim the reins.

"What's wrong?" She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, his massive arm curled under as a cushion for his head.

The boy lamented. "I miss Pa," he sighed. "And the farm. If I don't like it, can I go home?"

The scribe coaxed her budding frown into an encouraging smile. "Promise you'll give it a proper chance, alright?"

Gurdon turned over, the cart quaking until the wood groaned and Luned wondered if it would collapse in them. But soon he fell still, revealing a face pinched with worry. With his height, it was easy to forget just how young he was.

"If they have extraordinarily sized eagles," Luned speculated quietly, "what else might be larger?" Her prompt received in silence, she continued. "Perhaps they have need for a shepherd. You would be good at that. It would be like home."

He pursed his lips, considered what she was getting at, and then a tentative grin crept across his broad lips. "Maybe there are dogs, too."

Luned's memory harkened to Betsy's grave at the farm and she pushed past it, not wishing to dwell on the boy's mistakes. Of course he wanted a dog. A giant puppy for a giant boy, how utterly perfect. She laughed. "I think so. Now, I'm going to give you a tip. There's no grand secret to making friends, you'll figure it out. But I've met a lot of people in the past months, and one thing is for certain: everyone likes a nice smile."

The giant's grin faltered, suddenly overcome with self-awareness.

"Don't think about it," Luned instructed. "Just do it. That Leopold might like to think he's intriguingly ambiguous, but my sources say he wouldn't lead an innocent astray. It'll be a good place, you'll be comfortable there –– no sleeping in barns unless you want to, not because you don't fit in the house." Instinctively, her hand drifted to her pocket where her little journal resided. She'd written to her mentor back in Radasanth, and he'd obliged an answer; Mister Winchester's identity was no longer a mystery to the scribe. Now her report would have two unique characters to explore. "Now, let's do something about that hair."

[Leopold]

As Luned and Gurdon made their peace, Leopold trudged away from the caravan, and stood defiant at the foot of the great gates. He craned his neck upwards, trying fustily to pick out the limits of its top. His eyes failed him, and mist rolled around the lofty heights to obscure any opportunity of seeing the great mural that covered the archway to the city of giants.

Long ago, it had depicted the building of Adelman. After wars and earthquakes, the giants had carved it anew, and now it depicted the rise of the Old Gods from their slumber, with the giants resplendent by their side.

Adelman was a place of hope, a sanctuary from today, in the hopes of a better tomorrow. The more Leopold thought about it, the more it seemed like they were doing the right thing…not just for his intentions, but also for Gurdon’s wellbeing.

“Look at it,” he said softly.

By the virtue of Wilfred’s sense of duty, the butler heard his master’s comment, and appeared by his side. He, somewhat frailer than the merchant, only managed to look upwards for a brief moment, before clicking his back and dropping his gaze to the less spectacular murals at the base of the door. There, the giants were smashing mountains, like the days before the Tap was contained, and all the world was a battleground.

“If the elves ever saw this, they’d be immensely jealous…”

Leopold chuckled. “Why, because giants with chisels created something so beautiful, centuries before Raiaera so much as had an outhouse?” Leopold looked down at Wilfred with a smile. Wilfred did not return the gesture.

“Makes you wonder why they have to hide away.”

Leopold nodded. “One day, they will not have to shelter beneath the mountains.” He turned on a tired heel, and caught Luned wetting a finger to try to smooth one last errant strand of hair into place. How Gurdon managed to stoop so low was beyond him, but his frustration with the scribe died a proper death.

“She’s just as remarkable.”

“Oh lord,” Wilfred coughed. He turned, watched the scene unfold, and buried his hands into his pockets. “A few hours ago, you wanted to shove a dagger in her back.”

Leopold puckered his lips. He had said something very foolish he wished Wilfred would forget, leave alone, bury with a shovel and pat down the earth. He had been foolish to jump to such conclusions, even if Luned had done the same about him.

“People can be wrong, sometimes…,” Leopold left it at that, and walked back to the caravan.

“Now Gurdon…,” Luned said softly. They had remained silent whilst she tended to his oddly good looks. “When you’re inside, just be yourself.”

Gurdon, listening intently, immediately broke into a smile so wide you could have put a cow through his lips without touching his teeth. Luned leant back with veiled disgust, the giant’s odious breathing was pungent and overpowering.

“No, no, no,” she spluttered. She pressed her palms towards him, to try to get him to stop. “Gurdon, we talked about this!”

Leopold guffawed.

Luned darted him a glare, but turned her attentions swiftly back to the giant. “You only need to smile at people who aren’t your friends.” She frowned. Gurdon frowned. Berevar frowned beneath the strain.

“You two have kitten it off,” Wilfred said, his turn of phrase appropriate and understood only by the butler.

“Well, he’s a fine fellow!” Luned clucked. She rested her hands on her hips, and watched Gurdon, as he stood upright, with a trundle and a rumble in the bowls of the earth, and turn to face the doors.

“Gurdon ready now. Friends stay. Gurdon go.”

The heartstrings in the three-diminutive sidekicks to the giant’s exodus all riotously plucked notes of emotion. Leopold sighed. He turned, held out a hand, and readied a cantrip of ancient magic to call the city to life.

“Welcome, Gurdon…Luned…Wilfred…to the ancient city of Adelman.”

A sphere of darkness formed, crackled with viscous essence, and shot up to the doors. It vanished from view long before it struck the cavernous lock, and suddenly, silently, and blusteringly, the plains exploded with life. The two giant statues groaned. The door cracked down the centre. Eagles flocked from heavenly aeries to view the return of an Old God to the last place on Althanas where such words and warriors held sway.

Gurdon stepped forwards, eager and ready. Luned jerked a tear in unison with Wilfred. Both of them would deny it if you brought it up at dinner later on.

Beyond the doors, there was something resplendent. Even Leopold, who had seen the golden, glistening, and behemoth spires before, fell a swell of pride, awe, and wonder at the slither of a view. For the trio, the journey was over. For Gurdon, however, the rude awakening to the world he rightly belonged to was just beginning.

Gold light erupted over the plains, bringing snow dandelions and daisies to momentary life. It reflected over Leopold's pallid skin and pudgy cheeks, and brought the gold thread of his pomp ablaze with vigour.

Luned, most unceremoniously, dropped her jaw, and said something she would never say again in polite company.

[Mordelain]

Workshop Complete (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25743-A-Tale-In-Shrink-Workshop).

Mr Winchester receives 901 experience and 150 gold.

Luned receives 970 experience and 200 gold.