Saturday, September 17, 2011

A Giant's Tale

The Firbolg adjusted his tunic as he walked down Loudwater’s main thoroughfare. The damage was considerable. Scorch marks scarred the many buildings, some no longer standing; and the falls for which the town is named, its bridges lay broken. Half the city of fare-born had been destroyed; if there had been any survivors they mayhap fled and would not return. The city had a tainted feel.

The Firbolg had seen people, scouts he assumed because they did not stay long; mayhap from Secomber. The giant cared not, he avoided their company whenever possible.

The Firbolg began to search for magic in the ruins; magic was something that fascinated him so he looked for it whenever he could. High and low he searched.

Just as he was about to give up, insight struck the giant. Whatever attacked the city was after something. Most of the larger main city buildings had taken the majority of the damage and when the giant finally came a central building, one that overlooked the falls - a temple he believed, a temple of magic - and saw the devastation; the giant knew the dragon found what it came for.

The firbolg called to mind another spell when a buzzing filled the giant’s ear. A red static lined the air as a wide crack appeared in the ground before him that billowed out flame and smoke. Standing there confused as to why his spell failed, an undead fire giant climbed out of the crack; looked at the firbolg; and laughed like the dead.

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