Giant Hunt

Fianoich

If Harrier had learned one lesson on the road, it was this: put too much focus on the big obvious threats, and the little ones will skitter up and bite you. So while a portion of her attention remained on the horizon or the water in splashed-out puddles at the town's edge, she kept an ear out for looters, crazed survivors, and other hunters.

The pale woman in the trees didn't appear to fit any of those categories. White skin, white hair, white eyes, humming a nameless tune with a smile. That kind of carefree anomaly tended to go hand in hand with magic, the kind that would let a woman travel alone while caring for her appearance. The pale woman made Harrier feel cheap, grimy, and awkward, just at a glance. Harrier felt her pulse rise and her hands clench. Something about this woman, this lady, inspired a visceral response in her that she couldn't identify. She wiped a fleck of mud off her face, probably without success, and tightened her grip on her walking stick.

"Hello there," she called along the town's edge. This whole area had been smashed by a tidal wave of mud and driven into the trees, not far from where the pale lady walked. Probably not that far, though: she didn't look the type to walk in much. Might not even be capable of getting muddy. "Did you see the giant come this way?"

Clip-clop, clip-clop.

Four horses and a mule trotted down the worn dirt that passed for a road. Three bore riders, one nothing at all. The mule wore a weight of baggage.

"Do you really think we can slay a giant, Myles?" asked a youth, face fresh, but a gambeson which might have once been white heavy with dirt from the road.

"If it exists," replied a man with short brown hair and stubbled features. He carried a heater on his back emblazoned with a white swan on a blue field. Mail peeked out from beneath a blue and black tabard equally stained from the road. The youth looked somewhat a mirror to the man, though there may have been five years or more between them.

"What, you don't think it exists? What about that town just there? Did it just go and smash itself?"

"Young master Henry," said the third member of the party, an older yeoman clad in a leather jerkin, with grey in his beard, a quiver on his back, and a shortsword on his hip. "Have you ever seen a giant?"

Henry shook his head no.

"Neither have I. Neither has Sir Brantley. Don't believe in giants myself. Like as not it's just some sorcerer gone mad."

"So you don't believe in giants, but you believe in magic?" asked the boy.

"Oh aye, it's real, lad."

The riderless courser whinnied. Myles reined his rouncey in. "Something's got Tempest spooked, John."

The yeoman nodded. "Hear those voices?"

Myles did not, but the old hunter's ears were keen. He trusted his father's man. He urged his mount forward and they trotted on, growing closer to the town... and the voices John heard.

Harrier Wren  | Fianoich

Myles Brantley Harrier Wren

Fianoich raised a delicate eyebrow as the woman answered her. The mortal had fire in her blood. She could be useful in the long term, but perhaps not right now. Fianoich turned at the sound of horses in the distance and frowned slightly at the sight of the men on horseback, wearing mail. She couldn't quite tell what it was made of yet, but it was likely iron. She could almost feel the tingly burn along her skin from its presence and she grimaced before turning back to the woman.

"Boredom," Fianoich said after a moment, a curious lilt in her voice. "It has been too long since I have seen such a struggle. Thought it might be amusing to see what will happen."

She stepped aside from the road as the horses approached.

"So your motives are irrelevant. Does it never matter why we do things?" She brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "And you intrigue me. You seem to have power and confidence in your power. Few mortals have such confidence." Another pause and she tilted her head. "Perhaps I can offer you a wager."

It had been a long time since she had offered anyone a wager, let alone had anyone accept, but it would make things much more interesting. Everyone loved enchanted items and feared to lose memories. Risk versus reward. Would it be worth the risk?

Harrier Wren Myles Brantley
-------------------

A smile oozed across her face as the mortal spoke- a powerful magician by human standards. Oh yes, she knew some of the Foard of Elbion and its ranked. Fianoich crossed her arms, brushing a strand of hair from her face, eyes all white. Except for the word faeling. She hissed, her breath the winds of winter that wove through empty nights, and she stood taller. Her eyes darkened- the dark blue of the ice in the furthest northern wastes.

"Faeling?" She hissed again, and the weight of a blizzard hung upon her words, while her face sharpened until it had the cutting-point of an icicle. "You dare compare the Lady of Winter to some..." She sputtered and stopped herself. Her eyes reverted to their normal white and she smoothed down a sleeve on her gown. "If you fail to kill the giant, you will die. And while the thought of possessing your spirit amuses me, it is not within my power to meddle in such business."

Fianoich twirled a curl of hair around her finger, smiling once again. "But time is such things as you all understand. If you kill the giant within the time it takes for the sun to move one finger across the sky, I shall weave you one article of clothing, of your choice, with enchantment and quality that the world has not seen the likes of which the world has not seen in a hundred generations. And if you fail in that time..."

Her voice trailed off, while her smile took on a wilder glint. "If you fail within that time, I shall take possession of your most cherished memory."

She eyed the approaching knights. Mortals, once again. Dirty with iron-bearing armor. Normal, beneath her notice. Fianoich turned back to Harrier. "What say you?"