Ser Gerald attacks. A gleaming sword held high in his expert fist. He tossed his shield. It would be worthless in this fight.
The hill giant looks amused. He is a hairy brute, naked with a roll of fat hiding his manhood. He stands taller then a two story house and weighs probably as much. He smells of eye watering vinegar, malt and old barn.
It was his smell that lead them to him.
The giant raises a thick spruce tree that he ripped from the ground right when the silly man in metal made his prayer to his God at the top of his lungs.
Why paladins give warning before they attack is beyond Tomas, but it works well for poetry.
The giant makes his own battle cry, more a glorious burp that moves the thick matted tangle of hair on his face.
Tomas has no armor, he has a tiny dagger shoved between his left boot and leather legging, but only for emergencies. He needs both hands for his real weapon, a lute. The instrument is just a normal lute. Four strings and a pine wood body. He has been playing it the entire ride down into the valley. He’s been singing stories of heros and great feats of bravery.
All for the knight’s benefit, Ser Gerald got into it pretty good, even sang a few verses himself. In fact Tomas takes credit for the holy warrior’s motivation when they spotted their warrant.
Tomas strums a quick tune.
The giant swings his tree and misses. Barely. He is already making another attack when Tomas strums off key and sings with a shrieking voice. The Giants looks at him distracted and the knight takes the opportunity to open the monsters belly spilling intestines and half digested lamb meat.
The giant falls to his knees and the knight hacks it’s head off. It takes three blows.
Tomas feels bad, but not bad enough to avoid feeling inspired and start humming a tune he thinks would work well when retelling the tale later at the local tavern as they await their reward from the local magistrate.
Stories 