Advent

The threatening winter tempest arrived with fierce billows of wind and blinding, freezing snow. The wind howled over the sea of the English Channel with not a single fishing boat at sea. The seasoned veterans had seen the seagulls and other birds retreat inland early that morning with nary a bird in sight by mid-morning. Even the most reckless of fishermen would not set out to sea in their veteran vessels with such a fierce storm on the horizon. This was the type of storm that could easily sink even the best of vessels with the best of captains. It was a killing storm.

The sea waves roared and slammed angrily against the sandy and rocky shores. The crests of the waves rose higher and higher until a loud cracking sound was heard. Those in the nearby fishing villages heard a distant crack and assumed that either a pier or vessel anchor had broken, before being forcibly carried out to sea. Not a single villager dared to open their shuttered windows lest a stray branch or flying object crash and shatter the unprotected glass window.

The winter storm continued to fiercely rage, yet despite the raging ocean, an incredible sight could be beheld. Through the tempest, great lumbering dark figures could be seen striding across a giant icy bridge. Over twenty feet tall, the giants crossed the raging sea on a path of ice that was as large as an iceberg to accommodate their enormous girth without shattering. The ice cracked loudly and brutally into pieces on the edges causing the enormous figures to stride only the center of the bridge. In a line, they marched as the iceberg continued to extend until the icy bridge reached the sandy shore.

The lumbering figures picked up their speed eagerly to reach the shore. The waves loudly crashed against the shore threatening to break the bridge, but the icy bridge held firmly as the enormous figures drew closer and closer to shore. Step by step the giants advanced forward until they at long last they arrived at the shore. The young and old arrive first with the younger giants carefully being protected by their mothers, while the elderly appears to be exhausted having been forced to march at a fierce pace. There were giants of every tribe that had been forcibly gathered by the current Gurg of the giants. Among the giants some darker and others paler, some bulkier and others thinner, yet despite their differences, all the giants kept their gaze warily fixated on the trio at the forefront of the giants.

The first was the shamaness, Iwara, and mate of their Gurg. Irwara was a tall giantess with broad shoulders, a large chest, and a round bottom. She was on the slender side for giantess women, a rarity among the giantess women of her tribe. Her corn-colored hair was braided with fangs, claws from her own kills and those of her mate. Her pale, sour face is painted with the dried blood of her enemies. Her teeth are sharp, and talon-like nails are capable of rendering flesh loose from the bone. Her strong hands are capable of crushing a man's skull with ease, but at present, she holds a large wooden staff made from a large oak trunk at least ten feet tall.

Yet the fierce shamaness Iwara appeared to be drained and far more pale than normal. She was clearly fatigued having expended all her magic in creating a safe passageway across the channel for the giants that followed them. She would fully recover in time, but she would need several days to do so.

At her side stands her mate over 30 feet tall, a much larger than a normal gray-skinned giant. Wurfbog, the Gurg of the giants viciously grinned exposing his jagged shark-like teeth hungrily in the direction of the nearby human village. His clothes kept him warm despite the weather having been made from dragon skin that he had hunted down himself. On his neck hung a heavy necklace of dragon fangs and the teeth of his vanquished enemies including more recent ones. His hair was thick and black, chopped at the earlobe kept purposefully short. He kept his face cleanly shaven an oddity among the giants for sure. And though a half-giant, none had ever dared to mention otherwise.

Unexpectedly the third figure is not plainly visible at first until one glanced down. Tall for a wizard and burly, there stood the much shorter figure of Antonin Dolohov in comparison to the giant. His pale face was long and twisted with a malicious arrogant smile fixed on his face. The dark-haired wizard flexed his broad shoulders as if stretching. In a bored voice as if he was facing a subordinate and not a dangerous existence, he says, "Wurfbog, now is not the time to give in to your lesser instincts. The attack will occur in only mere two days and I will not permit that your hunger for flesh gives away the element of surprise."

Iwara indignantly grips her wooden staff in her hands ready to lift it to smash the infuriating, puny wizard to death. How dare a mere HUMAN speak to her mate in such fashion! She would CRUSH him!

Wurforg's grin deepens causing the giants following him to take a step back in unison causing the ground to tremble for a mere moment. "I suppose that I can always make do with what is before me," Wurforg matter-of-factly stated. "There are always other envoys to be found for the Dark Lord."

Wurfbog moves impossibly fast and number for one of his enormous girth. However, before Wurfbog can trap the wizard, he lets out a painful roar and pulls back in shock. A deep wound had cut into the flesh of his hand. The giants as a whole are shocked as they all gaze at the wizard to find that a gleaming, silver gobbling forged spear hovers magically in the air.

A beastly grin spreads across Dolohov's face as he moves his wand and the spear rises impossibly fast to directly point itself near one of the eyes of Wurfbog. "Now magic certainly does not work very well against giant's flesh," he idly commented as if lecturing on an academic subject. "However, interestingly enough there are records, yes, very old records that state that goblins were capable of repelling the giant tribes in the last great giant war. Well, goblins naturally don't possess wands, so how is it that the goblin were able to so successfully repel the giants?"

"I have always been far too curious for my own good at times," Dolohov continued as the spear threateningly quivered in the air as if hungry to be set loose. "And then I found it, oh yes, I might have had to torture a goblin to learn the knowledge. Still, my theory proved true, goblin silver is indeed capable of cutting through giant flesh. And ever so conveniently in the family vaults, there happened to be a silver goblin forged spear taken as a trophy after defeating a goblin general in the last goblin war hundreds of years ago."

Wurfbog let out a painful hiss and clenched his hand that was still bleeding. Blood drops the size of buckets splashed onto the sand, but his hand painfully burned. "It burns," the Gurg hissed.

"Ah, well, I may have added various poisons to the tip," Dolohov truthfully answered with a malevolent smile. "I wasn't certain if poisons worked on giants, so I thought to experiment, but it would seem that I won't need to experiment further as the present concoction seems to work. I am dreadfully disappointed; I will admit had such wonderous ideas. Alas, it simply was not meant to be."

Iwara raised her staff, but suddenly the floating spear was pointed directly at her head. "The female flesh should mind their own business," Dolohov coldly said as Wurfbog gestured to his mate to stand down.

"The antidote, wizard," Wurfbog barked.

"Antidote?" Dolohov gleefully chortled. "There is no antidote."

"Wizard!" Wurfbog threatened in genuine pain and humiliation. He could not remember the last time he had been so humiliated since he was a mere child. He would kill the wizard if it was the last thing he did. "Do not toy with me!"

"You best chop that hand of yours off, Wurfbog," Dolohov truthfully said, "for the poison has already begun to spread." And it had for Wurfbog's hand fingers had already begun to turn a dark purple. If the poison had been on a human, they would already be dead frothing at the mouth.

"Wizard, you will regret this," Wurfbog threatened through hungry shark-like teeth. The pain had increased and was worse than the wounds received when hunting dragons.

"Remember your place, half-breed," Dolohov viciously sneered. "You are not even a full-blooded giant. And do not deny that your half-breed kind is regularly killed and eaten by Giants. A half-breed holds no place among giants."

The giants that followed Wurfbog did not speak, but Iwara could sense a change in the giants that followed them. The giants could be coerced and forced even, but giants much like wizard-kind did not tolerate half-bloods very well. Indeed, most half-breeds were killed very young and eaten, while those that survived usually were generally outcasts in giant society. It had not been open knowledge that their Gurg was a half-blood, but now, sooner or later there would be open dissent. A Gurg who was a half-blood was outrageous and shameful, sooner or later the giants would turn against them.