When you left your clan to find a way to purchase your ancestral land, you really had no idea how you planned to do it. You had heard stories of firbolgs becoming laborers, but that wasn’t terribly interesting to you–mostly because you were rather scrawny for a firbolg. Your brothers and sister were much stronger than you, which made your frustration all the more intense, knowing they all preferred to simply walk away than fight for their home.
What you are, is a crack shot. You thought perhaps you could hunt and sell game and furs, perhaps even work with wood, a favorite past time, crafting gadgets or displays.
You found a town and a shop that sold such things, but also found that their interest in working with firbolgs was less than enthusiastic. Some in town were downright hostile. And even others thought you the bigger prize and sought you as a prisoner for purchase.
After that, you decided to only interact while disguising yourself with firbolg magic.
When you were finally able to get a stable line of customers, you quickly realized that you’d be at this for decades before you would have enough coin to purchase the land. About to give up, you happened upon a job board with a notice of bounty. The paper was old, weathered, cracked, as if it had been up for a long time. The payment in large red scrolled numbers had been crossed out and rewritten multiple times, each time a higher number taking its place. The number not crossed out, was now at 2,700 gold, about a quarter of the needed coin to begin buying up the Cyrengreen forest.
The notice describes the trouble:
WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE, the cloud giant Jednar Shroudmantle for crimes against the crown. Last seen in the foothills of Cyrios Mountains near Karmordah.
You had no idea what a cloud giant was, let alone where Karmordah might be located.
But 2,700 gold was too much to pass up. So armed with a bow, a quiver, and a short sword, you set out to capture the cloud giant.
After finally getting hold of a map of Wildemount, you made your way to Kamordah fairly easily, staying to the forests or rivers or hills, and avoiding cities and settlements. But in Kamordah, you had no choice. You needed more information on this Jednar the cloud giant, and hoped that someone in town might have more to go on.
While most of the Marrow Valley is filled with rolling green hills and large leafy trees, The Bromkiln Hills surrounding Kamorda are gray and rocky, unable to sustain the vegetation. Patches of gray, bubbling mud form between the hills, where natural vents perpetually release lazy plumes of sulfurous gases that give the region its unmistakable smell in the thick, warm, humid air.
Not your favorite.
And most of the people in Kamorda were just as inhospitable.
Folks shut their doors as you walked by, something you were more exposed to, but you were well-disguised. Even those doors that didn’t immediately shut, were clearly suspicious of the newcomer.
Finally, the local Crownsguard, after learning you were here for the bounty, was able to fill you in on the circumstances surrounding the bounty.
“The attack came from the east,” towards the foothills of the Cyrios Mountains. “The giant destroyed the herb crop and vineyards of the Stassman estate. Then, the Lionett Vineyard was hit, finally the Errenath herb ranches. We have no way of tracking it. The attacks happen in a thick bank of fog, then the temperature falls to below zero. That shouldn’t be able to happen here! The fields are still frozen! That’s how we know it’s him.”
“Why would he attack?”
“Cloud giants are proud and envious creatures,” says a mage in the company of the Crownsguard and, who appears to be the local loremaster. “They spend their time in their mountain peak or solid cloud castles growing extraordinary gardens. Grapes as big as apples. Apples the size of pumpkins! Pumpkins the size of wagons! Shroudmantle saw our land’s production of the finest wines and exotic herbs and became jealous, and swore to destroy it all. But the coward hides himself behind a fog cloud, then disappears before we can trap him in.”
“The dwarfs of Pride’s Call, a settlement on the other side of the Cyrios tell of a castle on a solid cloud near the snowcapped peak of Firstlight Mountain, southwest of Kamordah.”
So, with the knowledge that this cloud giant can control the weather, produce fog, and apparently jealous of other’s gardens, you leave the gaping Crownsguard (who can’t understand how/why you would seek out the giant on your own) and start looking for signs of this floating cloud castle in the Cyrios Mountains.
At first, going was rough. But after a day or so, you learned quickly the best way to traverse the mountain, find game trails and look for signs. You learned proper sheltering and survival techniques, which you had fantastic instincts for, and avoided unnecessary confrontations with the local beasties.
You did encounter a small pack of feral gnolls and successfully evaded a mountain troll, among other things, dealt with icy rain and when discovering a promising cave for shelter, were stopped short by a thick ice wall and left to huddle under the overhang of a large boulder, until, after nearly a tenday, you crested the summit of Firstlight Mountain, breathing heavy. You scanned the horizon and there, just as the evening sun began to dip under the cloud bank, you saw the castle, a majestic, towering edifice, north of the peak.
The next day, you explored around it, attempting to find a path that led to the doors, but it was nothing but cloud. You then recalled something the loremaster said, something about “solid clouds”. So you carefully stepped around the boundary of the cloud until you found a small path of solid ground.
With your focus on the ground in front of you, you neglected to notice the massive figure standing on one of the parapets of the castle, more than 150 feet above you, watching you since you first crested the summit of the mountain.
“I am not your prize,” the giant called out. And despite the distance between you, you trembled as you realized just what you were up against.
The massive figure leapt off the parapet and, with a crash that shook the very clouds, landed on his feet not twenty feet from you. The figure was clothed in jewel encrusted garments, his powerful arms and legs left bare, exposing unique tattoos inked in what appears to be moving mist. His wrists and hands were decorated in thick golden, engraved bracelets and bejeweled gemmed rings. His skin was a purplish gray, with blue-white hair long enough to hang to his shoulders, but was dancing in the wind. And in his hand, a huge morningstar, the spiked dodecahedron resting in the cloudy mist.
Firbolgs are tall. You stand more than seven and a half feet. This giant in front of you, stood more than 3 times your size.
And you barely stayed on your feet against your fear.
“You’re either more powerful than you look, cockier than you should be, or incredibly ignorant.”
“I’m afraid it’s the latter,” you say humbly, not knowing what else to do than tell the truth. “I was told you were destroying the farms and vineyards in Karmodah. They put a bounty on your head, if you’re J-j-j-ednar Shroudmantle.”
“Now, why would I…come with me.”
And with that, he picked you up by the scruff of your shirt and carried you around the castle to reveal what looked to you a beautiful, well-cared for forest thick with exotic and magical trees and emanating enticing fragrances that both calmed and thrilled you. Most of the foliage laid close to the ground, but miles beyond were orchards of trees that would take half a day to walk around and branches that touched the morning stars.
You had never seen anything like it.
“I care so very little for the goings on of small folk,” said the giant. “I have very little need to.”
You couldn’t help but admit that the giant had nothing to be jealous of.
The giant began telling you about cloud giants, but before long, abruptly stopped.
“How do you come to speak Giant?”
“I didn’t know I did,” you say, “I thought you were speaking Firbolg.”
At the word, the giant smirked, and mused about the lore of a line of giants that rejected the Ordning (the hierarchy of giants) and separated themselves from giant-kin. But, you see his demeanor relax a little, and you find yourself talking as if two strangers passing on the road, regaling each other of news.
Finally, Jednar tells you why he was there, to keep an eye on a clan of fire giants that live deep in the depths of Mt Mintiri. They have been drawn to the geothermal heat source below the mountain, a source that could be extremely dangerous should it ever be fully released. He would not elaborate, saying it was not a care for small folk.
After Jednar brings you inside, warms you up by an enormous fireplace, offers you a bowl of cherries, each the size of your fist, you realize this is not the sinister power Kamordah had claimed him.
“If it wasn’t you, then who or what might have the power to do this?”
“Dragons,” said the giant, without hesitation. “Small folk prefer to blame giants when it is almost always dragons. Tell me what it’s done.”
You tell him of the frozen fields and icy fog and low temperatures.
“White dragon,” he says. “Must’ve moved in not long after I did. Probably freezing the fields so the townsfolk will try to hunt him down, where he can freeze them and devour them in the comfort of his own lair. It’ll be absolutely appalled that they’ve blamed me for his mischief.”
He expects that the dragon left an obvious trail, and after thinking back to your trip up the mountain, you tell Jednar about the ice walls and icy rain.
“The ice wall. Show me.”
He puts you on his shoulder and at a much faster pace, you arrive at the cave entrance, barricaded with ice.
“Time to take care of this, once and for all. You want a bounty, young giant kin? Now is the great opportunity.
It is from Jednar you begin your education in dragons, an education that would serve you well many years from now.
He also taught you about giants, about the ordning, how the cloud giants were at the top of the Ordning (“next to Storm Giants, but they rarely show themselves to the small folk”) followed by fire giants, frost giants, and then the ugly and stupid hill giants. He taught you about other giantkin, the embarrassments of the race, like ogres, trolls, and ettins, who, despite their two heads, were dumb as a post.
Most giants, he explained, are bound by the ordning to let the small folk be. Every so often a giant would fall out of place, which would provoke the ire of King Hekaton of the Storm Giants, and we would deal with the rebel ourselves.
“If it weren’t for the lawful giants of this world, terrible and cataclysmic forces would be unleashed, on land, on sea, on ice. And the world of the small folk, and perhaps even the giants, would be wiped from existence. And all because of the ordning.”
Thank heavens for giants. And the ordning.
With a swing of his morningstar, Jednar shatters the wall of ice, and you both enter the dragon’s lair. You face freezing temperatures and icy fog, the latter of which is quickly dissipated by the cloud giants magical gust’s of wind, until you arrived in the central chamber, a hundred or more feet in height and around, cliffs of ice and rock chipped away.
You hear a sigh from above and spot a mammoth, scaled, creature, lounging on an outcrop and blends in with the surrounding ice. Except for the stark blue eyes that are staring straight at you.
The white dragon. You feel a quivering fear rise from your toes, creeping through you, but as it reaches your chest, you stand strong, willing yourself the courage to stand with Jednar, fighting off the frightful presence.
You swallow hard, just as the dragon begins to speak in a calm, smooth tone.
“I was hoping for a battalion of soldiers. A squadron at least. But all I get is two? Still, a cloud giant is a wonderfully unexpected bonus!”
Without warning the ice dragon attacks!
But Jednar is ready for it.
Admittedly, the fight is mostly between the giant and the dragon, but you do what you can as you shoot arrow after arrow, marking the dragon with a hunter’s mark, causing more damage. But not nearly as much as the giants morningstar or the dragons bite and ice breath.
You get better shots by using your innate invisibility to sneak around the dragon and find the weakness in the joints and underbelly.
But when the fight takes to the air, both titans rising into the upper reaches of the cavern, you’re left with only a distant hope of attack, watching crushing blow after malicious bite.
A violent beat of the dragon’s wings pushes Jednar against the cavern wall and as you watch the giant fall through the air, the dragon grabs him by the shoulders and pushes him down into the icy ground below.
Blood drips from the eyes and mouth of the dragon. Broad, deep bruises form on Jednar’s face.
But that eye. That stark blue eye, frozen cold with fury and death, conveys what will happen next.
It’s now or never.
You pull out your arrow. And with the focus and skill of decades of committed practice, you pierce the eye, the arrow sinking completely into the socket.
The dragon falls limp. Jednar pushes the cold carcass off himself and stands up, kicking at the head of the frosty monstrosity. Just to make sure.
“You showed precision under pressure, young giant kin,” he says, between breaths. “It has been ages since I’ve mixed it up with a dragon of his size. You have helped rid the world of a corrupted piece of villainy. And you likely saved my life.”
“Well, you saved mine more.”
Jednar spends the next few minutes gathering the dragon’s hoard of treasure by breaking through transparent sheets of ice, and collecting most of it into his pack.
“How much was the bounty on my head?”
“2,700 gold.”
He pulls out a scattering of gems, pauses a moment, and then pours them into your hands.
“That should more than cover it. The rest, is mine, as are these.”
He rips two of the longest fangs from the dragon’s teeth.
The next morning, the people of Kamordah awaken to thawed fields, and to a scene they still speak of to this day: Olo, in his magical disguise, sitting upon the still carcass of a white dragon, with bow in hand.
The people gladly pay you the bounty and no longer seek the cloud giant.
You and Jednar keep in touch over the years, he being your primary instructor and companion on dragon and giant hunts, the two creatures you have focused your work as a bounty hunter. While you have successfully hunted other monster types, when the world is faced with a dragon or a wayward giant, there is only one “Man” for the job.
UPDATE:
Olo knows:
One of the reasons the storm giants are at the top of the Ordning, is Hekaton (king of the Storm Giants and head of the ordning–and is currently missing) is Keeper of the Wyrmskull Throne.
Olo has heard the tales of the Wyrmskull Throne from his friend and mentor Jednar Shroudmantle. The throne is carved from a solid piece of polished obsidian, with a streak of magenta gemstone or crystal embedded within the splat of the back rest, surrounded by runes that glisten with a pink glow when the throne comes alive with power.
According to Jednar, the throne offers its bearer the ability to shape the thoughts and behavior of others, which makes the keeper very difficult to argue with: from magically convincing others of your righteousness or imbuing bravery for your cause, or causing one to laugh uncontrollably until they are unable to stand, or, command one to obey, or hold a creature in its place with little hope to escape.
You also knows that Hekaton and the Storm Giants dwell in an underwater fortress called, Maelstrom, though only the Giant Lords know how to enter.
Giants and Dragons HATE each other.
Remember that Firbolgs are giant-kin, from a line of giants that rejected the ordning and the giant gods, and sought their own way in the world. Because of this, Firbolgs have lost their height over the centuries, but not their intelligence or power, often being stronger than they look.
