8th of winter, 511 av
The tavern was bustling that night, vantha singing songs and spinning tales. None of which interested Gromm much, he was not overly fond of stories that have nothing to do with battle. He did, however, enjoy the ale. It would take a lot to get a creature of his size drunk, but the taste was intoxicating enough for him. A warriors drink. He thought, taking a sizeable swig from his mug.
There was a vantha man sitting with him, intrigued by the giant. He decided he wanted to know more about the stoic Gromm and began to press questions. “So, Mr. Gromm, what does a jamoura want in Avanthal?” the man inquired. It was apparent he had a bit too much to drink and he had chosen his words clumsily. Gromm grunted at the young man. “I thought all were welcome here, or did that change while I wasn’t looking?” He replied in a very blunt tone. The vantha, not wishing to anger Gromm, tried to think of a way to restate his question in a less confrontational tone. “All I’m saying is” He began with a nervous smile on his face. “It seems like an odd travel destination for a man of your demeanour.” Gromm sighed, the mans question was innocent enough, he wondered if he may have been too harsh. “Well you see, I once had a friend from around here.” The young mans eyes widened in anticipation of a tale. Gromm cocked in eyebrow. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Gromm asked. “Aren’t you going to tell the story? You shouldn’t start something and not finish it.”
“I’m no bard but very well. I will tell you.”
40th of summer, 430 av
The woods shook as Gromm dropped a massive boulder, easily bigger than two grown jamoura, on the hard ground. He wiped the sweat from his brow, it had been a long day of training. He gazed at the sky and saw the sun was setting over the forest canopy, and took the time to enjoy it. He would be leaving his home soon, as he was almost ready to begin his journey. Before he could sit, he heard a scream coming from the south. Gromm thought it could be a traveller unaware of the dangers the forest presented, and ran to investigate.
He came to clearing, there were two jamoura standing amidst a wreckage. Gromm smelled corpses, two of them. Before making a move he observed the situation, and noticed a vantha girl. She was no older than 10 and had a look of complete fear on her face. Her eyes were changing colour too fast for Gromm to differentiate one from another. “Humans are not welcome here, not as long as Tark draws breath.” The larger of the two jamoura declared, anger and bloodlust dripping of every word. The smaller of the two sized the girl up as a cougar does its meal. They’re feral. Gromm thought to himself. The girl, her black hair laced with dirt and sweat, gathered all the courage she had and drew a knife from her belt. “Die monster!” she screamed as she lunged toward the beast’s throat. But her efforts were ultimately in vain as she was knocked aside by his massive fist.
It was clear this Tark had little reservations about killing a child, he was cursed with the memories of a forgotten time and it drove him to madness. He lumbered towards the vantha girl, hatred oozing from his very being. He lifted one massive fist and prepared to land a finishing blow, but something stopped him. He looked at his hand and noticed Gromm had grabbed his wrist, and wasn’t letting go. Tark struggled to get free but it was in vain as Gromm only tightened his grip. “You would kill a child?” Gromm asked the enraged ape, coldly. “She is a human. Perhaps you have forgotten what they have done to our people, but I have not!” He yelled, launching a brutal kick into Gromms stomach, loosening his grip enough for Tark to escape.
Before Gromm had time to react Tark was upon him, landing a vicious right on Gromms temple. The blow had failed to knock Gromm over, and he turned his head to face Tark. “You will have to do better than that.” Gromm uttered, his voice quivering with excitement. Gromm launched a counter attack, a rapid series of punches Tark could barely keep up with. To his credit, however, Tark managed to avoid the majority, save for one brutal uppercut that knocked him to the ground. “You bastard!” The ape yelled at the top of lungs, and leapt back to his feet. Tark attempted a haymaker, but before he could follow through he froze in place. Tark looked down to his chest and realised the fight was over, Gromms hand had penetrated his chest and his heart was within his grasp. “Beg for mercy in the next life, for you will find none here!” And with that he tightened his grip, crushing his heart and ending his life.
Tarks accomplice was frozen with fear. “H-How? Tark was the strongest warrior I ever met!” He shrieked, trying to find an exit. “Then you haven’t met very many!” Gromm replied, leaping through the air towards his new opponent. He pinned him on the ground and shoved the palm of his hand into the bottom of his nose. The cartilage in his nose was sent into his brain, killing him. Gromm barely had a chance to celebrate his victory as he noticed the vantha girl lying on the ground unconscious. The girl had impressed him, most would just curl up in a ball and accept their fate but she stood up to a raging jamoura. Gromm carried her to his camp in his arms, he could not leave her to die in good conscience.
After several hours the girl awoke, and was greeted by yet another giant sitting beside her. She let out a scream and crawled across the ground. Picking up a fairly large rock, she turned to face Gromm. “Stay back!” She screamed, holding the stone over her head in as threatening a position she could make. Gromm walked over to her and placed his hand on her head. The girl sensed he meant no harm, but was still traumatised from her earlier encounter. “I mean you no harm, tiny human.” Gromm said, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible. He motioned her towards the assortment of fruits he had prepared. “My food is your food.” He assured his guest. “N-no!” the vantha yelled, taking an abrupt step backward. “Why should I trust you?” Gromm sighed, “If I meant to kill you, I would have done it by now.” He stated bluntly. Ilia realised the logic in his statement, and slowly took a more relaxed position. “My name is Gromm, would you care to tell me yours?” The girl looked at her feat nervously “It’s Ilia, Ilia Winterflame.” She replied.
Ilia finally worked up the courage to approach the assortment of fruits Gromm had laid out. After much trepidation, she took a bite. It was nothing special, but anything would have tasted good after the day she had. “I’m sorry for those fools who attacked you, most jamoura aren’t like that.” Gromm attempted to comfort the child, but his voice always had a harsh tone. “The others they killed, who were they? If you don’t mind me asking.” Ilias eyes began to water “They were my parents.” She said, her voice almost a whisper.
It was uncomfortably silent until the meal was finished. “I will take you to the spires, there you can find an escort that will take you back to Avanthal.” Gromm said as he rose to his feet. Ilia looked into the giant’s eyes with desperation. “Would it..” she began, now staring at her feet. “Would it be alright if I stayed with you Mr. Gromm?” Her question puzzled Gromm. “Why don’t you won’t to go there? It is your home, correct?” he replied. “It’s not important.” Ilia sounded as if she was trying to convince herself more then Gromm.
“I don’t have time to baby sit you.” Gromm retorted. “I won’t be a bother Mr. Gromm, I can cook and everything!” she pleaded. Gromm scowled, “To follow my path is to accept death, I cannot promise to protect you all the time.” He stated, as blunt and cold as ever. “If you can accept those terms then you may follow me.” Ilias face lit up, ignoring Gromms warning. “Thank you Mr. Gromm!” she squealed as she wrapped her arms around his massive neck. It was the first time she had smiled since Gromm had met her, and a faint trace of a smile could be seen on Gromms face as well. “First rule, no hugs.” Gromm grunted, embarrassed at the display.
From then on, Gromm and Ilia travelled as a pair. Gromm took the place of a surrogate father of sorts, and although he would be hard pressed to admit it, became quite fond of his new companion. Ilia, as it turned out, had many other talents besides cooking; thievery to be exact. And although the thought of travelling with a thief angered Gromm, her talents have saved both of them a number of times. However, the tales those adventures are not for today.
Gromm and Ilia had made camp in a ruin in the Wildlands. It was empty, and seemed relatively safe. The Wildlands provided Gromm with everything he could want, it was covered in dangerous creatures of all sizes and the ruins often housed bandits. Ilia on the other hand was not overly fond of her new surroundings, too hot and too many bugs. “Do we have to stay here Mr. Gromm?” she asked Gromm, scanning the ground for any intruders. “I saw a beetle earlier that was this big!” Gromm scoffed at her, “No beetle, no matter how large, will scare me.” Ilia stuck her tongue out at him, annoyed by his usual callous demeanour.
As day turned to night, the Wildlands grew eerily silent. The occasional shuffling could be heard just outside of camp, and Gromm could smell humans not far from the camp. “I believe we are in an ambush.” He whispered to Ilia, shaking her awake. “Well aren’t you the observant one, ape.” called a nasally voice from outside the ruin. Emerging from the shadows came a tall, crossbow wielding vantha man, his black hair slicked back and his eyes red with malice. Following him were a group of thugs, 4 humans and an akalak. “Get behind me Ilia.” Gromm beckoned, pushing her to relative safety. Ilia couldn’t stop staring at their intruder, it seemed as if she knew him from somewhere. “Alright, monkey. I’m going to make one thing clear, I want that girl’s head. Hand her over and you can live.” The vantha demanded, aiming his crossbow at Gromm. “I will not, leave this place at once.” Gromm replied.
“I don’t think you understand, that bitch’s father killed my son!” he yelled, his eyes growing darker with every word. “I didn’t do anything, leave me alone!” Ilia called out from behind Gromms leg. “No you didn’t, but your fathers dead. And if I can’t kill him then I’ll make him watch me kill his only daughter.”
“You will do no such thing!” Gromm howled, leaping forward. He sent two thugs flying with one massive blow and closed in one the leader. Before he could land a punch the akalak launched himself on Gromms back, attempting to chock the giant to death. While Gromm did battle with the thugs, the vantha closed in on Ilia. She was hiding behind a rock now, holding her knife close to her chest. The man lifted his crossbow, but before he could pull the trigger Ilia launched herself toward him, stabbing his eye. “You bitch!” he screamed, kicking her in the temple. Gromm, who had gotten the better of his adversary, threw the akalak at the vantha man. They were both sent flying into the wall. The thugs were all dead and all that was left was the vantha. Gromm closed in on him, his eyes burning with anger. He tossed his fallen comrade to the side and jumped to his feet, turning his gaze towards Ilia, who was just getting to her feet as well. Gromm charged at the man, but he was too late. The vantha had fired his crossbow and the bolt landed between Ilias eyes.
For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The vantha had succeeded in exacting his revenge, and Gromm had failed to protect his only friend. Before the assassin could celebrate his victory, Gromm had grabbed him by the throat. The man made no pleas, he did not beg for his life as others would. He accepted death, for death was all that awaited him. Gromm tore him limb by limb, blood painting the walls screams filling the air. Gromms victory was hollow one, his friend had died and nothing would bring her back. Gromm embraced the body, tears rolling down his cheeks. It was the first time Gromm had ever cried, and the last. He let out a howl of sorrow, the Wildlands themselves shook.
Gromm was alone once again.
8th of winter, 511 av
“So that’s the story.” Gromm concluded, finishing his ale. He noticed there were now several patrons listening to his tale, all of which had been moved by the giant’s story. “Are you satisfied?” He asked the young man. “Y-yes, Mr. Gromm.” He replied, taking a sip of his ale. Gromm stood up from his seat, and left without saying a word. He regretted telling strangers his tale, although no harm seemed to come from it. He stepped out into the snowy streets, locked in contemplation.
A warrior is always alone. He thought to himself.
Always.
