It was a drowsy day.

And the giant with no name was sleeping. Though he was huge by the reckoning of humans, he was huger still by the reckoning of the wee folk that surrounded him. No, perhaps 'wee folk' is a misnomer- they were tiny. Puny. They were the tomte and the current guardians of the dilapidated stone tower. This one, this odd companion, was an interloper. He had showed up one day out of the blue, carrying nothing more than an old stick, some mould-ridden foodstuffs that they had promptly gotten rid of, and the clothes he was wearing. He hadn't even the merest shoe. And, as all the wee folk (no larger than an apple) learned, he was here to stay.

Their first experience with their large neighbour had happened in the early hours of the morning. Now they, as tomte, were the first to admit that this particular building was not a nice one. It was drafty in the winter, leaky in the spring and ridiculously random at all other times. Still, it was their home and they cared for it. They were tomte, proud of their homes and proud of their ability to maintain them. Ever since they had moved in after being chased out of their ancestral forest home by an enormous dragon and two or three fire-breathing pigs (the accounts varied) the ancient thing had been given a new breath of life. Or so they had thought.

The overgrown man thing had apparently not thought the same. Using carpentry skills that were probably more suited to knocking down doors in lieu of fixing them, he had attempted to repair every problem that had sprung up on the ground floor of this building during its millennia-long existence.

He was also, apparently, insomniac.

It was eerie, at first, for he never spoke when he worked and for the tomte, who danced and sung almost as much as they did work, he seemed like a polar opposite ot themselves even if, strictly speaking, they were doing the exact same things. And he was ugly. Of that there was no doubt. Even for a race of creatures that did not reach any higher than half his ankle, they could tell he was scarred and pitted beyond measure. If he had ever been pretty during his lifetime he sure as heck wasn't nowadays. Not that that really mattered. He was clean and reasonably un-ugly at ground level which was mostly the only parts they ever did see of him when he was awake. Not that he ever spotted them. The braver and stupider of the younglings had tried to stay at the corner of his eye and then dead smack center when he failed to react. He never saw them.

Finally, after many such sleepless nights, the wee folk finally managed to gather together and determine if it was possible for them to figure a way to boot out their surly and hardworking companion whose repairs were messy and whose presence was messier.

After a long debate they came to a consensus and vowed to oust this interloper the next time he fell asleep. Which, as it so happens, is where we last left off. Or started, rather.

It was a drowsy day. And the giant with no name was sleeping... and it was probably, for that very reason, he didn't notice his various belongings pick themselves up and start heading towards the still broken door of an ancient tower.

The grass was sparse here, giving way to the rocks that decorated the base of the tower. To Amani, it reminded her a bit of the desert that was her home, even though the desert certainly had less grass, less rocks, and quite a bit more sand. She wasn't sure whether she preferred this grass to the sands of the desert though. She had grown up around the sand, and to her, the thick grasses that covered the Salquedor Grasslands were a little bit of a nuisance, brushing across her as she walked and occasionally wet with dew or some other moisture, making her shiver sometimes. She had always thought that it was too cold outside of the desert, especially when winter came to Arda.

Maybe I should have listened to Malika and stayed home... thought Amani as she picked her way around a particularly large rock and continued heading up to the tower.

She shook her head vigorously as if to rid herself of the thought, making her brown hair fly in all directions around her head. She was doing this for Malika. Money was harder to come by in Angband than in cities like Lomedor, Estolad, and Ondolond, and Malika did not have the skill or the strength to travel, so Amani had gone alone. Her friend had probably awakened this morning to a small note from the mute dancer. Amani had left in the night, knowing that Malika would never let her go if she left in the day. Now, it had been two days since she started traveling, and she was looking forward to spending the night somewhere that wasn't cold, wet, and grassy. The tower wasn't exactly an ideal location, seeing as it was cold and wet, but it wasn't grassy, and she would take that.

Finally, Amani arrived at the tower entrance. The slender dancer moved forward, about to enter the tower, when she caught sight of something very strange. It looked like a group of bags were marching out of the tower on her own. Her eyes widened at this and she moved forward towards the bags. A puzzled expression came over her face as she bent down, carefully lifting one bag to see what was under it. As far as Amani knew, bags did not just come marching out of towers on their own.

Moonlight filtered through the air, illuminating the Salquedor grasslands in an ominous glow of satin silver. A small breeze flowed through the air, causing the tall stalks of grass to sway, creating a rippling effect like the waves of a tranquil ocean. This peaceful scene could have been the idyllic portrait of a master artist had it not been for a single figure, storming through the serenity of the scene like a minotaur through a glass shop.

Lacking whatever grace that women were supposed to be known for, a single feminine figure stormed through the tall grass, her curves hidden almost entirely by the masculine outfit she donned. A tunic reaching her thighs fluttered around, Pandora relying on simple rope to act as a belt as a dark canvass pair of trousers snapped at whatever stalks of grass blocked its path. Finally, leather boots moved like a blur, her rushed state causing little damage to Pandora's stamina, crushing the delicate life of nature below her soles to be crushed with utter violence and ignorance. A long blade lay strapped across her back, its hilt tight against her right shoulder, its polished glow acting like a beacon upon the fields. Violet eyes seemed to glow in the night as Pandora's pupils focused on her target, her body weary from travel.

Bounding beside her was a ferocious hound, its white pelt now yellowing with grime and filth, evidence of months bygone without a single bath. The night air intoxicated its feral senses as the slightest rustle of an underground rodent caused it the perk its head up, thousands of scents overpowered by the aroma of the grass around it. Yet something was different. A smell that wasn't natural to the order of the plains. Perhaps a human? Looking up to its master, the hound ignored the scent assuming it to be Pandora. She had always been a alpha leader to the hound and at least she provided food in the form of a metallic can. Curious what prey she often gave him, but if it was edible, that was okay.

Pandora had been trekking across the monotonous plains for quite a while, her hair matted with sweat and the lack of a bath for quite a few weeks. However the allure of quite the wealthy bounty seemed irresistible and worth the hassle. It wasn't but half a month ago that she had first come across the news that a monster of some kind had terrorized a village, leaving behind several fatalities. The village had since then employed countless bounty hunters, hoping to bring back the monster and see it suffer a slow death at the hands of the village. The prize would be great, the chief had said, and so Pandora found herself approaching the Ancient Tower. She had picked up faint news that curious things had been occurring at the Ancient Tower by a small group of pilgrims heading towards the temple of nature and since then she had been attempting to locate the ruin.

It was now that she finally located it, hoping that perhaps these "curious things" would be the work of her "monster." Slowly stooping to a crouch, Pandora began to silently crawl through the grass, her violet orbs peering at the entrance. However, disappointment quickly befell upon her hopes, as her gaze met the back of a young girl. Scowling, Pandora got up from her knees and palms and began approaching the girl, just as she picked up a small package.

"Ey yoo dere! Wat ar yoo doin' in da middle o' da nite, ya leetle squirt!" Pandora cried out, obviously curious towards the reason a little girl wasn't off in a bar or sleeping at home or in Pandora's case, usually beating a sniveling young noble to a pulp for...touching her inappropriate places. Her voice, a little too loud, suddenly echoed across the plains, causing a small flock of chocobos in the distance to suddenly awaken from its sleep.

((Sorry about posting so late))

High pitched squeals thundered through the darkened plains as the tomte realized they had been caught. For a moment, they all- though none would admit it- had thought they had been caught by the oversized giant and were about to become worm foodz. So away they zipped, squealing, shouting, laughing back towards the tower, small little boys, men, girls (well, actually, the women had washed their hands of the affair and had refused to do something they termed 'that incredibly stupid) no bigger than giant marbles running away at top speed.

In mere moments they had disappeared and left the mute girl behind with stale, moldy breadstuffs and a pair of pants.



"Ey yoo dere!"

In the throes of a dream, the giant tumbled forwards. He had been on a cliff of some sort, overlooking the sea. Out and out and out... he saw the waves rise and then break, crashing against the rocky outcroppings- a battle between wind and water, earth and sea. Then there had come the voice- it was said in such a friendly, unfamiliar way that he had immediately toppled over the edge, unaware of who or what had given the voice life. Not that it really mattered. He was falling. The wind whipped past him and he felt himself shoot down, faster and faster...

"W... ar... doin'..."

The voice was dying now, a small voice far in the distance, its tenor muted by the crashing waves. The fall from the cliff seemed interminable. Suddenly he was small, so very, very small. It would take ages for him to hit the ground. Dizziness, nausea- all the wonderful sorts of feelings that one obtained from a sudden sickness. So was this what it was like to die? The giant was dreaming and in the usual sort of dream logic what was happening made sense. And it did, in an odd sort of way. It truly did.

He wished to turn. Wished that he had the guts to turn, and look at death clear in the eye. To look at it speed towards him. But he couldn't. Coward. Coward. Coward.

"Squirt!"

Wot?

The giant woke up. He slept on the floor, as was proper for someone of his stature and station in life. Besides, if he slept in an actual bed he'd probably hit the ceiling every time he got up. And break the bed every other day too. According to what friends he had in the Keepers of the Sacred Deed, he was a messy sleeper at the best of times. Snored and whatnot. Not that it bothered him, he preferred bunking alone in random, solid places. Or at least his body did- it was a funny thing, this body. Not his, he was sure of that. It had habits that he couldn't control and couldn't remember.

Huh, and it was missing its pants. That was odd. At least his tunic was a long one. Staggering upwards, he would have sworn he heard giggling and terrified laughter but he ignored it. He had been hearing far too much oddities these days.

Managing, finally, to get to the door he realized that there was someone there already. A girl. A small one at that, not that he could tell very well. To him, most people were rather small.

She had his things. He stared at her in confusion. Then he realized that someone else was-

The moment she lifted the pants, a group of little...little...well, people was probably the best word for them, sped out from underneath them. Her eyes widened slightly and she stepped back, her expression of shock eventually fading to one of confusion. What were those things? They didn't look much bigger than rats. Were they really people? And what were they doing with these things? Did they steal them from someone?

Suddenly, she heard a voice from behind her, interrupting her thoughts. Amani whipped around quickly, dropping the pair of pants and placing a hand on the hilt of her scimitar. Her blue eyes narrowed as she peered through the darkness at what had caused the voice. She had always been particularly good at seeing in the dark, and easily picked out the figure of a petite woman with short, black hair. The woman might notice that Amani's movements when she turned around were like those of a dancer, graceful and forceful at the same time.

Her hand relaxed slightly, leaving the hilt of her scimitar as she turned to face the girl. She smiled slightly at the older woman, reaching into the bag she carried with her and pulling out a small notebook and a quill. Amani quickly scribbled down something, before holding it up so that the other girl could see it:

I was looking for shelter and found a strange group of little people underneath these things.

She knew that her story didn't seem very believable, but it was the truth. She had come to realize that a lot of things in Arda were not as they seemed. She hoped that the girl would be able to read what she had written though, especially since it was too dark for normal people to see. A set of heavy footsteps met her ears and Amani turned towards the entrance to the tower, her eyes widening as they fell upon the figure there.

She wasn't sure exactly how to describe him. Was he even human? He was tall, much taller than any other human she had ever seen. His face seemed to be an unrecognizable mask of scars, and he didn't seem to have any mouth. From this distance, she wasn't even sure if he had eyes. She clapped a hand to her mouth as if suppressing a cry. If this man was human, what had he been through to make him like that?

Then, she realized that the things on the ground were probably his things, something that the little people might have taken from him. Warily, Amani bent down, picking up the pair of pants and handing it to him. She flipped her notebook to another page, scribbling down something else.

Do these belong to you? I found them being carried away by some little people.

Only awkward silence followed Pandora's statements, her appearance suddenly out of place in the vast sea of grass that surrounded the ancient tower, her entire body encompassed by the shadow of the tower, the moonlight unable to filter through to her, only her semi-luminescent eyes of violet able to penetrate through the darkness. However, high pitched squeals suddenly removed whatever awkwardness she felt when her eyes were amazed to see tiny, minuscule sized people running out from under the clothes!

What madness was this? There weren't any tiny people! Pandora blinked momentarily, her eyes shocked at the sudden sight, her mind furiously running through what she had just seen. Quizzically, she looked up at the girl across from her to see what response she had or if the little people had just been a trick of the light.

However, the glint of cold steel snapped Pandora from her digression as years of swordsmanship jolted her back into reality. Narrowing her eyes, the mercenary suddenly saw the girl face her, hands already on a sharp scimitar. Instinctually, Pandora revealed her own blade, the mithril polish almost glowing in the moonlight, the sharp screech of metal on her scabbard as she brandished the blade. But instead of engaging in combat, Pandora was soon amazed to find a feather and book revealed instead of combat by the strange girl, her delicate fingers scribbling across the pale surface of the paper. It was too bad Pandora was illiterate.

Years of orkish training and childhood had eradicated any hope of literacy that lay dormant within her mind. Instead of a childhood learning to sew, to dance, or to sing, Pandora Skullshredder's past had been filled with combat, training, hunting, and raiding. So, it was not to her amazement when her befuddled look met the girl's eyes.

"Wat de hell iz dat?! Lookz lik pretteh scribbles teh meh!" muttered Pandora, her confused look attempting to decipher whatever had been written down. "Can't ye speak?"

However, Pandora's sudden berating of the girl was cut short when the hair on her nape began to rise, sending a tingling sensation throughout her body that screamed danger. She wasn't the only one when she saw that the girl across from her staring at a point behind her head. Slowly swiveling around, Pandora's eyes widened when she saw a grotesque behemoth standing right across from her, his entire body scarred beyond recognition. Instead of terror though, a small smirk crossed Pandora's pink lips as her still unsheathed sword was gripped by both her hands, her body crouching into a battle ready stance. This HAD to be the monster that she had been commissioned to bring back to the villagers.

"I found yeh," Pandora managed to utter before letting out a battle cry that pierced the air, her body charing through the short distance to the tower door, her sword raised.

"I found ye!"

Had he a god he trusted, the scar-ridden mountain might have prayed. Had he a mind he might have froze. Having neither the moment the warcry sounded, No Name merely reacted with the purity of a raging river- power suffused his limbs and he was dancing the dance of death again. He was a man but a man changed and was neither man nor beast but some strange and fanciful combination of the two. In a smooth, unmeditated motion he snaked forwards, each step slow to the initiates of battle- but with the smooth, frictionless neatness that many would aspire to. There was no hesitation, no awkward jerks between thought and action. The titan moved with the grace of something primitive, bestial and it seemed- for just a moment- that he would fall to four legs and completely abandon the pretense of having ever been human.

His eyes- or eye rather for he had but one- had glazed over and when he regarded his aggressor and each step that brought him closer changed neither the view nor the concentration- it was a virgin, unjaded window into the soul that seemed to be seeing Life for the first time and unwilling to take in less than all it had to offer. It did not see death in the fiery, moonstruck brand that the warrior-women held... or perhaps merely did not choose to acknowledge it. Nonetheless, a small hint of focus found its way onto its misty surface and it seemed that, for just a moment, a hint of recognition and regret had surfaced as it regarded the girl that was not fighting. But it was gone as soon as it had appeared: a tear banished to the wind and blamed on the dust.

No Name, the one that could laugh with his eyes as well as he could frown with them, had spent several hours laboring at fixing a door with hands so callused and ridiculously powerful that he had been forced to start from scratch on many occasions, but when he had finished it had been prouder than a child armed with fish and fishing pole. Proof of success had been accompanied by an unnecessary feast that had been shared with some of the wildlife. It had been the second best meal in his life- the first had been the one where he had been officially accepted into the Keepers. But this- this thing that knew how to fight and did not fight on the behest of No Name tore it from its moorings like an afterthought and with it, met the charge of the orc-raised women, the wooden, lovingly made door no better than a makeshift, ridiculously fashioned spear.

He had no warcry- for he had no voice to give them home and shelter but if his eyes could speak the story they might tell would be a short one. He was a man changed and that was all there was to it.

...She...can't...read...

Amani's face fell suddenly at this realization. If the warrior in front of her couldn't read, how was she supposed to explain herself, especially now that the warrior woman had drawn her sword. If she could help it, she really didn't want to fight. Her fighting skills were something that she preferred to use at a time of great need and not because of a petty misunderstanding. However, she was not naive. She knew that people had killed for less. If worse came to worst, she would need to defend herself.

She sighed at the warrior woman's question, pointing her finger at her mouth and slowly shaking her head. She was hoping that the girl would get it. She really didn't want to have to make complicated sign language about why she had to communicate by writing. It was easier to make people believe she was born mute. After all, the reason she couldn't speak was a long story, and her hand hurt from writing it down.

Before she could do anything, however, the warrior woman had charged towards the...the...was he a man? He certainly seemed taller than any man she had seen and she had never seen anyone so disfigured. Perhaps he was part of a race she was unfamiliar with? At any case, he was being charged at by the warrior woman. It looked like a battle would break out here tonight.

She frowned. She didn't want to take sides, but she didn't want to witness any fighting here either. As the man-giant ripped the door from its hinges, she drew her scimitar, the blade slicing through the air in a graceful arc as she stepped in the warrior's path, the clang of steel resounding throughout the night. She didn't want to see blood spilled tonight, even if she had to draw her sword to prevent it, especially since the woman's charge seemed rather baseless to her. She looked up at the woman, fire burning within the depths of her blue eyes as she mouthed the word 'stop'.

Pandora's war cry continued, her body's petite frame increasing in momentum until she became but a direct projectile towards the monster's body. Polished mithril glinted in the moonlight, sparkling like the stars above as the bounty hunter's mind slowed to a crawl. Each heart beat became a rhythm by which she began to swing her blade in a devastating slash.

However, at the apex of her swing, Pandora suddenly saw the curious girl that she had briefly seen rush into her direct path of destruction. With widened eyes, Pandora suddenly realized that no amount of willpower or muscle would be able to prevent the crippling strike as she saw the blade rush downwards. Air was instantly split apart as the blade came crashing towards the girl's torso. With a gasp of horror, Pandora prayed to whatever higher powers existed that the girl wouldn't die from the potential strike.

Clang! To the Skullshreddah's absolute surprise, the harsh clash of metal upon metal answered her thoughts as she saw the girl wield a simple scimitar, sparks flying as the two blades met. Flames burned within the depths of the frail girl's cerulean orbs, matching the exact same fury that Pandora's eyes held. Slowly, the girl mouthed a simple word. Stop

"Outta my way! Do ya know what ya' defendin'? Dat thing's a monsta! Got a bounteh on 'is head for killin' innocent men!" barked Pandora, spittle flying from her lips. With another growl, Pandora suddenly pivoted, seperating the two blades from their lock. Swiveling, Pandora soon turned into a whirlwind of chaos, her blade meeting the solid feel of wood.

Looking upwards, Pandora's scowl met the eye of the monstrous figure. Within the single orb however Pandora only saw the glaze of peace. The eyes of one too tired to fight. She had seen that look in so many of the orc veterans that had raised her. The unwillingness to battle. However, the thoughts suddenly did little to distract Pandora. "I've gotsa bounteh on ya and dere's no fuggin' way I'm walkin away tonight without it!

The stakes had changed but if the monster-man had acknowledged the presence of a new actor on the scene none of his outward motions betrayed such thought- the feet that danced on the hard packed earth did so in the same, awful, precise manner as they had when there was but one known adversary and the makeshift weapon, held as if it were the Spear of Aiglos itself, did not refused to seek sustenance in a different direction. Something inside him though, something that remembered what it was like to wake with the blood of innocents on his hands stirred uneasily even as it slumbered through the fight: a nightmare within a nightmare.

“…innocent men!” Came the harsh crawl of words. At the word ‘innocent’ the monster hesitated; a slow, timid light returning to his eyes before being extinguished as it noticed the flicker of moonlight upon naked metal.

The exchange between the two women, one of copper and the other of sand, took a fraction of an instant- the time for a brief exchange of intentions and a short dance, but no more than that. Then the fiery one escaped- grappling with chance and destiny as she turned her back on the windswept dales of an Enemy.

(Or a protector)

The crash between mithril and wood came with the expected results- but either the warrior woman was too canny or too skilful to allow her weapon to become stuck inside the wood and the… thing that No Name had become was, for a moment, set on his heels as the darting, writhing thing that was Vengeance tried to worm through his defences. Soon, small cuts, splinters and more branded the giant with the promise of yet more scars. If this continued the dance might have to be ended prematurely. But It had cunning. It had no need to retain its weapon, It had no need to check its blows. Once deprived of her shield (there was no better word for the sword) she would fall. And that would be the end of that. Once again, that… something, stirred uneasily.

So when the women took a breath, a small lull in the furious tempo of her blows to inform the giant of something- It whipped the board back and then this time hurled it forward. They were close, almost as intimately entwined as a pair of lovestruck snakes and he had angled it downwards, as a cook might grate his cheese. It had nothing against the warrior but if one sought to damage this body, It would not allow such a thing to occur.