Baugr the berserker, and his men happened on a section of the dwarf army lead by Agdil, his ancient and most hated enemy. This victory should have been his greatest moment of triumph, his most cherished memory, but the Dwarfs’ champion’s words still resound in his ears to mare his mood, “You may rejoice fool, but I have accomplished my duty; the army is safe behind our walls.”

The giant grunts and his men quickly put some distance, with no target his size, his sight naturally falls upon the Beastmen slaves. At the time when the dwarfs were away and their fortress week, he was leading a slaving raid in their territory, which makes it their fault if he missed the opportunity to destroy his foes once and for all.

Baugr grabs the small Rabbitman with his mighty hands and the cowardly creature makes no effort to either run or fight back. The sight of the pathetic weakling begging for mercy enrages him even more; there is no excuse for being this useless.

With a roar, he squeezes his hand tight and throws the wretch at his follower; the bastards are almost as bad if they can’t even face him in this mood

The colossus grabs another wretch, crush and squeeze it between his two mighty hands and puts the resulting bloody mess into his mouth. To no avail, even the taste of blood feels unsatisfying.

He could gather the giants and attack the fortress now, while the dwarfs are still unprepared and weary of their travels, but he knows that unlike him, the others haven’t gotten stronger and he cannot triumph over the fortress alone.

Unless... He’s gotten faster and more powerful, a lot; the ease with which he defeated his long-standing enemy is proof enough. ‘That was no lie’ think Baugr, ‘what I felt, killing those demons was really the feeling of me getting stronger, and I felt the same when I killed Adgil.’

The berserker looks at his bloodied hands, there was no such feeling when he killed the Beastmen. Was it because they were too weak or some other reasons?

He points at a giant at random, “You, spar with me, and you better make it interesting or I’ll rip you apart limb from limb!”

The poor victim does its best, but the mighty hero is too fast and powerful for him; his progress in the past few weeks leaves him leagues beyond his kin. With a smirk on his face, the champion suddenly bashes the other warrior in the head with his war-hammer, splattering chunks of brain and bone all over. There is no feeling of getting stronger either this time; it’s proof of his theory that only specific preys can strengthen him, but which?

Demons are some kind of immortal and strangely powerful and if one thinks of an abnormally strong opponent, Fae come to mind. It’s decided, he will lead his horde head south, first toward the great forest where lesser Fae reside, and if cannot get what he wants, in Faeheim proper.

<><><>

Sylva has Fragor drop her near the northern end of Faeheim; for some reason, she prefers traveling on the back of the sibling with the same sex as her current body. Her reason for traveling on foot for the remainder of the journey is simple; Dwarfs are secretive and wary of strangers, a powerful being riding on thunder would never get in without a fight.

Eight days of travel mean little to her since she needs neither sleep, food, nor water… Well, even if she doesn’t need to, she still partakes in the three for her enjoyment. Another option would have been to buy a mount or use her power to speed the trip, but the first case would have forced her to take care of the creature, and the second would cause some wariness in the dwarfs.

<><><>

Baugr spits the Dryad’s remains with a frustrated grunt; not only did it give no rush of power, but it even tastes like wood. Dryads, Sprites, demi-Elves, Dwarfs, Humans, Beastmen, none of them worked... The champion is proud and courageous, but even he hesitates setting foot in the immortal forest; it’s not like he would lose to any run-of-the-mill goblin or elf, but the lords are in a different dimension, they walked the earth long before the first giants and have accumulated power all this long.

He thinks for a while and decides to first lay in ambush next to the enchanted road connecting Dvergrtorg with Faeheim.

<><><>

Sylva senses a champion heading toward her and it is way more powerful than the human and the elf; he must have consumed numerous demons and even other champions to reach this level.

‘It has accumulated countless curses. I doubt my magic could do block his attacks.’

The champion must have felt her presence too because it’s approaching fast. It’s a giant, a descendant of the earth elemental just like the Dvergr, but whereas the smaller one took on the creative aspects, the bigger ones only crave destruction.

<><><>

Baugr runs toward the tiny Fae, the creature cannot escape his speed and soon he will feast on its tender flesh. The champion is easily overcome by blood-lust, but in his long existence, he learned that small beings can be deceivingly fast, so just in case, he orders his men to encircle the prey and prevent its escape.

<><><>

Inimica is thrilled, last time she could not do as she wished, leading to both her need for theatrics and revenge remaining unfulfilled. Sure, the behemoth is a threat, assuming he can reach her, and she’s not about to give him a chance.

A first shock wave brings the champion to the ground, then two more shatter his tibia and knees. The mighty creature’s face shows surprise, but no fear. Not yet; he hasn’t been able to proceed in what just happened. The behemoth tries to get up again but fall flat on his face with a cry of frustration.

His companions, rather than come to his help attempt to run away, only to find themselves stuck behind an invisible barrier.

Sylva walks slowly towards her prey whistling some ancient opera; this one will pay for all the other before she’s done, he’ll understand what it’s like to be a prisoner in your own body, to see yourself robbed of everything without yet unable to lift a finger to protect yourself.

“What a delightful encounter, just as you were waiting for me, champion, I too was also waiting for one like you.”

She punctuates her sentence with a slap so powerful it knocks his face in the dirt. At least, it’s made to look like this, but in truth, it’s impossible to achieve this kind of result with her frame; she synchronized a spell with her slap for that purpose. It’s stupid, but as the Devil, apart from dying at the hand of a hero and making sure the demon did their jobs, she only was allowed innocuous theatrics, and managing her collection.

His legs broken, his face stuck in the dirt, the champion swings his war-hammer blindly at an incredible speed, and an instant later the mighty weapon crashes in the trees spraying woods and blood along the way.

Another powerful slap turns the colossus’ head around, and a delicate voice asks him, “Pray tell, was it what you intended?”

There, at the end of a line of broken trees, he can see his hammer lies, still in the grasp of his severed arm. Terror overwhelms the hero, he screams for help as he tries to crawl away from the monster, but another slap stops him in his tracks.

She clicks her tongue, “I can’t have you moving around when you’re hurt; at this rate, you’re going to kill yourself, and we can’t have that, can we?”

“Help me, bastard, come help me!” screams Baugr at his horde.

The others don’t even look back, they’re still beating on the invisible barrier in a desperate attempt to break out before it’s too late, but their hopes get dashed when the Fae leaves their leader alone to walk toward them.

Fearing its impending doom, the nearest gargantuan creature flail at the approaching Fae with a cry of terror, only to find the massive weapons stuck in the air after hitting another invisible barrier. The others watch in disbelief as the humanoid, barely bite-sized, grabs their companion with her tiny hands and throw him at their chief with a jerking motion.

Obviously, she cheated again, but the display achieved the desired result; the champion prostrates himself on the ground crying. Madness flashes in Inimica’s eyes as she smiles; she thinks, ‘Just a little more and he’ll understand.’

The second giant falls on the leader’s broken legs, and he screams in pain, that’s a good start but it needs more despair. For good measure, she comments loudly, “Two points for an already broken part, ten for a new one, and fifty for the head.” To increase the hopelessness, even more, she makes a good show of scanning the surrounding and counting the giant, “Thirteen more balls to go. I better make them count or I won’t break the sixty points barrier.”

The others colossi, throw themselves to the ground to beg for mercy, but Sylva has no interest in mere balls; destiny and their leader are to blame for bringing them to the wrong place at the wrong moment.

<><><>

Two days later, Inimica presents herself at the door of Dvergrborg, the fortress-capital of the Dvergr and the place of residence of her target. The dwarf sentries are immediately circumspect of such a powerful Fae traveling without a retinue; Fae lords are overly proud beings and they wouldn’t be seen dead without announcers heralding their magnificence.

The creature addresses them simply, “I’m Silva Inimica and I would like to commission a work from Eitralf the jeweler.”

The guards are in a bind, her kind is volatile and short-tempered, but letting her inside would at best cost them their jobs, at worst, their lives.

“We are sorry, we heard nothing of your coming, your lordship. Please, let us notify the king, so he can offer you the reception you deserve.”

The delay annoys Inimica, but after all, she’s done, she will not lose her temper and put at risk her chance to meet with the famous craftsman. Now is the time to bring up the champion, she healed giant and let him flee home, both out of fear of what could happen if she killed a champion, and also in hopes of using him as a bargaining chip.

“On my way here, I encountered a band of giants, but their leader escaped despite his wounds. He fled in this direction.”

Hope mix with the fear in the sentries’ eyes, “Was there anything special about this giant?”

Again, Sylva’s lack of interest in other comes to haunt her, but she at least remembers him being a good half taller than the other, “He was at least two heads taller and much more resilient.”

“I’ll be back in an instant, please let me call his majesty.”

Leaving the champion alive was the right choice as he might be key to amicable relations.

Not even ten minutes later, the King himself comes to meet her with a special retinue of bodyguards, all the more impressive than the other; with their equipment and number, they could probably bring down the giant with minimal losses.

“Let me welcome you to our humble home, your lordship. I heard you were looking for one of our craftsmen, and my people will be delighted to bring you to him later. If you don’t mind though, I would like to hear more about those giants first.”

“I don’t mind, even if I don’t really see what’s so interesting about those wretches. If it’s important to you though, I will oblige; days ago, a band of giant attempted to ambush me, but I had seen them coming, so instead, it was them who fell in my traps.”

The dwarfs nod, the story makes sense, Faes’ traps and curses are deadly, and it becomes even truer when their lives are in danger.

“The smaller ones all got caught and died, but the bigger one outran me despite his broken leg and a severed arm. All I can say is that he must be very weakened and that he was fleeing northward towards the mountains.”

She healed him, although just barely enough to limp back home; in his state, he probably barely exited the forest by now.

“We are thankful, your lordship, if this giant really is the one we think, then he did us a great deal of harm. I’ll organize an expedition to hunt him down, in the meantime,” he points at two of his bodyguards, “these gentlemen will guide you in our city and bring you wherever you need.”

“I’m thankful.” answers Inemica, and she means it; having a guide inside the confusing fortress is a real boon.

<><><>

I guide her lordship towards the craftsmen’s quarters while Girmr takes the back. Being sandwiched between two fully armed warriors doesn’t seem to bother the Fae in the slightest and not knowing whether if it’s out of confidence or due to a lack of hostility makes me nervous.

If like she said, she came on top of an encounter with Baugr’s warring band, then her aplomb makes sense, although it’s even more frightening.

I make small talk, to get a feel for her character, “Eitralf lost his son recently, he might not be as ready to take on some new work as he says.”

“I see, I’ll be careful.” answers miss Sylva.

We encounter a bunch of human girls in a corridor and her lordship pauses to look at them.

“I suppose they were the reason you went to war with the humans?”

“Indeed, even if they’re not from our species, they’re our sons’ wives, and they were treated horribly.”

An unexpected crystalline laugh comes from the Fae, “I didn’t think someone would be dumb enough to attempt the same thing so soon after; the records must still exist.”

Her comment makes little sense to me, but I suppose it’s because I don’t know much about outside history. I answer with a vague, “If your lordship says so.”

Her lordship stops again, this time to look at a sculptor’s atelier.

“These pieces are beautifully detailed and give a lively feeling. I lost similar pieces a long time ago, and I would love to see them remade. Does this place take on commissioned works?”

“I’m sorry your lordship, I do not know. Let me ask.”

I run into the shop, and grab the sculptor, “There’s an awfully powerful Fae with a request for you, drop everything you have on hand and do it; you’ll be compensated!”

“You’re sir Gel, right? One his majesty protector? It’s not like you to be so agitated.”

“It’s unverified yet, but Baugr may have run away from her, and frankly, I’m inclined to believe it!”

“The insane Berserker ran from someone? Spirit of the earth, what did I do wrong? Why did it have to be me? There are better sculptors around!”

“Not my problem if you want to blame someone, blame yourself; she liked your display.”

“She liked it? Well…” Pride overcomes the fear in the artisan’s eyes, “What’s the model?”

“No clue, come with me.” I drag the artisan out of his shop and present him to her lordship, who brings two... Pictures? No, pictures neither move nor feel so alive... Two living images of serpentine dragon-like creatures.

The sculptor gasps at the two representations with envy, “Are these the subjects? Can I have the model?”

Her lordship stares in the emptiness and drags out two thick Mithril coins from thin air. The two coins flash brightly and the images move to float over them.

“The two coins and the spell are your payment, do a good job, and there will be four more.”

What a lucky bastard, two were already overpaid; Mithril is worth twenty times its weight in gold.

More than ever, the craftsman looks like he’s stuck between heaven and hell, but his answer is one of confidence, “I’ll do it, I’ll do piece beyond anything you’ve seen.”

Miss Inimica seems pleased by his response, but her answer, echoes like a warning, “These two are very important to me, so for our own sake, you better deliver on your promise.”

The sculptor nods gravely, and the Fae smiles and points at us, “Good, I’ll let these two know where to send the finished piece.” She nods and turns toward us, “Next is the Jeweler, gentlemen.”

As we head toward Eitralf’s atelier, her lordship explains she’ll pick up the pieces from a demi-Elf shop in Mannhtorg, and that the jeweler knows the place.

The craftsman looks like what you would expect from someone who lost his only child, and the entry of the powerful Fae barely makes him react.

“You are Eiltralf, right? My… Family used to own a few of your creations, but most of them got stolen. There is one in particular that I want to see remade, it was called Brisingamen.”

“My masterpiece has a long history of theft.” mocks the jeweler.

“I punished some of them or their descendants, but I never recovered my properties, and therefore I’d like you to remake it with this as the centerpiece.”

She brings out a beautiful crystal shining with the color of the sun, and the Dvergr all stare with fascination. After a few seconds, Eitralf comments, “There’s a powerful curse on it, are you sure it’s safe for me to manipulate it?”

“It is, the curse is the whole point; any fool touching the necklace without the owner’s authorization will feel the burn of the sun.”

“Brisingamen shone like a bright fire, but this one will beam like the sun; I accept the work.”

“We haven’t discussed the details yet, not even payment.”

The Dvergr laughs heartily, “You’re right, this isn’t like me to forget! I must have been far too eager to start with this one… Let’s talk business and specifics then, like which metal and stones do you want to use?”