The first part of this chapter chronicles the death of a Goliath seer, an ages-old woman who unfortunately became inhabitated by a nefarious spirit. Her exorcising death shook Warchief Thomtham’s confidence and made his already awful week even worse. The next part of the chapter details Thomtham’s conversation with his friend Pawluk, Warchief of the neighboring Stoneskull tribe.
PRELUDE, Chapter 03: Among Giants (continued)
“Your seer’s death was not your fault, Thomtham,” said Pawluk, warchief of the northern Stoneskull tribe. The two sat across from each other, over a meal of roasted meats and porridge. Thomtham had invited his old friend to break bread and discuss inter-tribal matters across the mountains’ northern and southern borders. Following Ama’s tragic death, Warchief Thomtham decided the infant had become a Goliath mystery, not just one for he and his tribe to decipher. Pawluk constantly engorged himself — smacking and slurping — obviously focusing his attention on his lower jaw’s chewing. To be fair, it would be rude to not eat the food before him. Pawluk listened but he just couldn’t be bothered with such delicacy before him. “She knew the risks of tapping into the Earthloom when she undertook her charge.”
“I don’t blame myself, Pawluk,” began Thom as he snapped a bone and sapped it of its meat, “I just can’t seem to enforce order, even within my own tribe!”
“All we warchiefs experience this constantly, Thomtham, you know that. What about your lieutenants? Surely they can keep the peace within the tents while you concentrate on larger problems.”
“They mourn the loss of their brothers. Marauders, days ago.”
Pawluk snorted and laughed, “Ha! Do what I did: shorten the requisite mourning period. Dire circumstances, warchief.”
“Perhaps you feel okay abandoning the rites of our forefathers, neighbor. However, if I start tightening the rules already in place under our current martial law, I fear I’d be adding ‘riot’ to my list of troubles.” Pawluk merely cocked an eyebrow at the previous statement and continued eating his food and downing his water in gustatory silence.
“How’s your son?” asked Thomtham after a few moments of chewing and slurping.
“Ah. Gorgon is well. Just turned five and already is proving himself with spear, blade, and bow…” Pawluk trailed off and returned in a more reverent voice, “Always, I am sorry for the loss of your son, Thomtham. That I am serious about. No man should outlive his son: the one thing within the Earthloom that always keeps me perplexed. My respects.”
“Thank you, neighbor,” said Thomtham. A warm smile wrapped around his face as he then said, “I suppose I should be grateful that I have a human son to make up half his memory!”
Pawluk spat his food across the table, and the two erupted with raucous laughter. Goliaths were introspectively proud, but the one feature they always held above others is their physical stature… especially over humans.
“Indeed,” began Pawluk, “perhaps you could raise the infant as a pet and sheer his ‘fur’ to keep you warm in the winters!”
More laughter ensued from both men, and, for a moment, Thomtham reveled in the relief that the humor between good friends can provide. Pawluk allowed a few more moments of mirth before he interjected.
“All joking aside, warchief. What do you plan to do with the infant? You of course have access to my seer if you seek more guidance from our ancestral spirits.”
“Thanks,” said Thomtham, “but I daren’t subject her to the same potential fate as Ama.” Thomtham cleared his throat. “As for the child, I still haven’t decided what to do yet. We buried his mother’s carcass yesterday, and my wife actually held him during the ceremony, swaddled in a pelt she wove for our child. She has even begun nursing him.”
“Honorable of her,” interrupted Pawluk, ensuring his friend did not have to continue. “I’ve always admired her; you should be proud.”
“Yes. I am. So, for now, it looks as if the infant is in our stead.”
“And you will raise him–”
“As my father raised me,” retorted Thomtham. “He will be treated no differently than Krusk would have been.”
“Hrm… are you sure that won’t bring scorn from your people?”
Just as Pawluk finished his last word, Thomtham hurled his clay bowl to the ground, smashing it to pieces. He threw his trunk arms wide, displaying his impressive wingspan and howled, “What do you suggest I do, Pawluk? Kill the child? Take him into the wilderness and pray the same owlbears return for the kill?!”
Pawluk was taken aback at the warchief’s furied and sardonic response. He knew that his friend was under immense pressure yet was surprised at Thomtham’s sudden rash temper. He rarely raised his voice unless he truly was conflicted or tormented. Pawluk lowered his head to the left a little and formed pity in his eyes.
–
All images are copyright of the artists.
All Dungeons & Dragons references and images are copyright of Wizards of the Coast, LLC.
Narrative material and story are copyright of Robert C. Beshere.