The Devil Woman's Squire

[Runt]

April 9th

The ground vibrated ever so slightly as Runt made his way to the gates of Battlefield Park. His lumbering steps were determined but slow, a commitment to the action but a clear lack of enthusiasm. The hand-crafted three-axe-bladed mace was held in his right hand, the head of it resting slightly above his shoulder. He had left the sack in a storage room at The Outback and the shield - the one he had carried everywhere for months - was noticeably absent.

Anfel... Anfel... Anfel Van ... Anfel... Anfel... Anfel Van

The isejotunen chants continued to sing through his veins, albeit more subdued since he had met with his hun-jarl and Matt Sih-mon. As the foreboding gates came into view Runt stopped, tensing as he saw far more activity than expected. The number of young women around this area seemed... unusual.

But as unusual as Runt himself was, the menacing women patrolling the grounds in jumpsuits, biker jackets and surgical masks did not seem to be surprised by him. In fact, they expected him. One of their number reached through the gate to unchain it as she called out: "Kyojin wa koko ni iru!"

The crumbling old walls around the manor had been filled back in since Jonn and Runt's misadventure here, topped with brambles dotted with belladonna flowers; and each of the young women had at least one weapon worn out in the open. The masked one holding the gate open for him wore two knives on thigh holsters, and there was a suspicious lump under her jacket. She didn't touch any of her weapons, though, simply staring at Runt and pointing at the old manor house that lay ahead of him.

Lifting his chest Runt stood his full height - which was a foot more than even a few months ago - and began walking through the gate. Just as Runt was about to cross the threshold he paused and reached into a small pocket on the boars-hide vest and pulled out the rune stone he had bought a few weeks ago. It felt rough in his hands, and bits of the rune flaked off as he ran his thumb over the surface. Looking at it in disgust he tossed it over his shoulders. The cheap stone clattered across the street before it settled in a gutter. Great strides took him into the baronial land and up to the armoury. Not sure if he should knock or wait, he simply just stood there eyeing the door with a dark, sombre look.

The witch must have seen him coming, because she stepped out moments after he stopped. She was dressed for the surprisingly warm weather in a black tank top and jeans, and her boots were muddy, caked with the damp earth that was abundant here. Drachenbane was strapped to her back, its ruby-studded hilt peeking over her shoulder. When the doors opened Runt tensed, his muscles preparing to flee. He quickly noticed the sword strapped on Mallory's back instead of in her hands which put him more at ease.

"Hello, Runt." Her tone was calm, measured but not unfriendly. Her eyes fell to his shoulders and arms, then back up to his face, quiet a moment before asking him: "How are your wounds?"

His scratches from the thorns were mere scars over his arms and legs while most of the blisters were scabbed over - a few stubborn ones remained dark purple puffy welts as his body fought off infections. Bandages covered the wounds in his shoulder and across his back so it was hard to tell if they were healing as expected. Instead of acknowledging her question Runt looked straight ahead, jaw set. "RUNT 'ERE TO WORK FER DEVIL WOMAN. FER 'ONOR OF CLAN SIH-MON."

Mallory's expression tightened visibly. She turned away from him to pull the door shut, then looked up at him again. "What name do you like people to call you?"

Still staring ahead of him Runt shrugged. "I IS RUNT." The first rule Runt learned about devils arts was not tell a devil your real name.

"And I'm Mallory," she replied, folding her arms. "That's what I like to be called, because in addition to being a person who has horns, I also have a name. If I call you Runt, will you call me Mallory?"

He shifted awkwardly from one foot to another, finally looking down at Mallory. His eyes first rested on the horns and then finally met her eyes. "MAALREE." Something crossed his eyes, a memory maybe, and he opened his mouth ever so slightly as if to say something more but then clamped his jaw shut. He nodded again. "MAALREE."

Mallory smiled, genuinely pleased. "Thank you, Runt." With that, she stepped past him, angling away from the officer's quarters that served as the 'manor' and heading for the remains of a fire in an open space between a few outbuildings. The earth was wet, but the large stones laid around it were relatively clean and dry, perfect for sitting on. "Was there something you wanted to ask?" she said as she picked a seat for herself, then opened a hand to welcome him to choose his own.

A few shuffling steps allowed him to easily keep pace with Mallory, following her to the ashes of the open fire. Runt picked a spot across from her and, reluctantly, sat down. "DID MAALREE CURSE RUNT?"

"No," Mallory said, with a shake of her head. "I did curse Jonn to feel the pain he causes, for a time... but I didn't curse you, Runt." She frowned at him. "Why do you ask?"

With all the social grace of a fat duckling, Runt ignored her question, focussing instead on her answer. The spirits in his blood still whispered to attack, to fight, to avenge but he ignored their underlying battle rage. They did not seem to burn with hot fire, but rather the icy thrill of the isejotunen. In short, he believed her. "WHAT RUNT DO AS MAALREE SQUIRE?"

"Train with me, and do your best to become a Warlord -- that's how both of my previous Squires left my service," the witch explained. "Any time you want to fight, if I can make the time, I'll fight you. In exchange... just try to have my back. If you see someone messing with the Battlefield Park skybox, or with the manor here, try to stop them or at least let me know. But the biggest part of it is going out there, being active, representing Battlefield Park and its Baroness in the rings, and training with me," she added, dipping her head to him.

Ice-blue eyes fixed on her, waiting to hear more. When nothing else came he nodded, and then his eyes drifted around the baronial grounds. Looking for something. When he was done assessing his surroundings he stared back at her. "RUNT FIGHT FER CLAN SIH-MON. AN' FOR MAALREE. BUT RUNT NO FIGHT WID... DEVILS ARTS. MAALREE NOT USE DEVILS ARTS ON RUNT."

"I promised Matt, and I'll promise you -- I won't use magic on you. And I'm putting a lot of trust in you when I say that -- trusting you not to hurt me, and not to hurt my friends, because magic is how I usually protect them." She lifted her chin, studying him intently as she added, "Can I ask you something?"

Shifting awkwardly Runt set the mace down beside him instead of continuing to hold it up over his shoulder but kept it in easy reach. "ASK."

"Why are you so..." Mallory tried to think about how to put it, about all the times she had seen him react to magic, before she decided, "...against magic?"

"BECAUSE DEVILS ARTS - MADGE-ICK IS MAUG. VERY MAUG."

"Maug? I don't understand." None of the languages she knew shared much with Giant.

"IS BAD. MADGE-ICK IS BAD." He said this simply but with great certainty, not as one who preached dogma but of personal conviction.

“Why?” she asked, just as simply.

Runt eyed her carefully. He thought about Matt and the trust he had in this hun-van. He looked away out towards the wall where he and Jonn crossed earlier. "ODERS USE MADGE-ICK TO 'URT ISEJOTUNEN. IT IS SNEAKY AND TRIXIE. 'ARD TO DEFEND." Then he locked eyes with Mallory. "RUNT NOT BE SLAVE TO MADGE-ICK". A silent, unspoken 'ever again' hung in the air between them.

Mallory met his gaze, and after a long moment, nodded slowly. “I don’t know if our experiences compare... but I was claimed by magic for most of my life. Someone claimed my soul, and... came to collect it a couple years ago. I had to do everything he asked, for the... brief time I was in his custody.” She had to do the math first, and surprised herself with the answer: “Only three weeks.”

A cold stare met her gaze. "ONE SEASON."

She nodded again, but her eyes had slid away from his. “It felt like so much longer, but... yeah. It wasn’t. I was lucky.” She picked up a small stick from the ground, picking at the bark with her fingers. “He was a devil — a literal devil. He took my name from me when I was a baby. But on the day he was supposed to... sacrifice me... my friends came for me. And I killed him.” Her gaze slid back, looking at Runt out of the corner of her eye.

Runt scowled looking away. "DEVIL TRAP MAALREE WID DEVILS ARTS. MAALREE KILL WID MADGE-ICK. ALL MAUG. RUNT SAVE RUNT. NO DEVILS ARTS. NO MADGE-ICK." He stood abruptly, shuffling a bit from one foot to the other. "ALL MAUG."

“Hm.” There was a lot the witch wanted to say, but had to remind herself of Runt’s comfort zone, which he appeared to be far outside of. “Behind the armory are two blunted swords. No magic — just naked steel. Can you grab them and bring them here?” she asked as she rose from her seat.

He grunted affirmatively and lumbered in the direction indicated. There was some growling from behind the armory but eventually Runt came out and tossed both swords somewhat carelessly in front of Mallory. Rather than anger, the display simply got an angled grin out of the witch. "Well, that's a waste... because you'll have to pick one of those back up, unless you want to practice bare-handed," she said as she scooped one up. Giving it a couple flourishes to test its weight.

With a mix of skepticism and caution Runt eyed the sword, which he eventually crouched down to pick up. The hilt was clearly too small in his hand. As he swung the blade around a scowl formed on his face. "IS TOO LIGHT."

"Then we'll start by going over how to counter. You don't need a heavy weapon for a quick strike. After that's covered? We'll find you a heavier weapon, and go over how to stop a counter. The sport's packed with more veteran duelists than not." She swung high, then low, then lunged at the air in a series of well-timed attacks. "Ready?"

The massive shoulders rolled in ambivalent agreement. Mallory went through a series of maneuvers, having him strike with an attack and she would demonstrate a counter. At first, it was slow. Mallory went through the drills with painstaking deliberation. However, as they worked it out their practice became more fluid. It was efficient but not very energetic. Runt didn't roar, growl or give any of his usual battle cries.

He was clearly holding back, even in their training.

((Co-written with Mallory))

[Runt]

Mallory was waiting for Runt in the kitchen of the “manor” — the officer’s quarters for the company of soldiers that once occupied the armory, back when the majority of its occupants were still among the living. There was a TV on the counter where she and Runt had watched old fights before, but the two tapes she’d set beside it were recent — 4/11 and 4/12.

There were three items on the table in front of her: a lancewood bow with Scots Gaelic inscriptions, a sturdy but well-balanced dirk, and a letter sealed with the symbol of a horned heart.

Due to his growing size, it was always awkward for Runt to navigate the indoors - and he frequently asked if they could watch the old fights outside but Mallory insisted that the box of pictures - not devils arts - only worked inside. Stooping beneath door frames and squeezing through some of the narrower hallways he eventually made his way to the kitchen. With no chair big enough for him to sit on, not that he’d use one anyway, Runt sat cross-legged on the ground. As Runt sat down Mallory noted that his clothing no longer fit. The vest was painfully short and didn’t come close to reaching around his chest while the pants were far too snug and it all looked very uncomfortable.

“Maat stig.” Good day. The witch had been about to pick up one of the tapes, but stopped to look Runt over. Namely his clothes. “Do you have larger clothes?” she asked him bluntly, though she suspected not, already reaching for the letter to make an amendment.

He looked down at his vest and breeches and gave a slow shake of his head. “NO.” As if to emphasize the point, the recently repaired cut on the back of his vest gave an ominous rip. “VEST BE MAAT, BUT TOO SMALL.” A pained look crossed his face as he gently touched a few of the ornaments on his vest - a translucent stone sewn over a pocket, small tusks used as buttons, patches of fur rimming the bottom and pieces of white antler dangling haphazardly from thick twine. The last adornment he lightly handled was a four-inch length of braided auburn hair that hung from his shoulder toward his heart. “RUNT NOT WANT NEW VEST, BUT IT NOT CLOSE.”

“Well... maybe Koyliak can put those pieces,” and Mallory gestured to the adornments, “into a new vest for you, or alter it or make it adjustable. I’m asking her in this letter,” she added as she broke the seal and penned a postscript, “and you can give it to her along with this bow and dirk, for her and Matt.” She rose from her seat and dropped a small stick of wax into a spoon, then took it to the stove to melt.

“Did you hear about Michelle’s challenge against Jonn on Thursday night?”

“JONN FIGHT MIH-’ELL AND WIN.”

Mallory nodded. “Are you familiar with the role of caller?” She returned to the table, dripping fresh wax onto the folded letter.

“DEY DECLARE DE VICTOR.” He stretched out a long leg and pressed it against the wall opposite.

“I called their challenge,” she offered simply as she stamped the seal. Then she pushed the tape in and pressed play.

The audio was noisy, but the focus was clear, picking up with Jonn’s last swing and Mallory’s voice declaring the results. About a minute passed, Jonn and Michelle speaking occasionally as she sheathed her weapons. Mallory could be seen walking over, looking at her phone and speaking. Jonn looking between them—

—and then the attack, Michelle dropping from the blow to the head, Mallory grabbing his arm and taking a dirk beside her collarbone with a spray if blood. Jonn advanced on Mallory after she fell, then stopped as others closed in.

Mallory pressed pause, and let out a soft sigh. A frown lingered on her brow. Her eyes were restless before she looked back at Runt again.

The expression on his face was inscrutable. Runt initially wanted to applaud Jonn’s quick attack. From an objective combat point of view, the skill and speed with which he struck Michelle and got inside Mallory’s defences were impressive, very maat. But one quick look at Mallory made it clear that response would not be wise. The giant remained still except for the rise and fall of his chest. After a long moment, he simply said “MAALREE 'UNT JONN.”

“I did. I retaliated the next morning,” Mallory replied, looking at the next tape, though wary of showing him directly in the moment. Violence had triggered his rage before. “Matt banished Jonn to Renegade for his actions and put a bounty on his title, and he responded by insulting Matt... so I put up a bounty of my own, waited for Jonn to respond — and shot him with a crossbow.”

She folded her hands together, turning to look at him. “I was furious. I wanted to kill him before he killed me or anyone else. But I failed... and I think I only made things worse. I worry that hunting Jonn will only make things worse. It’s why I took down my bounty... while he’s off in New Haven, building an army.”

Runt nodded slowly. “JONN ‘AVE VAN DER, VAN DAT FIGHT. RUNT SEE DEM.” He shifted a bit, feeling tight in this closed space. “MATT NOT WANT JONN LOYAL. MAALREE MAD AT JONN. JONN MAD AT MAALREE. IS ALL MAUG.” He frowned and shook his head. “DIS BAD FER RUNT.”

Mallory started to speak, paused as she looked at him, then started again. “Let’s go outside. It’s cramped in here. Can you get the weapons, please?” she asked as she stood and pocketed the letter.

Shifting into a standing crouch Runt turned around and started lumbering out. Mallory was used to his lack of response. He didn’t say ”Yes ma’am” or ”Sure Baroness”, he just went up and did the things she asked. This time, he just started lumbering out of the kitchen. “Runt...?” she ventured uncertainly as he moved to leave.

As he began to exit the kitchen he grumbled back “RUNT GET WEAPONS FROM ARM’RY.”

“Ah. I meant these two,” she gestured towards the dirk and longbow. “I’d like you to bring them to Clan Simon after we’re done talking, if that’s alright.”

Reaching with a long arm he picked up the longbow and dirk, nodding affirmatively. “RUNT TAKE DEM TO MATT SIH-MON OR HUN-JARL?”

Mallory thought about it as she slipped out ahead of him. She considered a place for them to sit, then said, “The hun-jarl.” She selected a couple of large rocks near the forge, where it sounded and smelled like someone was working, and took a seat.

Not one for the heat Runt sat as far away from the forge as he could, warily eyeing the location where the sounds came from. He carefully set the longbow down but paused to examine the dirk. “IS MAAT” he pronounced before setting it down beside him. Then he set his ice-blue eyes on his… master? Chief? There was no word in giant to adequately describe his relationship with Mallory. “MAALREE IS NOT PLEASED WID RUNT.”

“No, it’s not that,” the witch shook her horned head. “I’m displeased with the man who came to my manor once as a guest who received a gift, then again as a trespasser and asked if he should kill the people here... then stabbed me in the neck after he insisted I be the one to call Michelle’s challenge, and no one else. You didn’t do those things, Runt.” She turned to look him in the eye. “But I am worried.”

Runt just stared back at her. As a marauder, there wasn’t really much talk besides who they were going to steal from and how they would fight. When he was a slave conversation was never expected, let alone wanted. Matt was never one to talk much beyond instruction when they practice, and Jonn was always brief and to the point. Mallory liked to use a lot of words.

Mallory looked at the ground for a moment, thinking, before she caught his eye again. “Have you been training with Jonn? At New Haven?”

“YES. TWO DAYS. JONN ‘ELP RUNT BE STRONGER. RUNT ‘URT MANY OF DE MEN.”

“Did what happened last night, with the chanting and the frost, happen when you fought them?”

Runt glanced down at his hands, flexing them open and closed. “YES. DE POWER OF DE SKY SPIRITS BE IN RUNT.” He looked back up at Mallory. “IT FEEL MAAT. MOST MAAT.”

“Your ancestors.” She nodded. “Taneth mentioned... there was another time that you fought Jonn, and you couldn’t stop fighting... and that nearly happened again last night. It takes great strength to be blessed by your ancestors, Runt, but it also takes great strength to stop when your fight is over. But you stopped at the end of our fight last night,” she added, “and that was very honorable. I want you to work on that — asking your ancestors for their blessing, and telling them when it’s time to stop. Do you understand?” she asked.

Large drops of sweat fell to the ground as Runt shook his head. “RUNT NOT KNOW 'OW. DE SKY SPIRITS, DEY MAKE ICE FIRE IN RUNT 'EART. RUNT SEE ONLY SLAAG.”

Mallory listened as Runt spoke, but seeing him sweat, she turned and called, “Hiwokesu!” A female voice — not Izumi’s — answered indistinctly, and with the sound of hissing steam, the fires of the forge went out.

“Yet you stopped last night.”

His thick eyebrows furrowed in thought. He remembered the ice fire and the desire to kill Jonn and Mallory. But he also remembered thinking of his clan. His hun-jarl, and Matt and how he wanted to honor them. “MAALREE STRONG. TELL RUNT 'E IS OF CLAN SIH-MON. RUNT LOYAL TO CLAN. LOYAL TO PROMISE.”

“When your ancestors talk to you, talk back. Tell them about your honor, about the strength of your loyalty.” She shifted, then held out the letter to Runt. “Take this to the hun-jarl, along with my gifts,” tipping her horned head to the weapons. “And Runt?”

He stood, took the letter, and grunted: “YES, MAALREE.” It was more of a statement than a question - an agreement to whatever she was about to ask.

“Be careful around Jonn. You protect me,” a statement in kind — he’d escorted her home last night, “and he still wants to end my life... he has an army... and he’s a skilled hunter. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

Taking the longbow, dirk and letter in hand, he grinned broadly at Mallory. “RUNT MIGHTY ‘UNTER OF DE SKY SPIRITS. RUNT NOT GET ‘URT.” With lumbering steps, he turned around and headed towards Clan Simon.

((Co-written with Mallory))

[Mallory]

Dear Matt and Koyliak (henceforth Clan Simon),

I’ve sent Runt to deliver these two pieces from my armory, both of them recently restored. May they serve you well.

I’m also writing this to let you know that I’ve seen Runt’s recent post to the corkboard in Jonn’s hand, and assuming you’ve seen the same, I’m asking that you give Runt your compassion and understanding. I don’t think he fully understands the situation we’ve found ourselves in.

I’m writing this letter before he visits me at the manor, and I’m showing him the tape of Michelle’s challenge and explaining everything as soon as he arrives.

I’ll also do my best to warn him about Jonn. If the news from New Haven and the way he looks at me are any indication, this is far from over.

I’ll be relieved when it finally is, but in the meantime, I’m ready to do whatever needs to be done when he challenges you, Matt.

Sincerely,
Mallory

P.S. Runt is outgrowing his clothes. I hope this isn’t too presumptuous, Koyliak, but would you be willing to make him new vests and trousers? He’s fond of his current vest, or at least its adornments, if they can be used.

If you are willing, I will gladly pay for the work and materials. If not, I understand, and I’ll still make sure he is provided with new clothes.

[Runt]

It wasn’t Battlefield Park where Mallory chose to meet Runt this time, but Kabuki Street -- a long, busy street in Dockside, near Little Korea, and home of the rengou-kai whose leader she had married. A delinquent in a black jumpsuit and surgical mask had found the young ice giant, and led the way to an alley just off the thoroughfare packed with vendors and human(ish) traffic. There was a small public garden between two apartment buildings, and the witch was waiting.

She sat on a park bench that had been set up near the back. She looked alive and well, though a little pale, and the lump of bandages on her left side was visible through her tank top.

Runt lumbered up to the bench but didn't sit down. As he looked at her pale face and bandages the color of his blue tattoos shifted slightly, from a deep ocean blue to the bright cold waters of a glacier fed lake. “HAH! MAAL-REE ‘AVE ISEJOTUNEN SKIN.” The simple mirth gave way to a more sombre expression as he held the crude mace at the ready “WHO RUNT GO 'URT FOR MAAL-REE?”

Mallory laughed at the unexpected joke, though she tried not to laugh too hard, mindful of the cut. It would heal faster than it would with most beings, but she would need a few more days. Her gaze ticked away from Runt as she recounted the events in the head, her expression troubled. “I was going from the Twilight Isle to the Arena, to stand for Matt and fight Jonn. But someone wearing a disguise stopped me at the bar, and stabbed me when I got close. He chased me through the forest, and when I found him again...” She took a long breath, then met his eye again. “I took care of him. But before I did, I asked him who he was, and who sent him.”

The giants jaw settled into a deep frown as he remembered bits and pieces of the talks last night at the challenge. “ASSASSIN. JONN SEND ASSASSIN TO KILL MAAL-REE.” Seeing the confirming look in Mallory's face Runt rumbled, then growled then let out a roar and smashed his mace into the ground near them.

Mallory watched him for a moment as his roar echoed up and down the alley. The security delinquent standing nearby looked at her, but she gave a small smile of reassurance. This rage was normal. “Jonn is offering ten thousand nobles for my head. He put it on the black market, you know?”

Runts lips curled in a snarl, “DARK MARKET FER DARK DEEDS AND DEVILS ARTS. IS MAUG.” He gripped the mace firmly and squared his shoulders. “RUNT PROTECT MAAL-REE. BUT MAAL-REE NEED CHALLENGE JONN IN OPEN. SETTLE CHALLENGE IN MAAT SLAAG WAY. DEN DE 'ONOR BE MADE AND DER BE NO MORE SECRET WAYS. IS WAY O’ ISEJOTUNEN. IS MAAT.” He nodded firmly, whether to himself or Mallory it was hard to tell.

“The last time I got near him in the ring, as a caller, he tried to cut my throat. What stops him next time... what about facing him makes him stop wanting my head? Or stops him from claiming that we’ve settled it with honor... and putting a sword in my back as soon as I turn away?” The witch propped her chin on her hands, but in spite of her questions, she wasn’t frowning at Runt directly. Her gaze was moving restlessly around the garden as she thought this through.

“JONN RESPECT ‘ONEST FIGHT. 'E RESPECT CLEAR VICTOR. NOT RUNNING AWAY AND NOT DEVIL'S ARTS. JONN SURVIVOR, LIKE RUNT. JONN IS SCARED SO 'E USE DARK MARKET. OPEN FIGHT. MAAL-REE STRONG, NOT DIE. BUT IF DIE, MATSLAG.” Runt paused a moment then heaved his shoulders in a shrug. “IS WAY OF ISEJOTUNEN. ODER WAYS LEAD TO LONG SLAG WID MANY DEAD. NOT GUD FER CLAN.”

Mallory smiled weakly as her gaze moved back to Runt. “Jonn’s a survivor... which means he won’t leave his fate to chance if he can help it... and there is always chance in combat.” Her sigh seemed to echo his shrug. “I can’t blame him. I don’t want to die, either... but if I’m going to die, it’ll be protecting the people I love. I won’t do it to settle Jonn’s fears or wipe away his dishonor.”

There was another smile, an ironic laugh that immediately followed: “Funny thing is, I was planning to fight him last night, anyway. He stopped me. His assassin stopped me.”

Having said his piece Runt just shrugged again. “WHAT MAAL-REE WANT RUNT DO?”

“Well... I’m not planning on doing that much differently, other than being more careful,” the witch mused. “But there will be other assassins. Ten thousand nobles is a lot of money. I want you to watch my back -- I need your strength, Runt. Especially in the week ahead.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, not unkindly, matched with a smile. “But once we get into the month of May... I want you to redouble your efforts in the rings. I want to see you become a Warlord. That would make me very proud.”

The giant puffed out his chest a bit, the tattoos glowing a bright blue as he uttered his oath. “RUNT STAY NEAR MAAL-REE AND PROTECT MAAL-REE. RUNT BE MIGHTY WARRIOR! RUNT MAKE MAAL-REE AND CLAN SIH-MON GREAT WID 'ONOR.”

Then his stomach grumbled with an oath of its own.

Mallory’s proud smile cracked into a grin. “C’mon. It’s time I taught you about horumonyaki.”

((Co-written with Mallory, a pleasure as always))

[Runt]

With the end of Beltane Runt returned to protection detail on Mallory. This was much harder than he had anticipated since she went so many places - the Lyceum, the Isle, Kabuki Street, the Barony and others. The only place he refused to go was this magical island. He would wait outside the devilish portal. When Runt finally found Mallory he looked a little rough around the edges. There were no visible bruises, cuts or wounds - but he looked like a sunbaked craisin. Red, wrinkled and with lots of cracks. The combination of the burning heat from Cadentia, the mud from The Great Stag brawl and being forced to wash thoroughly under soap and water (Koy’s doing) had taken its toll on his sensitive isejotunen skin. The blue tattoos on his face came together in a crease as he narrowed his eyes looking at his … unter-zo-jarl. She didn’t look different but the sky spirits in his blood sang that something was very, very different with her. It was a sense and intuition he had come to trust, and it usually meant one thing. “MAUG DEVILS ARTS WID MAAL-REE.”

Mallory blinked at this assessment... then opened her right hand, now unblighted. “And yet, I got rid of the Devil’s sword. Something else bothering you?” she asked, and started down the narrow lane from Kabuki Street towards the fish market. “I heard about the tournament,” she added. “Congratulations.”

He lumbered beside her, eyeing her horns, hand and skin. “MAAL-REE NOT SAME. MAUG MADGE-ICK. RUNT FEEL IT.” An uncomfortable warm feeling settled in his stomach.

“Mm. A change that’s been on its way for a year,” Mallory stated, confirming his suspicions. “What’s done is done. Tell me about your fight.”

The warm itch didn’t go away but Runt decided it was better not to know. It would be harder to serve her if he knew more about this change. “RUNT BRING ‘ONOR TO CLAN SIH-MON AND MAAL-REE WID FIGHT. RUNT SING GREAT BATTLE SONGS AND FIGHT IN TRUE WAY O’ ISEJOTUNEN BRAWL. RUNT SECOND VICTOR! RUNT GO TELL 'UN-JARL AND MATT SIH-MON. DEY BE PLEASED WID RUNT. BUT RUNT FEEL DER BE T’ING NOT RIGHT. MATT NOT SAME, MATT LIKE KOSCHT NOW.”

“Koscht...” Runt may have come to recognize Mallory’s thinking face. It happened often when there was a word in Giant she was unable to puzzle out.

He nodded somberly. “KOSCHT. JARL OF CLAN BOARSBANE.” There was a gravity to his expression as they walked, and despite their other heavy conversations, this was the first time Runt looked deeply worried.

Mallory slowed her steps, finding a quiet corner where they could be off to the side. “What was Jarl Koscht like?” she asked gently, eyes searching his face as she spoke.

When they stopped he shrugged and held his mace in both hands, spinning it absently. “KOSCHT BE GREAT, STERK JARL. STRONG JARL. DE SLASS MAKE JARL PLEASED. KOSCHT ‘AVE RAGE LIKE GREAT ICE STORM.” He thought about Matt for a moment and their most recent training exercise.

“KOSCHT NOT LIKE WEAKNESS. 'E NOT BE… RUNT NOT KNOW VAN WORD. KOSCHT NOT…LANGMUTIG. MATT NOT LANGMUTIG. NOT AS BEFORE. MATT NOT … SAME.”

“Patient.” There was a root word she recognized, but Matt’s recent behavior on the Isle confirmed it for her. “I think langmutig means patient... and he hasn’t been patient lately. I wasn’t worried before, but hearing it from you... I’m worried now. I’ll ask around,” she added, folding her arms and looking down the street, “see what others have noticed. Maybe there’s something bothering him that I can help with.”

“MAAL-REE NOT MADGE-ICK MATT. PROMISE. GIVE DER EID.”

“I’m not going to bamboozle him,” she chuffed, resuming her walk. “If he’s acting like a real, grade-A... Koscht, I just want to reason with him. Figure out what’s going on. Maybe tell him to stop acting like a Koscht.” It was entirely possible she was using that name as a placeholder.

He took short strides beside her so it was easier to match her tiny 'un-van pace. Mallory could talk - she liked talking - but he had a better plan. “RUNT WILL WIN SPECIAL ROCK FER MATT. MAKE ‘IM PLEASED. IT WORK WID KOSCHT.”

“Did Matt ask you to win an Opal for him?”

“NO. BUT RUNT WILL DO IT. 'UN-JARL ‘AVE RED ROCK. KOY-LUCK SAY STAY AWAY FROM ROCKS, BUT SHE ‘AVE ONE. MAYBE MATT WANT ONE TOO. KOY-LUCK SAY IF RUNT CHALLENGE, TO WIN MOON ROCK OR PAD ROCK. RUNT WILL GIVE DIS ROCK TO MATT AND ‘E WILL BE PLEASED WID RUNT.”

“MoonBeryl’s under challenge, and might not be available until after your fourteen days, so you might not be able to do that... PathFinder hasn’t been challenged in a while, and Eden’s a good friend. She’ll give you an honorable fight and have fun with it.” She thought for a moment. “And Hope had to withdraw her challenge for IceDancer, so that’s vulnerable, too. I don’t know much about its holder, but I don’t think she’s had to defend it recently.”

As they were walking Runt saw some children playing near the edge of the street. He watched them curiously a moment before answering. “DEN RUNT WIN DE PAD ROCK. ‘OW RUNT MAKE DE CHALLENGE?”

“It has to be written. You have to state who you are and who you are challenging. Can you write that in English?”

“NO.”

“Giant? Jotunen?”

“SOME. RUNT WRITE IN DE RUNES O’ DE ISEJOTUNEN”

“Then when we get back from the market,” she said, “you write it out as well as you can with the runes you know... and I’ll show you the English words that mean the same thing. And when it’s done, and you’re ready, you can put it on the corkboard in the Outback.”

((Co-written with Mallory, who is the best!))

[Runt]

Thursday, May 9th

Runt awoke to the sound of rhythmic clanging and muffled conversation in Japanese, and the smell of smoke wafting over the cool morning mists in Battlefield Park.

It was dawn, and the forge was already lit. His unter-jarl’s distinctive weapon was leaned against a tree nearby, close enough that she had likely seen Runt sleeping. He colored with embarrassment. A good hunter would not allow himself to be caught sleeping. The fallen branches beneath him cracked as he stood up stretching. Instinctively he looked for his mace, then snarled when he remembered what happened last night. She would want to talk about it. With no sack to carry and no mace to hold Runt picked up Mallory’s weapon and walked towards the forge.

The witch was standing in the entrance, the pieces of Nat’s broken practice sword in her hands, the wood held loosely together by vines of her making, though she seemed unable to repair the damage. She didn’t hear him approaching, but the apprentice blacksmith who often worked here, Kitara, saw him and greeted, “Konnichiwa, Ranto.”

Mallory turned, then, smiling slightly and dipping her head in greeting to Runt. She tucked the bound practice sword under her arm so she could accept Meliai from him.

“'ELSINGEN KET-ARA.” He didn't even look at the apprentice but quickly offered the distinctive weapon to Mallory with a small nod. “'ELSINGEN 'UNTER-JARL.”

“Hi, Runt.” Mallory bared the blade and handed it to Kitara, who looked it over critically and simply added it to the stack of weapons she’d be working on this morning. “Found this in the Outback,” she added, and with effort pulled his sack out if the corner and held it out to him.

His eyes lit up a bit and he wordlessly took the sack and started digging through it, assessing its contents. Part way through he seemed to remember the manners Mallory had been teaching him. “TACK.”

“Ekkert zo tack.” Mallory quirked a smile at him and led them away from the uncomfortable heat of the forge, to the cool stones where they often sat, staying quiet while they settled in.

He eventually followed, carrying the sack easily and setting it down in front of him. His stomach rumbled loudly and he pulled out scraps of meat wrapped up in butcher paper. The paper was discarded beside him as he quickly ate every last piece of duck, chicken, boar, warg, deer, bear and moose. Some of the meat clearly looked off but it didn't seem to bother him.

Mallory waited for him to finish, simply checking messages on her flip phone while he ate noisily. When he was done, she finally looked up at him and said, “I’m sorry Matt spoke to you like that.”

The small giant was just wiping his hands off on his pants when she spoke. He sat back and looked at her with a blank stare, thinking about last night. He grunted gruffly “MATT IS ANGRY WID RUNT. RUNT MUST WIN STONE FER 'IM.”

The witch clasped her hands together, looking at her fingers, the tattoos that covered her left hand but never had the chance to touch her right — an eternal reminder of Drachenbane. “You were closer to him last night... Did I imagine it, or did you also feel that heat coming off of him like a forge?”

“‘E WAS HOT WID RAGE.”

“Or with the red Opal, FireStar.” Mallory flexed her fingers slowly. “Remember what I told you about magic, and power... I think the stone has power over him. You’re not the only one to notice he’s been acting like Koscht. And if he has another, it may put its power over him, too, and drive him towards more.” A dark cloud had fallen over her expression, surprised and worried by these complicated developments.

Runt nodded slowly, this all reaffirmed his beliefs about magic. “RUNT WILL PROTECT MATT FROM DIS DEVILS ARTS.”

“I want you to be careful.” Mallory looked up at him. “Drachenbane changed more about me than my hand while I wielded it... Matt may not speak and act like the man you know.”

“RUNT IS STRONG. RUNT BE WELL.” He stood as if to leave, a mission clear before him.

“There’s something else.” Mallory picked up the practice sword from where she’d set it against her rock. “Nat’s sword. Do you remember how it broke?”

He gave a somewhat disparaging look towards the sword. “IT IS A WEAK WEAPON.”

“You broke it when you broke your mace on the floor. And one of your axe heads embedded here,” indicating a soft and vital spot on her side, “deep in Nat’s flesh. He did not die... but he could have. He was gravely hurt.” Her expression had turned serious.

Runt was standing at this point and stretched his long arms to the air, and cracked his head from side to side. “VAN ARE SOFT.” He shrugged in a callous, indifferent manner.

“He is my friend who has fought by my side before... he fought honorably last night... and now he is my jarl.”

Runt snarled “‘E INSULT RUNT.” He forced himself to take in the previous indifference. “RUNT DID NOT TRY TO 'URT 'IM.”

“No, it was an accident!” she said as she stood. “I know! I’ve been there before. But this accident happened because you lost control! He tried to talk to you, you both insulted each other, and when Matt spoke that way to you, you lost control. And that could have been any of us with an axe head buried in us.”

He growled loudly back at her. “RUNT 'AD CONTROL! RUNT WAS WID DE RAGE AND WANT TO KILL VAN. RUNT 'ELD GROUND!” His blue eyes met hers, firm and unyielding but their normal shade of color.

“Not killing him is progress. Not breaking your own steel is better.” Mallory’s anger was palpable as she let out a long breath, forcing herself to look at the vine-wrapped wooden sword in her hand. “Actions have consequences... and it will fall to me to make things right with him.” She turned her head to the forge: “Talk to Kitara and get another mace.”

His chest heaved a bit, his eyes still on Mallory. There was a mixture of pride and bitterness to his voice when he spoke. “RUNT IS NOT DE SAME AS VAN. RUNT BE ISEJOTUNEN. RUNT 'AVE NO SHAME. RUNT BE WHAT RUNT BE.”

Mallory’s expression saddened at his words, but resolved as she answered him, “It wasn’t just anger that drove you from the Arena last night.” She tucked the sword under her arm again and spoke over her shoulder as she left: “Get a new weapon from Kitara. I’ll see you for sparring at dusk.”

((Co-written with Mallory))

[Runt]

Wednesday, June 5th

Light pink and purple colors winked over the treetops of the Wilds as the sleeping world slowly began to stir. A few bullfinches started to sing their sweet morning songs and were rudely interrupted by a loud, slightly off-key bass singing out “DUNDER! DUNDER!” Runt, already sweating, reached for the weapons Kitara made for him. In his left hand he grasped a long manganese-steel hunting spear with serrated edges at the bottom. Kitara had engraved his name in giant runes along the blade itself which glinted in the early rays of light. The other hand picked up a mace made of two ram-heads facing opposite directions. Covering Runts ears was a pair of large blue headphones blaring Thunderstruck by AC/DC. He sang loudly along with Malcolm and Angus “‘DUNDER! DUNDER! DUNDER! DUNDER! I CAUGHT IN DE MIDDLE O’ A RELROD TRECK!” The half-chant half-song rang through Battlefield Park as he moved through the motions of his sword routine while waiting for his ’unter-jarl to arrive.

By the time Mallory was in ear-shot Runt was shouting out “TEE ENN TEE! I DYNAMITE! TEE ENN TEE! I WILL WIN DE FIGHT!”

The noise had given Mallory all the cover she needed as she crossed the grounds of Battlefield Park; and when Runt turned to follow through his next maneuver, she was standing with one foot propped up on a large rock, she was banging her head and singing right along. “I’m a power load — watch me explooooode!”

Breaking into a broad toothy grin Runt set down the weapons and slid off the blue headphones letting them hook around his neck. “MAAL-REE! RUNT ‘AVE GIFT FER YOU.”

The Young’s continued to belt The man is back in town, Don't you mess me 'round from around his neck as Runt lumbered over to his nearby sack. He dug around and pulled out a simple black case with a silver skull wearing a set of headphones engraved in the bottom corner. The giant handed it over to Mallory. “RUNT GET MAAL-REE RED.”

“These are gorgeous,” the witch murmured, looking over the case and opening it for a look at the headphones. “And... not cheap,” she added, letting out a soft laugh as she closed the case again. Her eyes were bright and surprised and happy when she looked at him. “Thank you. I’ll put them to good use.”

Expensive as they were, Mallory assumed the goliath had simply been selling trophies from his hunts. “You like AC / DC?”

“JA, DE SONGS BE LIKE WAR CHANTS. RUNT ALSO LIKE ROLLIN’ STONES, DIRTY DWARV’S AND TEL PALRIN NAL AGAR”. He pulled out a small, silver rectangular device with a screen on it that showed the running title of the current song Rock and Roll All Nite. The buttons were clearly too small for his fingers but the device had at some fifty plus songs already downloaded.

“Dirty Dwarves are great. Rock Bottom Woman had me hooked,” she said, and went to the backpack she’d left behind the rock. She set the headphone case inside and pulled out the tablet Patrick had given her during his podracing days, something she used for videos and music more than work. “Have you heard Queen?”

“WE ARE CHAMPION? DAT BE QUEEN RIGHT?” Runt stared at the tablet and raised an arm to scratch his beard. Just beneath the beard was a fresh thin scar which stretched in a slight diagonal across and around his neck.

“Yeah,” she said, swiping over until she reached her Queen Mix. “Freddie Mercury was the greatest frontman who ever lived. Queen also did Bohemian Rhapsody, Another One Bites the Dust...” She looked up as she explained, and gave him a frown as she traced a matching line around her own neck. “What got you? A boar, or...?” She sounded uncertain.

Runt shook his head. “NOT BOAR. WHAT BE SONG MAAL-REE LIKE MOST?”

“Looks like something tried to strangle you.” That was a tough decision, though, one that successfully distracted her from her line of inquiry. “I don’t know... Trick and I used to sing Queen together all the time... but for a day like today? Another One Bites the Dust.”

With a fluid motion, Mallory drew Meliai from its sheath where it lay pinned behind her backpack, and tapped Play on the song in question with her free hand. For such a small device, the high-tech tablet could pump out a lot of sound. She flourished the blade. “Better put those headphones away. Don’t wanna mess them up when I hit you,” she said with the kind of grin that was now familiar to him — when the witch joked or teased.

He set the headphones down, clicking a button on the side to turn them off so he could better hear Mallory’s music. “HAH! RUNT CRUSH MAAL-REE FIRST!” An eager grin spread across his face as he picked up the hunting spear and mace. The giants head bobbed to the bump bump bump of the music while he settled himself into a ready position.

Mallory set her feet apart, grinding into the dirt, head bobbing in time with Runt’s. Her fingers curled around the hilt of her sword, tensing up as she readied herself to strike...

Let’s go!

============

Water splashed down Runts head and back as he overturned a bucket of cool water. A mixture of salty sweat with trace amounts of blood - Mallory got his nose - flowed with the water into the ground beneath him. Their routine was always invigorating but his other activities were taking their toll. On more than one occasion when Runt had raised his weapons high for an overhead attack a bit of bandage peeked out from beneath his vest.

Absorbing Runt’s attacks with her blade left her arms feeling like lead — and the whacks she’d taken to her sides would bruise for a while before fading — but the heat bothered Mallory more. “Hera’s fucking tits, it’s hot,” she said, muffled through the tank top that was partly inside out and stretched over her face to wipe off the sweat. The witch had few scars, though there was an ugly collection of them on one side that she’d had a tattoo zig-zag their way through; but they disappeared from view when she lowered her tank top again. “You know... I thought having the northernmost barony, up near the forest and the mountains, meant it wouldn’t get so miserably fucking hot every summer.”

Runt was reaching for another barrel of water to pour over his head, panting from the exertion and the warmth of the sun. “RUNT ‘ATE DE ‘EAT.” The last barrel had the top on, so he twisted it off and picked up a large tin can which he used as a cup. After drinking enough water to drown a small child he turned to grin at Mallory. “IT BE GUD TRAINING. ONE DAY RUNT TAKE MAAL-REE TO DE FJELLS WHERE IT NOT BE SO ‘OT.”

“Yeah? I bet Eri would like it there, too. She practically melts in the heat.” She dunked her nalgene into the water barrel after Runt, and took several greedy gulps. The recent changes to her body did not spare her from dehydration or exhaustion, merely tempered their deadly toll. “Something got you good on your hunt,” she said, finally, and pointed where she’d seen the bandages peek out earlier.

The giant paused, awkwardly and grunted a bit. “IT BE DANGEROUS ‘UNT.” Instead of looking at her he shuffled back to his headphones, hooking them around his neck once more.

The witch looked after him for a long moment. Squirrely wasn’t a word one typically associated with Runt, but she’d seen him this way before. She breathed a soft sigh and poured the rest of her nalgene over her head.

“I’ll be in the forge with Kitara,” she told him as she scooped up her backpack; then, considering the extra heat that would expose them to, she added, “Pray for us.”

((Co-written with Mallory))

[Runt]

June 19th,
Dockside & Battlefield Park

“This just in for all you duelling fans, Mallory has defeated Nat Candle and is the new Overlord!”

A snarl erupted from Runts' lips as Lillthinia poured a clear liquid along the long gash on his left leg. With practiced efficiency, she began to sew it up. “For such a small opponent, he sure was vicious.” A small humanoid with the horns of a dragon and the tail of a lizard was carried away, eyes glazed over. The giant didn’t give the dead a passing glance. He was thinking about Mallory and how he should have been there, as her squire and friend. Unbidden his thoughts of Mallory led to the sight of a long cloth bundle, wrapped in chains of iron and lead, being buried in the ground of Battlefield Park.

“RUNT MUST GO.”

“Easy there big guy, I’m not done patching you up yet. Wouldn’t want our witchy-witch friend to worry now.” Strands of Lillthinia’s recently purple-dyed hair fell in front of her face as she put the finishing touches on his stitches. “Okay, there you go.” She planted a black-painted-lip kiss on his cheek. “See you Friday Big Guy.”

***

The rain made the ground muddy in the back edge of Battlefield Park. Mallory’s servants, the ones with masks over their faces, were busy closing up the manor for the transitions of Overlord’s. They gave Runt brief nods as he retrieved his own sack from somewhere among the trees. Later that night, when the delinquents were gone and before Nat had come to take his barony a large hulking mass stood digging in the persistent drizzle. His hands reached cautiously into the deep earth. Small bits of chain clinked ominously as he lifted the package. A great conflict of reasoning was waged within the giants' mind. Eventually, he tucked the sword under his arm and lumbered into the deepest parts of the wilds.

[Runt]

August 4th,
Near Overlord Isle

Luxury yachts were not known for their speed or maneuverability, and the as-yet-unnamed vessel recently granted to the Overwitch lurched its way out of the docks that Sunday night, taking a while to build up its speed as it left the coast of RhyDin behind.

The destination was Overlord Isle, and Kamaboko was leaning forward at the helm, squinting through the window at the growing shape of the lighthouse. She had been strangely silent for the trip so far, her usual litany of pessimism and self-deprecation replaced with a grim determination that bordered on manic. Her brow was furrowed, her lips twitched, and she kept glancing aside at the large green metal case by her feet as she turned the wheel, hand over hand, angling the sleekly designed yet cumbersome vessel towards the shallow waters southeast of the Overlord Isle.

She was not crewing this vessel alone. A few of her usual companions were sitting on the floor, playing mahjong and gossiping happily while they drank all the cans of Narragansett from the case she’d bought.

She also had a Runt.

The giant was lumbering about on the deck. His footsteps vibrated the floors, occasionally causing the mahjong pieces to topple over. He was singing. The names Storvald and Krigvind were repeated a number of times in what sounded like a rock ballad. If it wasn't so loud and slightly off-key one might have even enjoyed listening to it. As the last thrumming notes rang into the air his blue tattoos seemed to glow with a vibrant energy. A broad grin burst across Runts face.

"DIS BE A GREAT 'UNT BOKO! DE FIRST FER A JOTUNI OF DE KVIT FJELLS!"

Boko continued to stare straight ahead, but at last she spoke, responding to Runt with a broad and demented-looking grin. “A great hunt, aye! We’re not pleasure boatin’! We’re sharkin’!” She started to turn the ship about as she increased the speed, and between that and Runt’s stomping, the whole pile of tiles finally spilled in every direction. The delinquents began to protest, but Boko shouted over them: “You idjits! Stop playin’ with yourselves! We got a real monster in these waters, can swallow a tourist whole with a little shakin’ and tenderizin’, no good for anchorin’ Mallory’s boat! We gotta clear these waters by bloodyin’ ‘em up first,” she said with a grin over at Runt, and started to cackle as she surrendered the helm to one of the delinquents and moved in the giant’s direction.

Another of the delinquents shouted and began to point. Between two sections of reef, visible by the waves gently breaking over them, the twenty foot waters had begun to glow a bright blue. “Slow ‘er down, you idjit,” she said to the newly appointed helmsman, then pointed at Runt as she declared, “And YOU!”

She gave him a toothy grin. “You don’t got city hands. You haven’t been countin’ money all your life. Let’s go down and take a look-see, eh heh heh,” and she grabbed up the case and started to make her way down to the lowest deck.

The giant had a matching toothy grin. He lumbered after Boko, a kindred spirit if he had ever found one, and contemplated the great beast they were about to hunt. Boko said it was larger than any kvit-'val from the legends of his ancestors. He doubted that. The kvit-'val Storvald slew had been a mighty beast. But the fact she thought it so monstrous would mean a great bloody time for both of them.

At the lowest deck he unlocked the great metal clips on the case and admired the weapon before him. It had been custom made. Not that he understood what that meant, aside from the fact it was big enough for him to hold. He ran his fingers over the sleek design, appreciating every curve, every piece of fine detail, and the way it felt as he hefted it up into his arms. Runts' lovers would always be his weapons.

As Boko reached the lowest deck and Runt retrieved the weapon from the big green case, the glow was already beginning to fade. She slid out a ridiculously long pistol from somewhere inside her windbreaker, a .475 Wildey Magnum, but as she braced it against her arm to aim... the creature was nowhere to be found.

There were signs it had been there, though — blood in the water, and the absence of any fish moving among the reefs despite the glow still illuminating the water. “It’s getting away from us,” she muttered, “because I’m stupid and slow, and it’ll kill all the fish between here and the Isle... all my fault, of course... they’ll probably take away my boat... stupid, stupid, stupid...”

She looked up at Runt, lifting her chin slowly, and gave him an unhinged smile. “It’s gone because it thinks the food is all gone... but it isn’t, no,” she shook her head, and began to laugh. She was already stripping off her windbreaker and setting her pistol down on the deck as she stepped up to the railing.

Anyone else might have tried to stop Boko. They might have recognized her laughter as the maniacal cackle of someone obsessed. But Runt did not. He only saw another hunter, determined to do what was necessary. "BOKO LURE DE GREAT BEAST O' DE WATERS. RUNT TOTEN." He took one large step towards the edge and put the scope to his eye. Boko had spent a great deal of time teaching him how to use the harpoon gun properly. When it emerged from the dark depths below Runt would be ready.

Boko took a breath and then dove over the edge of the boat, a clean dive that hinted just how at home the former delinquent felt in the water. She swam down nearly ten feet, then came up to the surface and started to slap the water.

The glow that had by this point nearly faded began to return, pulsing slowly brighter and brighter until more of the remains of the fish that had recently been in these waters could be seen, little specks of flesh tumbling about in bloody clouds.

The creature came from underneath the boat. It brushed against the underside, and if it had been any less of a ship, it would have rocked dangerously at the contact, but it swayed little more than it already did on the waves. A twenty foot shadow came out into the water, rapidly rising up towards Boko from below, its four rows of razor-sharp teeth revealed by the bioluminescent tentacles arcing away from its head.

The harpoon gun sat comfortably in the crook of the giant's arm. He eyed through the scope, and tilted the gun down towards the water. Runt pulled the trigger.

A spear-like bolt shot through the water towards the creature's maw. The shell was designed to explode on contact and impale the beast. Before he saw if it struck Runt was loading another round and shot again. Three times he aimed, three times he shot. Blood filled the water and he roared in delight. His hand gripped the rail and blue eyes darted around looking for any sign of Boko in the water. And to see if the beast was dead.

Boko disappeared from sight as blood filled the glowing water and foam kicked up as the monster breached, letting out a terrible roar through the harpoon sticking out of its jaws. It was shaped like a bull shark but larger, more red than brown and with strange crests and tendrils across its body, and the longest of these glowed blue and yellow. Two more struck into its hide, though the third as it sank back into the bloody waters, but it did not seem to be dying. For a moment it looked to be running away, darting down as deep as it could go in these shallows... but then it turned about at the edge of the reef to go racing back towards the yacht.

Boko emerged from the water at the edge of the ship with a gasp, having spent nearly thirty seconds submerged. Strong arms grasped the railing, pulling herself up, up and over to fall onto the deck next to Runt.

“It is almost as angry as we are,” she managed through several watery coughs. The beast’s massive shadow was darting around rapidly, but it looked ready to breach again, this time right next to where Runt and Boko were on the lowest deck.

"DEN LET IT COME!" Runt bellowed and the runes on his skin flared to life. He loaded the harpoon gun again, this time the spearheads had sharp spikes to prevent it from slipping out. The thick corded rope was wrapped around a large anchor-like weight they had installed the night before. He attached the rope to the end of the round checking that nothing would catch when the trigger was pressed. At his side was the serrated javelin and double-ram-headed mace. One way or another, the monstrosity which threatened his 'unter-jarls home would be slain. And if Thrym granted it he would feast on its carcass.

The beast answered the challenge, now sensing both Boko and the other, larger prey in the form of Runt. It breached with a horrible, cavernous roar, slimy tendrils slapping and sticking to the side of the vessel as it pulled itself up to swing its maw towards them...

But Runt wasn’t the only one waiting for a chance to attack. Boko fired her ungodly loud pistol over and over, half-sprawled on her butt on the deck and bracing the weapon over her arm as she shot into the side of its head and its open mouth.

Amidst the explosive sounds of gunfire Runt howled. "GGRROOAAAAARRGGHH!" The harpoon was released and whistled through the air towards the soft flesh in the upper palate of the beast's maw. A hand reached down instinctively to his mace and he ran towards the beast slamming at the rows of teeth. Ice started to form along the rails and deck as Runts' runes burned a brighter blue, and the chill of the high mountains radiated from his core. The slimy tendrils slapped across his chest leaving raw blister marks in the shape of massive suction cups. It's reddish-brown body dragged against the side of the yacht as it started to slip back down into the watery depths.

It sank down, down — then pulled taut, as the massive anchor ground across the deck and stopped against the railing, holding the chimera by the massive dock rope attached to the harpoon. Now the yacht was listing to one side.

Kamaboko was still breathing hard, and looked over at Runt as she finally lowered the pistol. “I told her we needed a bigger boat.”

((Co-written with Kamaboko’s Player!))

[Runt]

August 5th
Kabuki Street

Mallory slipped through the bustling crowd that swarmed up and down Kabuki Street, crossing the way to an open-air stand that served bottles of cold beer (Badsider and Sapporo) and freshly grilled ayu on a stick. She hooked her boots into the lower rung of a barstool as she sat down with a long sigh, then lifted her hand and ordered in Japanese.

It didn't take long until the witch had a plate with two ayu in her lap, turned away from the counter to watch the crowd moving by, and the sun setting over the rooftops. Halfway through her first fish skewer, she paused to take a long swig of her beer, and the tension in her shoulders slowly relaxed.

In the distance, under the heat of the sun, a small crowd had formed and was cheering loudly. Cresting above the onlookers heads like a beast breaching the sea was a Runt. His bald head was bowed slightly as he shoved raw ayu into his mouth. Beside him ten delinquents were eating as much of the grilled fish as they possibly could. Four of the spectators were counting loudly, raising their voices above the cheering mass of youth. Money was changing hands just about as fast as the fish were being devoured.

Mallory didn't have to shift much to see the action, and put together what was happening. She set her beer down so she could catch the arm of a shrimp darting through the crowd taking bets, and pressed several wallaby-stamped dollarydoos into her hand and pointed at the bald beast gulping down raw fish.

Then she sat back and watched for the results, taking the rest of her meal at a much more leisurely pace than the competitors before her.

A cheer rose up from a subset of spectators, matched by a series of groans and then laughter from half of the delinquents. Runt had finished his pile of raw fish and, with a soft growl, reached into the stack of grilled ayu and started eating the skewers. Three of his ten competitors threw their hands up in defeat, two more sat down looking a bit green, and five furiously tried to finish their portion before Runt got to it.

Mallory held out her hand until her winnings arrived, and it was enough to offset the cost of her meal -- the excess went into the old furikake jar they used for tips. Then she cupped her hands around her mouth and called out a familiar greeting to the giant: "Ranto!"

With a belly full of fish and grin full of teeth Runt lumbered over towards Mallory. He stopped near her seat, blocking out the afternoon sun. His clothes stretched tightly across his frame and the sack he had carried for so long was starting to look comically small. Runt had grown substantially since they had first met and he now towered well over nine and a half feet. Most people barely came up to his stomach when he stood at full height. Perhaps conscious of this difference Runt also seemed to slouch more often these days.

"MAAL-REE! RUNT EAT MANY O' DE FISH! DE SHRIMPS GIVE ME DE PAPER YOU LIKE." He held out the crumpled pieces of dollarydoos which sat like tiny pieces of children's money in his hands.

Mallory laughed delightedly and counted it out, taking in Runt's nine and a half foot frame (and the state of his clothes) as she did. "That's ninety-eight dollarydoos," she said and offered the stack back to him, now in a neater state. "Give this to Bungee Maximum," the comical name of the Tokyo fashion designer who fled here after murdering her boss -- with a Vespa. "Tell her to make you two new outfits. And let me know when you like the hide on one of your kills?" she added. "Maybe we can have someone make it into a bigger rucksack."

The neatly folded bills made their way into a pouch on his waist which jangled with other bits of trinkets, bones and gems. "RUNT WILL FIND A MIGHTY WARG AND SLAY IT FOR A SACK!" The giant grinned thinking of the great hunts he had ahead of him, and perhaps Boko if he could convince her to leave the boat for a day. All those fish had made him thirsty and his eyes focused in on the cold beer Mallory was finishing off. A nearly empty wineskin was retrieved from his sack which he finished off without delay.

"Good idea. It's tough hide, but can still be worked. And speaking of fish," she pointed to the flecks of flesh on his vest, "thanks for getting blood and slime on my boat."

Runt didn't even have the decency to look ashamed. He merely gave a toothy grin - one that reminded Mallory of Kamaboko - and declared, "IT WAS A GREAT 'UNT."

Mallory chuckled and tapped her fingers on her beer bottle, her rings clinking against the glass. She looked at the slowly dispersing group of nauseous and slightly poorer delinquents as she thought about something... "Did you hear about the new barony, down in Cadentia? And the tournament for it?"

"IT BE 'OT IN DE DESERT. BUT DER BE GOOD 'UNTING..." he paused, thinking of how he had slain the wyrms, bringing back their scales to the Hunters Guild. He also remembered the disappointed look on Matt's face. Mallory was different, she didn't seem to mind his hunts. "DE TOURNAMENT. JA. RUNT FIGHT WID DE MACE, MAAL-REE WID DE MADGE-ICK. IT BE GUD IDEA." This was the most logical plan. They could train and enter together, and perhaps Runt could work off his debt by achieving Warlord status. Funny, his debt. This arrangement felt less onerous than he had originally believed. Mallory was strange, and she used a lot of devils arts but she was kinder than previous masters and was fun to train with. He would count her as a venn. The idea of entering a tournament with his 'unter-jarl was appealing.

"We could. Or... we could do it the other way." Mallory tipped her horned head, then turned to look at him, studying his expression curiously. "Overcome magic without magic. Show that you're strong enough to face it with honor, and beat it. Then let me take my sword into the tournament, and see if I can win us this mysterious barony... and if I succeed? I'll give up my belt," tapping her hip where she normally wore her Overwitch belt, "become a baroness again, and let the other barons fight for the top title."

Runt immediately balked at the idea. Put himself in a magic fight? That sounded like the very worst kind of torture. A rumble resounded in his throat as he listened to Mallory's suggestion. "WOULD MAAL-REE TEACH RUNT 'OW TO FIGHT MADGE-ICK WID SKILL AND 'ONOR?"

“Yes. I have a few students I’ve faced before, teaching them how to fight with magic... but I don’t always fight back with magic. Sometimes I just toss them to the floor,” she added with a curl of a grin, which settled after watching him for a moment. “It’s a challenge, but I know you’re up to it. I have faith.”

A challenge. Runt liked a challenge. And if he was going to lead Clan Boarsbane one day - was going back - he would teach them how to fight those who used devils arts against them.

He could use Drachenbane.

The giant thought of all the other times he had faced magic and frowned at one distinct possibility. "RUNTS RAGE..." The magic brought out something fierce in him; he may not be able to control the icy fires of his heritage.

"...is something that we'll work on." She tapped her hand on the bar to signal for a beer for him -- that wineskin hadn't had much in it, after all, especially not for his size. "I haven't talked to you much about my magic... but I can tell you what I've learned from experience. Spells are complicated. Each one can require incredible amounts of study, practice, and careful concentration... so the worst thing you can do to a spellcaster in a fight is distract them," she stated confidently. "Trip them, disorient them, make noise, or make them think you're about to do something that you're not -- all of that keeps them thinking about you and only you, when they also need to be thinking about their magic. That will be the crux of our lessons."

"A SLASSE PA." He clinked his beer with hers. After a swing that emptied the bottle, he clarified. "LET'S DO DIS." It was time for their training to reach the next level.

((Co-written with Mallory the Magnificent))

[Runt]

Aug 25th
Overlord Isle

Waves of salty water rose and fell around a large mass off the shore of Overlord Isle. Runt breathed in time with the waves as he dug his feet into the wet sand. He felt the seaweed brush against his legs. It was peaceful. When he opened his eyes fading hues of orange, red and pink touched the edge of the water where it met the horizon.

Mallory could be heard training with her weapon on the rock formation behind him, still adjusting to the weight and balance of the glaive she had practiced with all week. She grunted as she spun, hefting the weapon into a slash before twirling it around her shoulders into an off-hand thrust.

It would have been easier to find a place further inland, where the wind was not as strong and she could reshape soil or sand into soft, flat stone perfect for casting a ritual circle — but tonight she hoped to show him the toil and balance of magic, not its potential for frivolity.

There was stone by the shore that was level enough, and it would have to do.

As the sun sank out of sight, leaving a blazing sky in its wake, Mallory spoke up: “Bring me the shield. Let’s get started.” The haft of the glaive rested over her shoulders, her left hand draped carefully over the mid-length blade.

Runt turned around, reluctantly. He had fought people with magic all week and it had burned him to the core. Lillthinia kept telling him he was being grouchy whenever they were together. His legs moved slowly through the water as he trudged back to shore. When he finally stood on the sandy beach water was pouring off him like a small stream feeding the ocean. He bent down to pick up the shield, the special stone strapped inconspicuously to its front. Mallory had said it would absorb the magic around him as he fought in the rings this past week. He hoped he had brought it enough power.

What Runt didn't know is that his own ancestry, the rune-magic in his blood and on his skin, fed the stone just as much as his opponents' spells and incantations.

Mallory shifted the glaive to her right hand, and held out her left as he approached, watching him closely. As soon as he was close enough, she closed her fingers around the stone and, with a grunt, tore it out of its straps. “This... holds not the power, but the enduring fortitude of the wards that power the dueling rings, made possible through the pain and sacrifice of battle... and not the power, but the skill and determination of everyone you faced — including me...” She was turning the stone over and over in her hands, her frown deepening as she sensed its aura.

It was powerful, of that there was no doubt, but there was something strange about it. She flinched when a pulse of that strange aura responded to her scrutiny. “It’s cold,” she said in her moment of surprise... studied Runt for another moment, and then curled a grin at him. “Ironic that I’m bringing this to the desert tonight.”

The giants blue eyes stared at the stone. "IT BE COLD BECAUSE NIGHT AIR IS COLD." He had heard everything else she said, and the giant felt like he was sitting as his father's feet trying to understand his stories and the legends he told. It had always seemed that his father was trying to say something - teach something - just out of his grasp. Like a fire-boar that kept slipping away from the steel of his blade at the last moment. The same feeling sat in his belly as Mallory talked of the power in the stone.

“Now that I know the shape of it, I can make a circle for it.” She held the stone up for a moment longer, then offered it back to him. “Things like this have two shapes... the shape you can see, and the shape of its meaning. That isn’t just magical power... it’s all of the strength, and anger, and loyalty, and belief, and everything else that has gone into an object. It’s what makes spells work, what makes magic work.” She stretched it out a little further, insisting — “Take it, and hold onto it until I need it.”

His fingers gently took the stone and he held it in the palm of his hand. It did feel cold. But it was a comforting cold. As he held the stone he heard the wind of the fjells, smelled the sweat of the arena, and felt the lasting endurance of the earth. The sensations were so vibrant he almost dropped the stone in the sand. "DIS STONE... IT 'AVE RUNT IN IT."

"Your rage," Mallory agreed, nodding her horned head as she worked. She nicked the glaive across her palm and began to trace a circle over the somewhat uneven stone, taking twice the time it would take on a level surface. "You're cold when you're angry, you know. I don't know much about your clan... so I can only guess how that works..." She hummed thoughtfully, then stretched out her hand again, this time slick with blood. "The stone, please."

He couldn't help but feel awe for what he had helped make. Then, just as quickly, he recoiled and snarled slightly. "DE MAGIC TAKE PART O' RUNT." He gave the stone to her like it was hot coal burning his hand.

"You gave your fierce loyalty, love of battle, and the power of your rage to that stone... just as your opponents gave to their stones." She looked over her shoulder at him. "Took is the wrong word... because the man I look at now is every bit as fiercely loyal, in love with battle, and gifted with powerful rage as when you took the stone."

With that she took three steps into the center of the circle, held the stone aloft in one hand... and willed it to shatter. A bright blue aura washed right up to the bounding edge of the circle and crackled over the glaive, as blood dripped from her hand and dissolved into the blade itself. She held up the weapon to the darkening sky, a smile faintly curling her lips as she examined it... "...It's done."

Runt shielded his eyes at the bright blue aura, blinking rapidly as a vision overtook him. Not of the stone shattering or the weapon forging, but of his home in the white, icy mountains. He was sitting on the edge of a cliff, with his father. What a skald does for the clan is not like the devils arts of the van at the bottom of the mountains. The clan skald uses lore to bring the loyalty and ferocity of our ancestors to battle.

The memory was so real that as it faded Runt felt disoriented. He shook his head slightly then looked at Mallory and the darkening sky. He grunted. "WIN DE SLASS MAAL-REE."

Mallory grinned as she lowered the weapon. "You're damn right I will."

((Co-written with Mallory the Magnificent))

[Runt]

August 25th, 2019
Cadentia Barony

The wretched staff was tossed carelessly aside in the large, open space normally reserved for a small travelling caravan. When they came to Cadentia Mallory was quick to help Runt find a new space to live and train. The giant was very accommodating to the frequent moves between Battlefield Park, the Overlord Isle, and now Cadentia. His loyalty was to people, not places. The infamous staff of Merlin now lay in a sandy corner, safe from his trembling hands. He wanted to break it. Break it in half. He had wanted to do that in front of everyone to show how he, an isejotuni was better and stronger than any magical tool used to oppress his people. He had defeated everyone who fought him with magic, he had even travelled to that wretched Island where magic oozed from every blade of grass and where the sky was anything but natural. It was only Mallory’s firm tone and his loyalty to her that kept that piece of unholy wood in one piece.

September 10th, 2019
Outisde the Golden Perch Inn

The portal Mallory had opened to Twilight Isle shimmered behind him like a foreboding maw into the wall of the Golden Perch Inn. Inwardly, he was relieved he wouldn’t have to go back to the land of fake grass, fake tree and fake sky. Before him stood the chipper hun-van, Max, from the Spellblade Tournament. He grunted at her, extending his long arm with a nondescript cactus held in his hand. Long roots dangled carelessly from the plant while a few pale pink flowers drooped dangerously.

“DIS BE GIFT.”

"Oh! Is that -- is that a cereus hildmannianus?!" Max gingerly tried to figure out how to take the very long-rooted cactus.

Runt didn’t know how to respond. Mallory only told him he had to “make it up” to the human because he had “treated her very dishonorably “ and that he could try fixing things by “giving her a gift”. Talking to the human wasn’t supposed to be part of this process. She was a practitioner of magic, and Runt suspected she might even be magic. It was a gut feeling. He cleared his throat with another grunt. "RUNT NOT KNOW. IT BE PLANT WID DE SPEARS"

"Runt, don't you think it would beautiful planted on Twilight Isle?" Mallory looked from him to the portal and back.

"RUNT NOT CARE. IT BE GIFT FER PEACE BETWEEN CLAN O' MAX AND CLAN KABUKI. MAX PLANT WHERE MAX WANT." Runt did care about getting out of this conversation. He would have happily given the staff back to Max, but Mallory said he was a “steward” and he should take care of it just like he takes care of his other weapons. He needed to “get used to magic”. The staff of Merlin still sat in the dust back in the Cadentia villa.

"They remind me of my very favorite. Epiphyllum oxypetalum. Their flowers are called Queen of the Night." Max seemed to be amused set her coffee cup on the edge of the mermaid fountain so she could take the offering from the awkward Runt with two hands. “Thank you very much." There was a little struggle due to its size as she held it carefully by the roots.

Runt stared at her. He wanted to say “I BRING YOU STAFF. YOU CARE FOR IT.” But that felt like giving up. If he was going to lead his people and help them conquer the magicians at the base of the mountain he would have to overcome his fear of magic and learn how to break a staff’s power, even if he couldn’t break the staff. So he just shook his head while she beamed up at him awkwardly.

The giant ended the very uncomfortable exchange by just walking away.


((Thanks to Mallory and Max's players for allowing me to adapt from live-play and vapored discussions.))

[Runt]

March 22nd, 2021
Kabuki Street

“Runt! Runt! Look, there’s an article about Mallory,” Lilthinnia waved at the frost giant from across the street, a sheaf of newsprint in her hand. The diminutive half-elf skirted around youth watching their phones and old men shuffling to the Sunny Mart, so she could reach the giant sitting at the end of the street. Runt was eating massive kabobs --a weekly expense-- at the center of a large roundabout.

“MAAL-REE? LIL, READ IT.”

Lilthinnia settled down with the Tip Top Ten article and started to read. Runt grinned at the mention of the Rautakinnas, his eyes lit up as he examined the picture of her and Jaycy fighting, and he laughed when Mallory described her tattoo. Then they got to the question about family, and he listened closely as Lilthinnia read:

My family includes my wife, Eri, my brother, Patrick my sisters, Penny and Sapphire, my sisters-in-law Saori and Mai, my mother-in-law Shiori, my father-in-law Roka, and Morgan LaFey. These aren't connections I was born with... They're all the result of choices. People I've chosen to love. And finding family is how I've survived RhyDin..

“NO...RUNT?” The giant set down his last massive meat kabob and tried to look at where Lilthinnia was reading.

“Uh, no… but she did talk about you earlier!” Lilthinnia kept reading the article but she could tell Runt wasn’t listening anymore. She paused at the end and reached up to pat his knee. “Hey, big guy? Mallory still cares about you. Not everyone she cares about is family, but she still loves you, kay?” Runt grunted, flies buzzed around the last meat kabob; a stray dog was trying to haul it away. Lilthinnia folded the newsprint, watching chunks of beef and chicken get torn to pieces.

“RUNT NOT CLAN KABOOKI.”

The half-elf stood and lightly reached up to hold his chin in both hands. Her fingers gently scratched at his beard, just below the jawline. “Runt, love, people have different meanin’s of family. Just because you ain’t listed in a news article doesn’t mean you ain’t her Clan.”

Runt pulled his face away from her hands, his thick bushy eyebrows furrowed. The giant sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “RUNT MUST WIN DE NEXT SLASS.”

“Big guy,” Lilthinnia tugged gently at his fingers, trying to get eye contact, “what’s that gonna change?”

“RUNT ‘AVE VOW. RUNT FILL VOW, BE WARLORD. DONE SERVICE TO CLAN KABOOKI. RETURN TO FAM’LY, CLAN SIHMON.”

The giant clenched his jaw and stood up so suddenly that Lilthinnia stumbled getting out of the way in her three-inch heels. Runt plucked the war-hammer from where it was leaning against the side of a three-story building, and the crowd of cabbies, carts, and speeders parted quickly for his thudding feet. The swarm of traffic closed behind him, and took no heed of the curvy half-elf, standing in the roundabout, her black lips turned down at the edges.