The Gift of Omiana

Page Two

 Have you ever seen a giant?

What am I saying, of course you haven't. Well, you probably have, but not the kind I'm referring to. You may know of humans whose size would qualify them as giants, so when I say "giant", you should know that I refer to a member of the tall, lumbering, humanoid creatures you read about in fiction.

So, no, you haven't seen a giant. Stop wagging your finger at me.

To be fair, Phil wasn't exactly used to seeing giants either, least of all one very giant giant tripping over his house.

"Hey!"

The giant couldn't stop for a "hey", "hi", "ho", or even a "how do you do". Once its massive foot sank into poor Phil's home, the giant suffered a tremendous fall. The earth shook as it landed first on its knees, then on its head.

Shocked and aghast, Phil ran a hand through his hair, eyes now the size of saucers. As goes without saying, he was most certainly not prepared for this.

"HEY!" He yelled, mistakenly assuming that the giant hadn't heard him the first time.

There was no response; not so much as a swell of its chest to indicate breathing. From what Phil could tell (at least from where he was standing), there was a dense, putrid smog billowing out of the creature's back.

Is it... dead?

Phil shuddered, less out of concern for the humongous buffoon's life, and more out of concern for getting it off his cottage. With an absence of mind now guiding his actions, he climbed up its trousers, holding his nose as he went. Once on top, he found the source of the smoke.

It was a glyph, emblazoned into the massive thing's thick, hairy skin. The markings glowed fiercely against their charred epidermal surroundings. It was deep, too; several layers of skin down.

While tempting to sit there and ponder on what this phenomenon could mean, Phil thought it best to get down as soon as possible, if only to save his sense of smell. He slid off its back, and with a wobble managed to steady himself. Phil looked up at the sky, searching for any sign of pyromancers, elementalists, or witches. Only dark storm clouds stared back at him.

Briefly, Phil considered putting out his lantern. He didn't want to be caught in these circumstances, least of all by some magical pyromaniac. On the other hand, there were no stars out tonight; if he went without his remaining light source, he'd have to seek out help in the dark. That simply wouldn't do.

Of course, there were other things he could try, but he hadn't resorted to anything of that nature for a long time. There was no telling what sort of results he'd get, experimenting in the dead of night while his house lay in shambles. No, that wouldn't do, either.

Thus, out of ideas and starting to feel the cold of the weather, Phil decided to go to the only place he could think of at a time like this...

The tavern.