“You ought to cry less!” Bera snapped unkindly. “Our parents must have been too far from the water when they made you!”

Arva didn't want to cry but whenever she thought of what the giant girl had done to their home and family the tears came, unbidden. Again, Thorgun had done them a great service. Arva wasn't sure if she could bear being in the giantess' presence any more. But the procession of wagons and carts continued, laden with food and drink. Troutman was among them with his special cart, all the Boronwine in a wooden tub. He led the donkey that dragged it most carefully, so not to spill anything.

How such a fat and heavy man could be named for such a quick and slender fish, Arva did not know, but he had been true to his words. The whole city had done a great job, if truth be told. The giantess seemed most pleased and had not killed anyone since her gruesome adventure outside the walls. That she was pleased was not pleasing to Arva however and in some of those who had served her from up close she had sensed something most unsettling. The madness of slaves who started to love and admire their captors was something they could not afford that, not in Thorwal, not with the plan that was underway.

The plan, if it worked, would help Arva to revenge. Perhaps then, she would feel better. She had to be strong, she told herself, do as Bera did, be angry instead of grieving. Only Troutman, Bera, Thorgun and she herself knew of the plan. They had determined that to be the safest course. What a glorious victory it would be to cut the giant monsters' throat after she passed out. The tub would be just a single gulp to her but they'd make her drink other things first to lull her into a false sense of security.

The giant eyes looked at the food with interest. Arva was pleased to see that the humongous womanhood she and her sister had been forced to please was covered up. She had to be strong, stop thinking about anything else but the plan. Play her part and do it well. If the giantess suspected something, that would be the end of them and the ways in which the plan could fail were numerous enough all on their own.

“Mhhh.” The giant girl made happily and addressed a group of three carrying kettles. “What have you brought me?”

“Fish head soup!” They called up at her.

She made a sour face and cringed: “I don't like fish very much. Put all the fishy stuffs over there and prepare a feast of your own.”

That was half the food they had prepared already, dismissed as unworthy in a heartbeat. Arva worried as did most of the other city folk, judging by their faces.

“It is fine!” Thorgun assured them, walking over, butt-naked, with swaggering strides. “She isn't very hungry! Bring forth the drink first!”

He was playing his part perfectly, if he was still playing. Parts of what the giantess had said to him had reached Arva's ear and by the wet way his body was glistening she could only have shoved him up her cunt. Evidently, that had not sapped his spirit however and he fished a fish head out of a kettle and bit into it with glee.

Two men rolled forth a giant barrel of fine honey mead, put it upright and cracked it open with an axe. The giantess took it gingerly and poured it into her mouth, sloshing the mead around before she swallowed.

“You don't like that very much either, do you?” Thorgun laughed at her.

Arva could not stop to be amazed by this man.

“No.” The giant girl frowned. “Where I come from, this is the drink of social outcasts, more than anything else.”

“Ha, you don't have to drink it for the taste! Wine made from honey is the most of what we have, I fear, but there is lots of ale as well, if you like that better. There's wine too and something very special, just for you!”

'Don't tell her too much, let her drink first!' Arva thought, alarmed.

“Uhh, what is it?” The giantess clapped her hands like a giddy little child.

“Oh, it's strong stuff!” He said in a way that was more praise than warning. “Best eat and drink first to prepare your stomach!”

She gave him a most intrigued look: “That is so nice of you, thank you, everyone!”

She reached for a plank-board full of carved bread trenchers filled with pork, cooked bacon, onions and gravy. When she heard what it was her eyes widened greedily and what could have fed ten Troutmans went into her mouth at once. She praised the taste and ate some baskets of cured beef next, then salt mutton, adding a whole basket of onions at Thorgun's suggestion. Bread, carrots, turnips, beets, she liked it all more or less, though the ready made meals were obviously her favourite.

Arva and Bera had had the people plunder the city for food. They had come up with far more than what was presented here, especially with the contents of the Stoerrebrandt kontor. All in all, they would be able to survive long enough on their own, but not if they had to feed the giantess a few times more often. If the plan worked they would not have to, but one leg was not enough to stand on for long.

“Don't stand there like that.” The giantess giggled as the contents of another barrel went down her throat. “Crack open these barrels, eat, drink, be merry, sing me a song!”

'Be merry, sing me a song.' Arva was almost boiling inside.

She kept in the shadows were the giantess wouldn't see her. If she was wanted, she'd come out, but not on her own, not in the state she was in.

“And then we beat the Horas, ho-ye-ho-ye-hum!” Thorgun started and the people joined dutifully.

They followed her request to feast and drink as well. Arva had not expected this and hoped that they would restrain themselves with reason. For this many people the food they had prepared was not enough.

Bera had the same thoughts and commanded people to get more ale and mead and others to hastily prepare more food. Other than her reservations about fish, the giantess did not really seem to care too much about what she ate. Frying up some meat and vegetables in a kettle might be enough, or else throw some uncooked food stuffs in with porridge, stews and soups. Her jaws were so huge and mighty that they ground even the hardest bones to a pulp. Most likely she wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a raw beet and a cooked one, even though she might prefer the latter so long as she knew about it.

She also preferred red wine over the honey kind, but liked ale best. Of that, Thorwal had great quantities, as had any city and it was ready in barrels of any size which made the logistics far less complicated than they might have been. Arva was lucky that the giant girl did not kill anyone but the quickly consumed drink seemed to wake a desire for merriment in her that might be dangerous. A little inattention, a barrel dropped on someone's head, an uncaring swipe with her hand and someone might die. But the feasters did not seem to care too much about that, on the contrary, the more they drank the less afraid they became.

Two strong men compared each other at arm wrestling on a table some folk had brought along with chairs. More and more of those were popping seemingly out of nowhere as the scene turned comfortable. The giantess was betting on a rower against a group of three who bet on a smith. The losing party would have to empty a firkin of mead without setting down. The smith made short work of the rower, which was good, and the terrible girl threw the entire firkin into her mouth, crunching it in between her teeth without effort. She wasn't keen on swallowing the wood though, and awkwardly spat out the splinters laughing and smirking as if there was anything funny about it.

The amount of ale she was able to consume was absurd. The largest barrels, such as those that required more than two men to move and held enough to let them themselves to death in a single sitting, were but a swallow to her. She had them prepare a row of twenty such barrels and picked a girl to drink against her with cups that adjusted for the huge difference in size. By now there were enough tables around to do it.

“Winner gets to sit on the loser!” She smirked and started without another word.

The girl was Angrima Brydasdottir, the wild, blonde youth with a child in her belly. Arva clutched the whale necklace around her throat in fear, watching it unfold. If she really meant to sit on her, that would cause an uproar. The girl was well known and well liked, a prime example of what a Thorwalsh maid should be at her age. Angrima started slower than her giant competitor but had an advantage because her small stone-clay cups were not as flimsy to her touch as the wooden barrels were to the giantess'. She overtook her, but near to the end she miss-swallowed and started coughing, and the giant girl won, accompanied by a frightened murmur all around.

“Haha, I win!” The giantess laughed and started to make true on her threat.

The general mood toppled over like a flagon of ale.

Angrima and the onlookers started crying out: “No! Please! Have mercy!”

But the giant girl only grinned winningly, taking her victim up and putting her on the ground beneath her rump that she had lifted half way off the ground. There was a clear dent visible in the pavement from her weight. Angrima would not stand a chance and perish as would the babe in her belly.

Her strong arms that had made such a mess of the father of her child shot up to hold the giantess off, but they looked tiny and flimsy in comparison. Tears streamed down her young, beautiful face, and that was the last thing Arva saw of her before the giantess lowered herself.

Cries and screams welled up all around, everyone in shock. The giantess smirked all around before she lifted herself off the ground and Angrima came, wheezing and crying, out from under her. It had only been show and even though it was mean, cruel and gruesome, Arva felt her heart lift when she saw that Angrima had survived. The crowd seemed to feel even more so and cheered and started praising the giantess' mercy. It was so absurd and revolting that Arva unburdened someone off their tankard of mead and emptied it all at once before asking for a new one.

'Just a while longer.' She told herself. 'Just you wait. Just a while longer and you are dead, you monster!'

The giant, stupid girl even had the audacity to apologise for her jape, as if that would make it any better. Angrima was thankful not to have been killed though, and agreed to another form of punishment for losing the drinking game, young and boisterous as she was. The giantess put up a huge barrel, full to the rim with mead, picked the young girl up by a leg and dunked her head inside, just to her jawline. The game was that Angrima had to drink her way out of the barrel if she wanted to breathe. It was either that, or drown. A most cruel game this was, but that fact seemed to escape the mass of commoners.

Arva was sheer going mad at their reactions. They cheered and laughed and some offered to try the game next. After a few seconds Angrima started twisting and turning in the giantess' grasp, unable to drink so much so quickly, much less while hanging upside down.

“Oh, she's drowning!” The giantess warned playfully. “Everyone, help her, drink her way out of it!”

She could have just lifted the girl out of her demise, but the people did not seem to see that either. Six of them rushed forward, plunging their heads into the mead.

“Drink!” The giantess chanted with a low, growling voice. “Drink! Drink! Drink!”

The standers by picked up the chant soon enough. When it was done, Angrima hung limp and helpless like a wet sack.

“You did it!” The giant girl cheered, but the young mother to be was not moving.

The cheering died down then and an eerie silence befell them all, one after the other, until the entire market square was as quiet as an empty dungeon.

“Come on, wake up, you little actor.”

The words were still raw with laughter but worry had crept in. A gentle flick send Angrima's body swinging back and forth, but didn't help anything else. Mead and snot ran from the young girl's mouth and nostrils. She was dead, drowned. The giantess had toyed her little plaything to death.

“Come on, help me!” She seemed frantic all of a sudden and put Angrima down softly on the ground.

Thorgun rushed by to help, cradling the blonde head in his grasp, trying to wake her with soothing words but none of it was any use.

“Push on her chest and breathe air into her!” The giantess urged then and rose up to show Thorgun how it was done.

Arva had no idea what that was supposed to accomplish and the priest seemed none the wiser as well.

“She is with our god now, feasting in his halls!” He proclaimed, trying to save the situation.

Some people even cheered at that, and that was more horrible than everything else combined.

“Breathe air into her!” The giantess urged again and pushed Thorgun aside, starting to compress the slender, lean torso under her thumb. “Come on, we can bring her back!”

“No!” Thorgun warned. “Bringing the dead back to life is forbidden! It is evil!”

He spoke of the fabled undead, but Arva knew plenty of stories were some magic wonder-worker or holy man had given life back to the deceased without turning them into zombies. She remembered his earlier words though. Perhaps the stories were just that after all, stories and lies. Angrima was gone, dead. Now it was to save the living.

“Do what I say!” The giantess snapped angrily and a faint crack could be heard from Angrima's chest after she had pushed too hard.

Judging from her voice she was almost crying. Arva worried that, without the merriment, the drinking would be over too and the plan had failed, for the day at least. She did much crave revenge but had no idea what to do and neither did Bera judging by her solemn, hateful look.

Thorgun took up someone else's drinking horn and raised it: “To Angrima Brydasdottir! May she warm our seats in Swafnir's halls and feast there with her forefathers in all eternity!”

“No!” The giantess cried in desperation. “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, I...”

“Step aside, priest, ye useless cunt!”

Queerly, it was Troutman, elbowing through the onlookers with his massive, boulder-like form.

“You Thorwlash are a real stupid lot, you know that?!” He grumbled loudly, like stones tumbling down a mountain. “Spend half your lives at sea and don't even know how to save a drowned man, eh?! Fuck off!”

Arva didn't understand what Angrima Brydasdottir was to him, but then she remembered that he was part of the plan. Perhaps he meant to save it too, though it was impossible to see how.

“Get off her, if you please!” His tone with the giantess was far choicer, afraid she might crush him if he spoke to her like he had to the priest. “You're crushing her, you broke a rib already, or ten!”

“I'm so sorry!” The giantess removed her finger and clutched her cheeks. “Can you save her, you know how it's done, right?”

“You, priest.” Troutman beckoned as he fell lumbering to his knees. “Make, as though you kiss her, but breath out, pull her chin up to straighten her neck, that way, not too hard, breathe softly, she's a fragile little thing.”

Compared to him Angrima looked that way for certain. He pulled her legs up so that her soles were touching the ground and started to compress her chest under his hands, softly, rhythmically, carefully, his broad, bulgy back moving up and down. Perplexed by his sudden appearance, even Thorgun could only do as he was bid.

“No, not like that, you idiot!” Troutman bellowed. “Short, quick breaths, and not too hard!”

It went on that way for a short while during which mumbling, whispering and crying could be heard every now and then. The giant girl seemed downtrodden, crushed in spirit. She had not meant to kill the girl, that much was clear, but if she really hadn't meant to kill her or kill any of them, she must have known that she should just lift her heavy arse off the ground and move as far away from Thorwal as those unfathomably long legs could carry her.

“Aye, here she comes!” Troutman gave an exhausted snort. “Stop breathing into her or you'll kill'er all over again.”

Arva could barely believe her eyes. Angrima twitched, coughed, wheezed, plainly alive. She wanted to rise but Troutman's fat, heavy hand put a stop to that at once.

“Hush now, lassie.” He grumbled. “I know you don't understand. I know you're in pain. Someone bring me a cup of that wine I brought!”

Someone handed him a cup of any wine, no reckoning of what he was speaking off.

“No, not that wine, you cunt!” He snapped, slapping the cup away.

Arva was on hand at once, filling one of the stone-clay cups the giantess had used to duel Angrima with the thick, dark liquid.

“Here, lassie, drink this!” The cup almost vanished in Troutman's prank but he managed to get the Boronwine down the young girl's throat with as much care and precision as Arva had never thought him capable of.

“Here, that will dull her pain, help her sleep. Bed her on furs, and see she doesn't get cold! When she wakes up, give her another cup of that wine. If she wakes up again after that, she'll be fine but she shouldn't move for a moon's turn.”

“Will she be alright?” The giantess asked from above, her voice full of worry.

Troutman's face twitched uncomfortably and he drank what was left in the cup himself before answering. He was scared to death of the giant girl, even though he was still visibly drunk, as drunk as such a large man could ever hope to get in any case.

“Aye, if the ribs we broke didn't pierce both her lungs, she'll be fine! Thorwalsh are tough as leather, them lot, have seen smaller girls survive worse than this too!”

The giantess let out a sigh of relief at that and two men and a woman carried Angrima's sleeping form away according to the fat man's instructions.

“How can I thank you?” The giantess asked and lifted him to his feet as if he were nothing when she saw that he was well struggling to get back up on his own.

His face seemed amused by that notion, or perhaps the Boronwine was already working on him.

“Heh, let me have some pork and mutton!” He grumbled. “I've had a belly full of fish and I like my eatin'!”

“You don't say.” The giantess giggled softly. “You must be the fattest man I ever saw.”

The wine must have worked on him them, because Troutman's fear was washed away completely.

“Aye, best not eat me, eh?!” He laughed and slapped his belly. “I'm like to give you ill digestion, hahah! Or if you do, wash me down with this!”

He lumbered over to the tub of Boronwine on legs barely able to support him. Arva was amazed at his cunning.

“Best eat your pork and mutton, big guy. I'm not eating you. I'll get laughed at if I get fat. Have as much as you want.”

Who ever would be so foolish as to laugh at this monster, Arva did not know. If she grew fat that would only serve to make her more terrible than she already was, allow her to eat and crush more people.

“Praise this man who brought sweet Angrima back from the dead!” Someone shouted and the people started cheering again.

“Ah, fuck off, ye...oh!” Troutman started but two women appeared on each side of him, clutching his arms to reach up and kiss his cheeks.

He reddened, and that made him almost look cute like a giant babe. What the people were cheering though, Arva could not quite comprehend. Surely, they must have believed that he had stolen Angrima back from Swafnir's halls where she would have led a fabulous life as all Thorwlash imagined it for themselves after they died. Again, she remembered Thorgun's words, what he had said about life and lies.

'Do you know what happens after we die?'

Perhaps they knew as well, she thought, perhaps they knew it deep within their hearts as she had. If death in battle led to a glorious afterlife, why go on living? If death by the giantess meant the same, why mourn the dead, why try keep her from killing them, why not ask for a quick and painless death by her instead? If they truly believed in Swafnir's halls, the miracle they had just witnessed could not have amazed them so much.

“Heh, much thanks for the food!” Troutman grinned like a sow as he was led and placed at the table, no less than five steaming trenchers in front of him. “I do suggest though you take a sip of that wine I brought! Nothing better to wash the shock off your bones, eh?!”

He upended a huge tankard of ale into his mouth and started eating. If she was ever to be a hetwoman like her mother and aunt, Arva vowed to herself that this man would always have a place at her hearth and table. He might even serve her as an advisor in the Ottaskin. He was huge as a bear, true to his words and cunning as a fox. Letting a man such as this spend his days a criminal peddling petty poisons would be a grave waste, tantamount to foolishness.

“You think?” The giantess reached for the tub and took it up gingerly in between her fingers.

She gave the liquid a sceptical glance, splashing it in a circle.

“Ah, that's the strong stuff you promised, isn't it?” Her face lit up at Thorgun.

The priest was awfully quiet. Perhaps he had to chew a little longer than anyone else upon the fact that Angrima had just died and come back to life before their very eyes.

'Do you know what happens when we die?'

Apparently, one rose again, if a fat wonder-making smuggler pushed onto ones chest and a handsome, naked priest breathed air into one's lungs, but Arva doubted that would help anyone who had been crushed by the giantess, or eaten, instead of drowned.

“Aye!” He said. “We figured, a large girl such as you might need something stronger to enter into a jolly mood.”

“Drink! Drink!” The chant re-emerged from the crowd.

That was good.

“I'm not sure.” The giantess shook her head. “I'm feeling something already, I think I'm fine. I wouldn't want to get too drunk and hurt anyone.”

'Shut your stupid mouth and drink it!' Arva thought, her hands clutched to fists.

They were close now, the tub was in her hand.

“Ah, you should drink it!” Troutman slurred, swinging dangerously on his chair.

He was sucking the fat jelly from a pig's claw but had still possessed enough sense to take it out for speaking. A moment later, his eyes turned up into his skull however and he fell forward, face first into his trencher. One of the women by his side had to lift him out by his ears. He was conscious still, though barely so.

“Don't mind him, he has been getting drunk all day!” Arva said quickly.

'Just drink the damned thing!'

The giantess was suspicious, Arva's intervention too obvious perhaps, but that expression lasted only a moment on her face when she recognized her. That she had not before became only clear then. The sun was all but gone now and the gigantic fire that burned on the ruins of the new market hall was the only large source of light to be had. Arva strangely became aware of how tiny their faces must look to this giant girl. It was a wonder that she could recognize anyone at all, even in daylight.

“Arva, are you...” She began hesitantly. “Are you feeling better?”

Rage, cold and hot at the same time, welled up in her chest. The tears were coming again, burning in her eyes and she fought hard against them. It was only the thought of sweet revenge and fear of this gargantuan menace that kept her from crying.

'No, I'm not feeling any better, but I might if you drink and let me slit your throat!'

“Yes!” She tried to sound as sweet as she could. “My family is waiting for me in Swafnir's halls, and I am content in that knowledge!”

Thorgun was a genius to give them that escape, though Arva would have felt better if she had not known the lie behind it.

'And the seagulls peck out or eyes and we go to nothing.'

“Oh, that is...good!” The giantess stammered and managed an awkward smile.

“Drink to it!” Thorgun shouted with a gleaming smile and the cry went up again.

“Nahh...” The giant face cringed. “Tell you what, something this special I would like to share with you all!”

She sat down the tub.

“Everyone, get a cup full of this strong stuff and drink with me, let's all be merry together!”

'No!' Arva thought. 'No, no, no, no, no!'

But how to say it, she did not know.

“Oh, no!” Thorgun pressed forward. “This stuff is much to strong for us tiny folk! It is something special, something we, the city, would like you to enjoy!”

“A token of your gratitude, huh?”

That was obviously meant the opposite way it was phrased. She regarded the tub of foul poison wine as though it was the most expensive vintage in the world.

“No. I cannot accept this. I want you to have it. Everyone, take your cups, Arva, Bera, you take the first. I have been very mean to your city and I apologize. I wish that you can find it in your hearts that you can forgive me.”

Those were big words for her, and they did not come easy. Normally, when she spoke, the giant girl used simple words and phrases like a child or a simpleton might use. That was not the worst though.

'Forgive you?!' Arva's head was spinning.

Her eyes met Bera's who had joined them and Thorgun's as well, but both looked frightened and clueless. Then it was too late, as the common people came forward, each dunking a cup into the wine and drinking it before handing it to the next behind them. When Arva looked down she found that she had been given a cup as well and Bera and Thorgun too.

Instead of drinking the poison meant to put her to sleep, the giantess gave it to the people and resumed downing barrels of ale instead. It was all going horribly wrong.

“Ehhh, that's not meant for them lot!” Troutman slurred angrily from his table, gravy still running down his cheeks.

He must have woken up, temporarily at least, but did not make for the most reassuring sight.

“What is it anyway?” The giantess asked, giving the Boronwine another queerly interested look.

Arva clutched her necklace, hoping against hope.

“That's the finest wine a smuggler such as me can offer!” He burped. “So fine, the fucking Ottaskin forbade it in trade, hehehahaha!”

His laughter rocked the table under his chest and bits of food came flying out of his mouth.

'What a man.' Arva thought. 'Frightened, drunk and intoxicated though he is, he still clings to the plan, to save a city that was not even his own, and like to have thrown him in a dungeon under normal circumstances no less.'

“Well, if you put it that way.” The giantess grinned at him.

The tub was still half full when she shooed the people away like flies as they were still waiting for their share.

“It stinks though.” She wrinkled her nose after taking a smell at it.

“A good wine always stinks!” Troutman was having grievous trouble not falling down face first into his trencher again. “Thank the gods we don't drink with our noses!”

And that was it. A soft giggle, a shrug and the tub came back empty from the giantess' lips.

“Urgh, tastes like tar!”

“Aye!” Troutman giggled like a little girl. “Isn't it wonderful?”

“I've decided I still like ale best.” The giant girl grinned apologetically and resumed drinking just that.

Arva's heart was fluttering, hoping that it would be enough.

“More ale for her then!” She shouted and tossed her cup inconspicuously into a kettle nearby.

The giantess took up an entire roasted pig, wrenched it from it's spit with her fingernails and threw it into her mouth, chewing noisily.

“Mhh!” She made. “Delicious! Hey, fat man, have you tried...”

Troutman had pushed away his trencher and started snoring for good, and he was not the only one. Who had drank of the Boronwine soon felt like lying down where ever they stood and start sleeping. Others had drank it with so much mead that they nothing short of fell to the ground, not getting up again.

“Ohhh.” An old man on the ground made, eyes half closed.

“Woa, that's strong stuff indeed, huh?” The giantess commented with a tipsy laugh.

It was not working on her yet, she was simply too big.

“Get up, you lazy whoreson!” An old fishwife was kicking her husband who was only capable of moaning any more.

The giantess was far from that, though she was clearly impacted by it as well. She reached over to throw more wood onto the fire and almost toppled over from the effort. Had she in fact toppled over, she would have buried and crushed almost a hundred men and women standing there, and that was a thing Arva had not considered. The market was packed with bodies keeping a safe distance to the giantess as much as they could but that would only save them from her immediate movements, none if she fell to the ground or decided to lie down.

“Uhh, that feels good!” The giant girl made and laughed.

She drank more still, no longer caring what it was and so quickly that some barrels broke and spilled in between her fingers. Drunk, this girl was an accident waiting to happen and it meant danger to life and body to be close to her, Arva knew. She took Bera and Thorgun each by an arm and led them away a safe distance. Now they could only hope and pray that the monster would pass out eventually and the way she was drinking that point could not be too far away.

Some others recognized the danger as well and made off while others tried to remove their intoxicated kin and friends and still others held on celebrating in drunken merriment.

“To Thorwal!” The giantess screamed and raised a barrel high into the sky.

She had had it with sitting cross-legged it seemed and people had to scurry out of the path her giant, uncaring feet as she stretched out.

“Sorry!” She apologised to no one in particular when she ploughed through kettles, barrels, carts, chairs and tables.

That no one had gotten killed or injured had been nothing more than lucky coincidence and it was good that a few cunning folk had led the drought animals off the square beforehand.

“What is happening, I thought she was supposed to lie down and sleep?!” Bera hissed.

“It's not enough, I fear.” Thorgun replied with a frown. “Let me go to and talk to her before she kills someone.”

“She's just as like to kill you though, look at her.” Arva warned.

Risking Thorgun was probably a bad idea but he had made wonders happen before and she knew him. The scent of the giant cunt was still on him too, revolting to Arva's nostrils.

“What are we doing?” He asked. “Stop her, or make her drink more?”

“More.” Arva decided at once.

If they were to have their revenge, it was going to have to be that way. The gargantuan girl was sprawled out over the length of the market place, her back towards the canal. People were standing around her at all sides, but shunned the place too close to the fire on account of the enormous heat. She couldn't well move anywhere without colliding with someone.

“Well then.” He said and was off with another one of his queerly confident smiles.

“I'm starting to doubt that this is going to work, if it is worth it.” Bera whispered in thought. “She has not killed anyone in a while and Angrima was just by mistake, a mistake she made because we got her drinking in the first place.”

“So, you mean to sit this out as we had planned in the beginning?” Arva was angry and not afraid to show it. “Has looking at our home not changed anything?”

Bera's face hardened: “We have to think of Thorwal, sister, and of tomorrow. If she remains peaceful, she is but a nuisance. Stores can be filled anew as is true for the dents in the ground that are the worst she has been doing for a while.”

“And what of revenge?!” Arva snapped at her, tears in her eyes. “What of the loss and injury we have suffered?! I had expected anyone to turn craven, but not you!”

It hurt, unfathomably.

Bera's temper was triggered but she contained herself for once: “A Horasian captain I captured once told me that we Thorwalsh were known for our kind hearts but also our irascibility, quick to anger but quick to forgive as well. He said he admired us for it, for his own people were vindictive to the point of addiction. They could nurse a grief for generations and end up hurting everyone, including themselves in the end.”

“Thorgun!” The giantess boomed. “Come drink with me, you little rascal!”

“What are you telling me?!” Arva asked through her teeth.

“He had been in our waters with a cog full of fighting men to visit revenge upon a Jarl who had raped and killed his wife in a raid.” Bera went on, the story turning her awfully solemn somehow. “His three sons had perished in the boarding and I was about to cut his throat, snuffing out his family for good. I told him I'd let him go if he was able to forgive our people.”

“And you let him go?!”

“No.” Bera said. “He shook his head and told me he couldn't. That he would try and borrow more gold, buy sell-swords and try again. And he would also have to kill me because two of his sons had fallen to my axe. Then he asked for my knife and cut his own throat himself. I'm with you when it comes to killing her, Arva. But not at any price.”

“So, you say we should put an end to this, try to make her stop drinking?”

“No, you shouldn't try to stand up!” Thorgun's voice was frantic and Arva turned to see at once.

Clumsy, swinging back and forth, the giant girl clambered to her feet. All went well for a few seconds. She fell forwards and caught herself with her hand before rising again. Her first step backwards to steady herself after that landed on unoccupied ground, her next one did not. One man was on the ground, passed out from Boronwine, three others were standing idly, drinking and singing a song. One of them could utter one last shout before the heel of the naked foot came down upon them.

Standing, the giantess was even more terrifying to behold, how massive she was, how tall and unfathomably heavy as a result. Arva understood Bera's words, but it was too late to undo anything now. With a crunch all four of them were dead, their bodies oozing out from under the giantess' sole.

“Oops, all under control!” Came that slurred reaffirmation from above.

People screamed and ran for safety if they could, but it was all happening so quickly. The step forward landed on seven people at once, clumsy and heavy as a stomp, squishing all of them within a heartbeat.

“Stop, let them get away first!” Thorgun pleaded with her.

“Tell them to watch were they're going!” Came the reply.

The giantess' next step crushed two, the one after that five. It didn't seem as though she didn't care, but her efforts to avoid people were simply not fruitful, or else her aim off because she was so drunk.

“Out of the way!” Bera screamed and dragged Arva with her.

The giant girl walked right over them and might have crushed them with her drunken steps as well.

“Yeah, get out of that way.” It echoed from above. “That's better for you.”

After she was past they ran to see where she was going. Houses, still standing, were in her way but she marched right through them where before she would have taken care to use the roads instead. They cracked and splintered under her soles, none able to give enough resistance to stop her. She came back a horrible moment later with that statue of Swafnir's penis in her hands and a huge smile on her face.

“I wouldn't want to lose this.” She explained and the sisters had to scurry out of her way again.

“Hey, where are you going?” The giantess asked from above. “Where is everyone going, come back, we're feasting!”

They had tried to reach a nearby shed but the huge fingers found them before they could reach it. First it was Bera who vanished from Arva's side and then she went herself. The fingers grabbed Arva so hard that she was sure she going to die for a moment before she was lifted up with terrifying speed and faced with that gargantuan face of their conqueror.

“I thought it was you two.” She announced, satisfied. “Come. I want to drink with my friends.”

As if they had any choice.

'Friends.' Arva thought bitterly. 'What stone did we tread lose upon this mountain?'

Bera had been right, it seemed, but it was too late now, the plan failed. The ways in which it could have failed were manifold and this was one of them. Arva's thirst for revenge had blinded her. They had made a blunder, a big one indeed. When she stretched and craned her neck, she could see below. The city was dark except for the huge fire, she could see people running, even make out Troutman, that mountain of a man, still slumbering peacefully through the carnage.

He had made a blunder as much as they had, though he paid his share of the price far sooner as a huge uncaring foot came down upon him, crushing him and his table and everything around him. The gout of blood and gore into which his fat body exploded when the giant drunkard stepped on him was more than Arva could stomach and the ale she had drunk earlier came heaving back up through her mouth.

“Eww, I stepped on that fat man.” The giantess commented, dangerously unconcerned.

“Stop it! Stop it! By Swafnir's angry wroth!” Bera was twisting furiously in the giantess' grasp.

“What?” She replied with a drunken smile. “I'm big, I can't help it!”

Her eyes shun with terrifying amusement at that.

She dropped them gently enough, next to Thorgun who was beyond any smiles now. The market was chaos, but thankfully, most people had fled by then. Oddly, the dozens lying in their Boronwine induced slumber seemed to have suffered barely any casualties as of now. A person was crying over the corpse of another, unwilling to move away.

The giantess bent down and the waist and picked the woman up depositing her right where she had sat before. Arva could see a pair of tiny arms rise in defence before the giantess' arse came crashing down from above.

“Oh!” The giantess smirked at the sensation. “This feast escalated quickly, didn't it?”

“Stop killing people!” Bera screamed. “We had an arrangement, we and you!”

“Yes, and as per that arrangement I am expressly allowed to kill.” The giantess lectured happily.

She was drunk and intoxicated beyond reason.

“Look, I tried to be nice to you and not kill you guys, but I can't help it, I'm just too big!”

Her words were vicious insults in Arva's ears, especially because they were spoken with such reckless innocence.

“Do you know how easy it is for me to kill you?” The giant girl asked. “It's actually easier than keeping you alive, look.”

Her thumb hovered over a passed out feaster for a heartbeat before coming down, crushing him flat.

“Haha, they're all passed out from that strong stuff, aren't they?”

She turned on her arse and her feet patted the ground where ever she spied more sleepers, swatting them like flies. The ease with which she did it was terrifying. It didn't require her any effort at all.

“Let us drink!” Thorgun tried to save what was left and cracked open a barrel with an axe he had found abandoned on the ground.

Much drink had been spilled and wasted by the giant girl's carelessness but they were nowhere near running out on the market square yet.

“Aye!” The giantess burped and turned back towards them at last.

“Let's drink!” She shouted, raising the barrel. “I want more ale and I want all the people back in the market or I am going to kill all of you!”

“Drink!” Thorgun slammed Bera's and Arva's heads together and whispered feverishly. “Match her cup for cup! She may be huge and terrible but she is no Thorwaler yet! If there is one thing our people excels at, it is this! Drink!”

He went first, cunningly explaining how his tankard was much larger than the giantess' huge barrels by comparison and so made her drink four for his one. Most of the ale ran down his chin and down his naked body but the giant girl was too drunk to notice that.

“Ha, I'm still faster than you!” She boomed but started to look at him queerly after that.

Arva did not like that look one bit.

“Drink with me!” She shouted after filling an iron tankard. This was her weapon now, though she still carried the axe Bera had given her on her belt.

“Oh, haha!” The giantess laughed. “You want to get me drunk, huh?”

She drank anyway but without waiting or even looking at Arva.

“And how do you like me drunk? Hate me even more, huh?”

Arva had started drinking, letting the mead run past her mouth as Thorgun had done, but stopped when the giantess would not continue.

“You have to drink your other three!” She shouted, uncaring how vile her voice must sound. “Else I win!”

“Answer the question.” The giantess replied, unamused and undrinking. “Do you hate me?”

That was surreal to a point were only the priest would be able to reply.

“Of course not!” Thorgun managed an almost believable laugh. “You are our guest, we want to drink with you, make merry, get even more drunk!”

He lifted his tankard but that did not gain him the reaction they wanted.

“People hate me everywhere I go.” The giant, murderous beast lamented. “It doesn't matter whether I crush and kill people or am nice to them. Everyone hates me because I am so big. I only have one friend in this world.”

“No!” Thorgun called up to her. “We are your friends, we drink with you! Drink!”

It sounded desperate and forlorn.

“Nah, that's alright. I messed up with your city. If I want to find real friends I have to go to a place where I haven't killed anyone yet.”

Arva did not comprehend a single word coming out of the giant's mouth, but it was clear that she had reached that certain, slushy point of drinking. She was past playful and tipsy now, with a little luck the next stop was deep, drunken sleep and a slit throat to go with it. Arva hoped that there wouldn't be any crying or puking. If it came to that it could go on for hours and she was tired enough herself.

As ever, Thorgun played his part perfectly.

“Do you remember our earlier conversation?” He asked, trying to cheer her up. “Big fish and little fish, Al'Anfa and what I told you about your beauty? Do you think I was lying?”

“Ya.” The giantess shrugged with a rocking hiccup.

He laughed in reply, light-hearted, as though she had not murdered more than half the city's population and killed dozens more a moment ago. Arva had to tell herself that it was just an act.

“Oh, you do me wrong!” He walked over to her foot and rubbed the side of her sole, cringing only slightly when he had to fling off some bits of crushed person still stuck to it.

“Come on.” She grinned shyly, her eyes shining in the firelight. “I told you, there's no way you can really like me, not after what I've done.”

“Damn right.” Arva could hear Bera mutter under her breath.

“Ha, have I not proven that I can, when I climbed inside you? Or do you take me for a boy-whore? I enjoyed you, as much as you did me!”

He flashed a lewd smile at her and Arva hoped that the giantess could see it.

“Nah, you were just keeping me occupied while the others prepared the food.” The giantess replied, though she seemed utterly enticed with him at once.

“Why keep you occupied?” He moved up her leg. “You weren't killing anyone and all you wanted was a fire! And all I wanted was you, ever since I laid eyes on you!”

This greasy talk would earn him a fist to the jaw with any woman under any normal circumstances, but with a maid as drunk as this it seemed to work wonders, a testament to the powers of drink and the weaknesses it could uncover.

“And do you still want me?” The drunken giantess went on with a smile that would have been archly and shy if it had not been so utterly stupid.

“I do!” He vowed. “I am as drunk as a mule, my blood is up and my pride still hurts from when you told me you liked the girls better!”

People started to reappear in the light of the fire, frightened and insecure, edging forward slowly, too scared to come too close and yet too scared to stay away. The giantess noticed them and bit her lip, looking in between Thorgun and them. The decision that played on her face had a cold shower run down Arva's spine. She wanted to kill, but she wanted the priest as well. Her decision fell in Thorwal's favour.

“I've changed my mind!” She proclaimed. “Everyone to bed! I want everyone off the market square now, except for Thorgun! Save your strength for tomorrow, you're going to need it. Your priest and I are going to have some fun!”

Arva and Bera understood too late that that meant them as well and the giant hand that came to chase them away almost crushed them. After that, they ran.

“Is he mad?” Bera asked after they found shelter in the shadow of a building.

'Yes, but he is still wiser than the two of us combined.'

“No.” Arva replied. “He's trying to occupy her and sate her, hoping that she might finally come to sleep.”

“And are we still trying to kill her if she does?” Bera asked next, watching the giant girl animate Thorgun to tickle the hair on her arm.

Arva didn't respond. She didn't need to, Bera knew what she was going to say. She'd kill this giant beast, she had resolved, and did not care whether she perished in the process.

The giantess laughed and giggled at Thorgun, but soon had enough of faint touches and tickling, it seemed. She had him try his best at her nether parts while she was lying down on her back but that bored her after a while too. Arva could see Thorgun enter her, and that pleased her better, but the greedy maid still took a long while with it.

The giant stone cock entered her after him and began to pump in and out of her, propelled by her mighty hand. Arva remembered how uncomfortable she had felt when someone had told her about the wretched thing.

'To impregnate the flood.' She scoffed in her mind.

The flood was like a true wife, the priests had said. It came everyday and went, dutifully, each time bringing fish and crabs and mussels right to their doorstep. That Swafnir's own stony manhood was like to crush his most revered priest was an irony she found herself unable to smile about. The very fact that the giant girl used the priests' statue as an artificial penis to pleasure herself had to be a slap to their faces all. If she ever was to be hetwoman, Arva would not allow such folly again.

Giant cries of lust echoed over the city.

“Oh, Thorgun!” The giantess was panting. “Oh, yes, oh yes!”

Bera cleared her throat of grime and spat out in disgust. She had to recall too, the time so much earlier that day, when they had been forced to pleasure the giant cunt with their mouths. That had been harmless, Arva reflected, compared to this. The cock moved faster, in and out, utterly without mercy.

'Goodbye, Thorgun.' Arva closed her eyes. 'You shall not be forgotten.'

They'd carve a stone with the runes upon his body and the story of his life and death. For a story such as his, it had to be a big stone but they'd make it spiky and raw so that it might never be used in such a fashion as that which led to his demise. The giant, merciless monster reached her peak and cried out, licking her lips over which so many good Thorwlash people had passed on their way to her belly.

The god's cock slid out of her and was put aside, momentarily forgotten, but if anything was left of him, no effort was made to take the priest out of her as well. The giantess was so mighty and terrible that she did not even have to care and started snoring a few seconds afterwards.

Arva's eyes met Bera's with excitement. She gave a nod. Her sister replied with less certainty, but nonetheless they walked, axes in hand, to victory and revenge. Such a huge body could not be left rotting in the city however. They would have to carve it up like the dreaded Horasians did to the whales they slew, and then give her to the sea, piece by piece, an offering to Swafnir and the crabs and fishes alike. With so much fodder, the creatures of the sea would surely multiply tenfold as fast and Thorwal would have ample supply through the winter, not having to rely on any smugglers, cunning or not though they might be.

Arva's striding march was suddenly interrupted by a group that entered the market from the southern side. For a moment she thought it was city folk, coming to aid them, but then she spied the masts in the distance of the harbour, barely touched by the light the giant fire threw.

'The rats are returning.' She thought for a queer, hateful moment before remembering that they had all tried to flee in the beginning.

The ones on the ships that had docked once again had been lucky, that was all. That they had returned had to be good, she told herself, they would be well rested and filled with hate towards the giant, sleeping child, styling herself their conqueror.

Jurga Trondesdottir was as tall as Bera but only half as wide. She was a slender woman and where Bera preferred simple red and white sail cloth britches, thick cow-skin belt, a white linen shirt and leather vest she wore a fine, cream coloured gown, draped over with a green velvet skirt under a brown cloak. Her fine blonde curls were held back by a copper ring with a black gemstone on her brow and on her thin, feminine belt hung a jewelled Skraya of finest steel.

The people in her tow were city folk, whoever had been close enough to grab a seat upon the boats when they made off, but also four fighting men of her personal guard, nephews or other kin no doubt, clad in scales and helmets.

“Hetwoman!” Arva hailed her when they had gotten close.

“Ah.” Jurga's smile was cold and hateful, which gave her hope. “You have come to observe our triumph, I see.”

'Your triumph?' Arva thought she had misheard. 'You were waiting at sea while we were saving this city from being trodden into the ground!'

Jurga's long, slender fingers danced upon her axe. The Skraya was a traditional weapon of Thorwal such as could not be found anywhere else. It was short, the two axe blades barely reaching over the hand of the beholder. In between the blades there was a round spike to pierce through armour, but if truth be told the weapon was all but useless anywhere outside dagger-range. Therein lay it's deadliness though, for by rushing in close to a foe one could turn the range advantage around, turn the length of his weapon against him. But taking that advantage meant running underneath an enemies blade and shield, rendering the Skraya a ceremonial weapon outside the hands of all but the most skilled of fighters.

“We have witnessed most queer things at sea.” Jurga went on, giving the Hjettisdottirs an undeserved look of mistrust. “Instead of fighting this giant monster, it seemed our people had turned slave, serving her whims.”

“And instead of fighting, you lingered out at sea like a craven, letting the fighting and dying be done by other folk. Is that the way of it?” Bera's voice was dripping vile hatred once more.

“We were laying in wait for an opportunity.” Jurga shot her a deadly glance in turn. “An opportunity that has presented itself, with Swafnir's blessing. I knew it would come when the white whale was spotted splashing it's tail at our astern.”

“The state she's in is our doing.” Arva corrected, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. “We resolved that it was no use fighting her while she was awake, so we feasted her, got her drunk and fed her a foul thing we chanced upon in the smugglers quarter, looking for food.”

“I see.” The hetwoman's smile turned so sweet that Arva's teeth were hurting. “Well then join me in this, let us finish the job you started!”

The procession went on without another word and Arva and Bera had no choice but follow. Arva looked at the retinue in hopes of spying some of her own kin and was disappointed that none was to be found.

The giantess was sleeping on her back, snoring softly, like a mountain before them. The naked tit they could see was young and firm and glistening where she had touched first herself and then her nipple.

Jurga's guard wore axes on their belts, spear and shield in hands. Next to their own axes and Jurga's Skraya, the city folk had only the occasional knife or dagger to offer. The way up led from the back of the giantess' hand, up her arm to her shoulder and to her throat from there but when Arva tried to climb after the hetwoman and her men, she was pushed back and told: “No.”

She almost cried again then, feeling the sweet revenge slip from her fingers. She would not have that done to her and tried to move on again.

“Hold her back.” Jurga Trondesdottir commanded the city folk, and they were on hand soon enough to seize both sisters, taking away their arms.

'She just wants the glory.' Arva told herself in despair. 'The monster that destroyed our home will be dead all the same. And how much glory is there in killing a sleeping foe?'

It worked, though the bitterness would not vain completely.

The five of them marched to the giantess' throat. Men dropped their shields and lifted their spears with both hands, anticipating the command.

“For Thorwal, for Swafnir, I slay this beast!” Jurga Trondesdottir announced with a graceful smile.

The Skraya rose and then it fell as the hetwoman brought it down with all her strength.

“Yah!” The men cried and drove down the points of their spears, leaning on them, twisting and turning, driving them down into the she-giant's skin.

It went on for a couple of seconds until Arva could see a drop of blood, thicker than Boronwine, run down the side of her throat.

'Yes!' She though and her heart jumped with joy. 'She's bleeding, she's dying! She's as good as dead!'

The men were still twisting and turning though and judging from the length of the spear shafts, they had not gotten in very deep at all. A massive sigh could be heard, a rumbling warning, the giantess stirred.

“What are you doing, kill her!” Jurga screeched, her voice full of fear.

“We are going to bed now.” Bera announced with a shaking voice. “Come Arva.”

But Arva was made of stone and could not move and the city folk were not budging either.

“Her skin is hard and soft at once!” One of the guards screamed raspingly. “We need...”

Arva was still shuddering at the thought that the windpipe beneath would be even thicker when the cry came from behind.

“Watch out!”

The hand that had served them as a stairwell to their victim's demise came up, clumsy, sleepy, ill guided, but found the spot that itched it's owner all the same.

'We're but an itch to her, mere insects.' Arva thought.

Yawning in her sleep, the giant girl scratched herself, her fingers merciless and uncaring, possessing no eyes of their own. Jurga and one of her guards found themselves beneath and screamed. Another guard came tumbling down, pushed off, and landed on his helm with a crack.

“Nooo!” Jurga whined.

The guard beside her had a quick death, his head and helmet crushed flat by the giant well-groomed finger. The hetwoman was caught at the waist and ripped in half, but only at the third scratch all the way. Then the huge head turned towards them and Arva found herself looking into the giantess' half opened eyes.

'She's still sleeping.' She knew, somewhere in her head. 'Her body has awoken, but not her mind.'

Her mind was no needed to undo them however and the giant body rose off the ground towards them.

“She's turning!” Someone screamed and people started running.

The last thing Arva saw was a giant, firm, young tit, with a slightly glistening nipple, coming down on her from above.

-

Bodies cracked and burst beneath the giantess' flesh but the wetness did not serve to wake her up. Some were being pinned to the ground by her weight, dying in agony, slow and painful. A few dozen got away, barely armed and so terrified that would not return to harm her.

The half-god's son stroked his cock until he erupted into a grunt. His white seed shot out of him, falling to the cobbles on the ground. Watching her kill was so intoxicating that it was hard not to show one's arousal in her presence. The power she wielded was beyond anything Thorgun had ever seen.

He closed his left hand and opened it again as the slimy feeling receded. The pact with Charyptoroth had been about to to turn it into a tentacle. He had grown strong by the pact, but his new master detested when he drank anything other than seawater. She had given him gills the last time he had had to drink ale, but they were hidden behind his ears and more gift than punishment to be sure. A tentacle for a hand would have given him away though, and the city folk might have killed him for it, if they saw fit. They might kill him if they discovered his gills too, but so far no one had noticed and it wasn't likely that anyone would.

The arch demon was pleased now. She liked what she saw. The scourge upon the world that this giantess was had not died, and he had not given away his face to the people of Thorwal either. Who knew what mischief she would be up to in the morning, what mischief he might be able to animate her too if he became her friend. Charyptoroth had placed him wisely, right in the middle of the most seafaring city there was. She was the enemy of Efferd and Swafnir both, their counterpart, the storm, the poisoned water.

Most who believed in Efferd thought the storms to be his doing, born out of dissatisfaction. Most Thorwalsh simply believed their god Swafnir to be an angry one per say. They were not the cause of most storms, however, as Thorgun had learned at the Graveyard of Sea Snakes, off the east coast of Maraskan. It was at that unholy sanctum that he had met Charyptoroth and agreed to be her servant. Ever since, his father Swafnir, in whom before he had not even quite believed before, had been mad with him, trying to kill him. His latest attempt had been a moment ago.

'I'm sorry father.' He grinned. 'But with your cock?'

It had crushed him against the walls of his lover's womanhood, trying to end him, but his body was strong. He wondered if he was strong enough to endure the giantess' foot upon him, but decided he should not be so foolish as to provoke that.

He felt dry as sand inside, having spent too much time on land. It was time for a swim. He did not need sleep, not any more. He flexed his hand again. A tentacle for a hand would be nice but he must not have one. Such were the gifts and punishments of demons. They were useful, very much so, but they damned him all the same.

There were seven circles of damnation, and whenever he displeased his master he sunk deeper into the abyss where pleasing her could delay that process. That his hand would not change told him that he had to be in the second or third. He'd only grow stronger the deeper he went, but at the seventh, damnation awaited, madness, death and the nether hells for his soul.

Arva and Bera Hjettisdottir were dead, as was Jurga Trondesdottir. The other living hetman kin were not capable of leading the city, which meant that the job must fall to him until Olaf and the rest of hetmen kin returned. The corruption a servant of Hranngar might be able to sow in Swafnir's city would be sublime. He had to still be careful though, for now, for there was still a handful of priests left to notice. He'd kill them, he decided, and only wished he had a tentacle hand to strangle them with. That would be sweet, but as it were an axe might serve him better.

After that there would only be the mass of people to consider, but they there the prey in this game, not the hunters, the seals, not the shark.

His body was indifferent to the cold of the water as he dove in, his gills filling and closing with every breath. It was fulfilment but he dare not venture too far out at sea. A white whale had been spotted, Olaf's wife had said so.

His body sank to the pieces of broken harbour wall the giantess had destroyed. On his knees in the cold dark wet he prayed.

'Charyptoroth, Gal Ka Zuul, night-black Mistress, Hranngar, Kryptor, Gal'k'zuul Globomong, merciless drowner, deep daughter and baroness of the night-blue deep, more, give me more, give me more!'

A whale called in the distance, it's voice pained and crying. He smiled.

'If you had a heart, I could love you. If you had ears, I would sing. After the night, when she wakes up, I see what tomorrow brings.'