Upon her arrival at the siege camp Fulda was gravely disappointed. She had been expecting the sounds of glorious battle and the sun glinting off the armor of thousands of soldiers as they scaled the walls. Instead she might as well have been riding into a hamlet. Catapults sat still while their crews tinkered with them instead of lobbing boulders at the wall, and war wizards were idle in their tents. Rather than climbing the walls to bring righteous battle to their enemies soldiers sat around fires, not even maintaining their equipment or training. Her dramatic entrance was supposed to accompany the breach of the throne room, not be met with half-hearted cheers from bored swordsmen.
Fulda stormed into the command post, a hastily erected pavilion tent near the center of camp, and demanded answers. She quickly found the man she had put in charge standing beside a battle map consulting with his advisors. From the layout they had the Rosimar castle surrounded, with enough strength concentrated at several points to force a breach. Either he was being hopelessly optimistic with his layout of the battlefield, or his definition of “as quickly as possible” differed greatly from hers.
“General!” she bellowed from across the table, causing him to immediately snap to attention. “Drop the formality and explain to me why the three legions at your command are sitting around camp instead of plunging their swords into the guts of those Rosimar traitors!”
The general relaxed, but the tension from the situation itself kept him worked up. Sweat poured down from his helmet while he launched into his explanation. “My apologies, empress, but the tactical situation does not favor an immediate assault.” He hurried to continue before she could strike him down. “Their defenses are much more formidable than anticipated. The fortress itself is triple-walled, with a diverted river acting as a moat between the second and third lines. They are able to patch stone before we even get the catapult reloaded, and their efforts at suppressing our wizards have been surprisingly successful. Prudence dictates that we lay siege and rethink our tactics.”
Fulda stormed around the table, pushing advisors and camp followers out of her way. When she reached the general she leaned forward so that she could glower down at him. “The strategic situation does not agree with you, nor do I,” she growled, making him recoil. “There is a relief army within three days marching of here, and if we don’t hold the citadel by then we’ll never be able to have it. Get the men ready for an assault now.”
“But empress,” he protested, “the walls stand strong and their defenders are out in force. If we make a push now thousands will die for no gain.”
“So you’ve mentioned,” Fulda replied with a smirk. “Luckily, breaking walls is my specialty. We’ll talk more later, though.” She left the tent, leaving everyone puzzled as to what she meant by that. It occurred to Fulda that no one alive had seen her fight at her full capacity before, and they were about to get quite a treat.
Once she was clear of the camp Fulda closed her eyes and spoke a series of command words. Everything she wore began to glow, and her skin radiated blue light. She immediately doubled in size, then tripled and quadrupled, growing so fast that even she had trouble keeping up with it. When she opened her eyes the glow had subsided, and the whole camp’s attention was on her, and the soldiers were starting to gather around, staring up at her. They were puny, to be sure, all smaller than the toe of her boot, but they were her puny soldiers.
“What are you waiting for?” she boomed, causing those closest to her to flinch. “The enemy’s in there!” She pointed her gigantic sword in the general direction of the fortress and ran towards it, bounding over the gaggle of soldiers that had formed around her. Each of her thundering footsteps shook the ground and left an enormous imprint of the sole of her boot in the grass, giving her soldiers an easy way to catch up as if the giantess weren’t enough of a hint.
In her swift approach Fulda nearly missed the first wall, more of a fence, merely five feet tall to act as a speed bump. Such a tiny wall was no concern for her, however, and her boot easily drove a wide section of it into the ground. For good measure she stomped a wider hole into it, either shoving it down enough to be negligible or shaking it apart with the seismic force generated by her stomps. With a sizable gap created Fulda continued her charge, eager to bust a hole wide enough for an army to follow.
With a single step the toe of her boot brushed against the next wall, the hardened leather curving it inward as it descended. As casually as possible she drew her other foot back, then swiftly swung it forward. Her foot crashed through the intricate masonry, turning the mortar into powder and sending stones flying into the distance. Before the dust even settled she nudged her foot to the side, collapsing another section of wall with a light touch.
Fulda unclasped her purple cape, and with a flourish removed it from her shoulders. Though she could easily stand astride the river like a mighty colossus the army coming behind her would be swept away by the current, and from looking at them they did not have time to grab a makeshift pontoon bridge before following in her footsteps. She knelt down and set the cape on the earth, then withdrew two spikes from her belt. A swift blow from her sword’s hilt on each one drove it into the ground, securing the thick fabric to the river bank.
By now the garrison had recovered from the shock of a giantess charging at them and rallied to mount a defense. From behind crenellations archers fired a volley of arrows at Fulda, hoping to slow her down. Ironically, at that moment she was presenting the smallest target possible, and raised her circular shield. The shower of arrows bounced harmlessly off the metal surface like a light rain, then slid off the shield.
Before they could reload Fulda struck, leaping across the rushing water while trailing her cape behind. She led with her legs, and her boots smashed through the final wall as though it were made of paper, with the rest of her body following through so that her hips widened the gap. Several archers were smashed immediately, with many more buried beneath rubble, and a couple very stunned men falling onto the cushion of her bare thigh. Unfortunately for them, she felt them struggling to get off her, and with a quick slap they were reduced to paste.
A shattered scaffolding stood against the wall, which Fulda quickly demolished with a punch from her shield hand. She grabbed two of the broken poles as though they were pencils, then held them over the tip of her cape. As expected, it was just long enough to cross the stream. Using the hilt of her sword again she drove the stakes into the ground, securing it as a makeshift yet steady bridge before getting back to her feet.
The defenders which rushed out to greet the threat did not know whether to run, fight, or bow. They stood at the feet of a titaness, her mighty brown boots spattered with blood and grime covered by a wall of metal plating that ran up her shins. Sunlight glinted off the brass caps over her knees, and her bare thighs conveyed her feelings of invincibility. Her purple tunic hung just low enough to cover her crotch and pelvis while a dark red breastplate covered her chest. Auburn hair poured over her bare shoulders like a waterfall, and there was nothing but contempt in her gaze.
While they struggled to make a decision, Fulda made the choice for them. She took a small step forward, smashing the bravest underneath her heel, and swung the rest of her boot down onto the group. Over two dozen of the phalanx were caught beneath her sole, their pikes snapping like toothpicks as they gave way beneath the unstoppable force. There was a satisfying series of crunches while they were crushed beneath her boot, and the rest realized it would be better to flee.
Before she could pursue the tiny soldiers, Fulda felt something jab against her ankle. A lone pikeman, drunk with the thought of wounding a giantess, had used the confusion to get between her legs and struck. Fortunately, the thick leather of Fulda’s boot stopped the point before it could pierce her skin, merely bringing the miniscule assailant to her attention. She raised her leg and snapped a kick into the fortress in front of her, breaking stone off the façade in the shape of her boot and sending the footman flying into it, shattering his bones on impact.
Movement on the keep’s roof drew her attention, and she saw tiny men crouching behind a ballista. Fulda raised her shield just in time, catching the cast iron spike that was on course for her left eye. The needle-sized projectile pushed through the metal circle but lost momentum, getting stuck halfway through. In retaliation, Fulda reached down and tore the roof from one of the towers beside her knees. She reared her arm back and threw it, shattering the stone and pulverizing the weapon crew.
A barrage of arrows hit the empress, many bouncing harmlessly off her greaves or getting stuck in her boots, but a pinprick just above her knee raised Fulda’s ire. One archer had gotten lucky, and his splinter-sized arrow managed to pierce the top layer of her skin. She saw them readying another barrage, emboldened by the sliver poking out of her skin, but she had no intention of letting them get a second shot. In a flash she raised her boot and positioned it over their section of the broken wall, letting it hover above them for a moment. When they realized their error she stomped, squashing the archers and toppling another length of wall.
Glinting metal pulled Fulda’s gaze down to the street, where she found a perplexing sight. A squadron of horsemen, arranged in a V-formation, rode down the passage toward her, streamers fluttering on the tips of their lances as they advanced. She had to stifle a laugh when they drew nearer and lowered their lances, pointing them at the armored toe of her boot. These men of chivalry were in for a rude awakening if they thought she was afraid of their toothpicks.
She waited for them to commit, then turned her foot sideways, presenting them with the broadside of her boot. Quickly she rolled her ankle back, facing the hardened sole toward them, and they were unable to stop before crashing headlong into it. Their lances snapped in a shower of splinters, ineffective against the hardened leather, and when the riders followed they found it was hard as stone. Fulda slowly set her boot right, grinding rider and mount alike beneath her great sole.
A single rider avoided being crushed beneath Fulda’s boot, though the dazed, unhorsed knight could do little but roll on the ground. Though she enjoyed watching the pathetic warrior suffer, she wanted to fully display her might. She bent over and covered the prone knight with her hand, then wrapped her fingers around his armored shell. Quickly she raised him to her face, the shadow from her shield keeping the sun off his armor. He reeled from the ascent, and Fulda began to tighten her grip. Metal plates creaked as they bent under her fingers, and he thrashed to get free of her hand. Suddenly he stopped, the crack of his ribs breaking drowning out the squealing of his armor, and Fulda dropped him to splatter on the ground.
The duration of her armor’s spell was nearly up, and Fulda knew it. The top of the central keep was near, within arm’s reach, and she could demolish it in its entirety by simply falling on it if she wanted. That would leave the Rhemari empire with no bargaining power, however, and that was unacceptable. She sheathed her sword, tragically unused, and turned toward the spire that came up to her shoulders. Her arm shot forward, punching a gaping hole in the side, then she flattened out her hand and pressed it against the floor.
If she had acted a moment later her plan would have been for naught, leaving her to cleave a bloody ascent up the keep. However, with her hand anchored in the throne room, when Fulda shrank back to her normal size she was dangling off the side of the building, the single hand keeping her from plummeting to the ground. Fully aware that it was a precarious situation, she scrambled up through the hole she had punched in the wall to stand in the broken throne room.
To her pleasure, as Fulda looked around everything was in disarray. Most of the Prince of Princes’ personal guard had been knocked unconscious or buried by rubble when she shattered the stone, with a huge, bloody smear in the shape of her hand on the floor. The three guards left standing were confused and unwilling to approach the cloud of swirling dust that had lingered in the air from her powerful blow.
A richly-dressed man crouched in front of the throne, trying to decide which way he should go. Fulda reached to her belt and snatched a jar etched with runes, the pointed the opening toward him. She shouted an arcane phrase and an irresistible pull sucked him toward the vessel while he rapidly reduced in size. In moments his tiny body was trapped inside the jar, the top sealed with a wall of force.
The guards pointed their glaives at the empress, but she expected that. “Don’t move!” Fulda shouted, holding her shield hand out. “I’ve got more than enough of these for you! Unless you want to be trapped in a jar on a shelf in my throne room for all eternity, throw your weapons down and keel!” Weapons clattering to the ground answered her, and they all fell to their knees. She had been bluffing, of course: a Jar of Entrapment was an expensive artifact, and even her economic powerhouse could only afford a few for each campaign. The threat was enough, though, since nobody wanted to be the tiny prisoner of the Eternal Empress.
Fulda held the small jar delicately with two fingers and raised it to her face. The tiny prisoner within pounded on the thick glass walls and shouting, ignorant of the fact that no one would ever hear a word he said again. She let him rage for a bit, smiling at the puny man behind glass, then shook it. He bounced from wall to wall before landing in a crumpled heap on the bottom, sparking a round of laughter from the empress.
The Prince of Princes looked through his transparent cell walls, unable to believe what had happened. Empress Fulda’s gigantic face dominated his view, distorted by the glass to seemingly wrap around him and give the impression that she was omni-present. “Let me out of here right now!” he shouted, pounding on the warm glass. “I am the liege of my lands, divinely appointed, and demand to be treated as such!” She smiled a Cheshire grin at him, but he was undeterred. “As the First of Firsts I am above-“ His cell shook violently, throwing him into the walls until he landed crumpled in the center, the empress’s booming cackle resonating around him on all sides.
No matter how many times Fulda trapped someone in one of these jars she would always feel a rush looking at them for the first time. They were always so small and pathetic, little more than insects to her mighty stature. The only thing keeping her from crushing him in her hand was the wall of glass and the knowledge that, though tiny, he would be invaluable in coming negotiations. She slipped the jar back into her belt and turned to leave. There was a general waiting to meet with her, and she had a feeling he was looking forward to it much less than she was.