Hello all,
This is technically the 2nd story I've ever posted, but it is the first under this alias, and the first 'legit' story using original characters. Ages ago I posted a story about a date with Cheshire Cat's character Miko, a tale which never saw fruition. So here is my humble offering, and I hope you all enjoy it.
also, dancing bananana.
A visitor in the Cave
It was dawn, and rosy fingers of sunlight speared through the clouds with the promise of a new day. In these lands the Spring was in full bloom, and the mornings were balmy and bright – which is why in a cave at the foothills of Mount Thorn, the resident giant was wearing naught save for a shift of wool she had spun herself – denuding a whole flock of sheep in the process. She stirred and scratched at herself occasionally, for even giants are not immune to the presence of gnats, fleas and midges. Eventually, she opened her sleep-filled eyes and rose with a stretch and a yawn that filled the whole cave, shaking the crude wooden shelves she had erected and sending birds out of their trees in droves. Liberally itching herself once more with a handy tree branch, she cast off her shift, secure in the knowledge that she was alone, and padded (stomped, rather) to a natural fall in the rear of the cave which she had shaped over time into a crude shower. Grabbing a nearby loofah made from reeds, she plunged it into a barrel of saltwater and vigorously scrubbed her body, chucking inadvertently as the reeds slipped into some more intimate areas. She dipped her long hair into the same barrel and scrubbed at it under the stone’s outflow. She was just about to finish and towel off when her keen ears picked up an almost imperceptible rustling sound, which reminded her of the sound her clothes made when she moved. Clothes – that meant people, or at least person, no doubt another knight errant come to test his mettle against the ‘gruesome ogre’ terrifying the lands. The nerve! She sneaked a quick glance at her reflection in the saltwater barrel. Alright, maybe she wasn’t the fairest maiden of them all, but you try to beautify yourself when all you have is sticks, rocks and mud! And it was hardly her fault if she terrified the common folk – those yokels would run from a harmless little wolf. Pontificating done, she feigned ignorance of the noise and towelled herself off – then spun and lashed out with her fist at the source of the rustling. To her surprise, it was a tiny man in a dress and funny hat, who just before her fist connected, closed his eyes and vanished! Her eyes darted around wildly, and she caught sight of him again, a dozen feet away from her. He was making frantic motions with his hands and jabbering away in that strange language the small people used. Clearly he was about to try some more trickery. She launched herself at him, but he suddenly sped up and darted out of the way, his feet a blur under the robe. She chased him round her cave like a boxer trying to catch a chicken, and all the while he was jabbering away and gesticulating. Finally she had him cornered in a... well, a corner. She advanced slowly and purposefully towards the southeastern wall of the cave. She was 15 meters away from him when on her next step she found her feet sinking into the ground! Her arms flailing wildly for balance, with a sound like a redwood falling, she crashed down and konked her forehead on the stone floor.
She came to with a start. Through a haze she could see the little man blowing some dust into her face and jabbering away. She gradually found that she could understand him:
“Fgersd sojdoiew dfkjesl – etter? Is that better? Oh, good, from your expression I can tell you understand me now. Greetings, extremely large female! My name is Flindarius anthomy bellidan ralagad dastrin mallangong glumgukridge – most folks call me Flin”. He swept off his hat – she saw he was bald underneath – and bowed deeply. A perfect opportunity to smash him! Her fist swept down – or rather it spectacularly failed to sweep down. She turned her head and found that both her outstretched arms were enclosed in solid rock. She strained against it until her face turned red from effort. Flin looked up. ‘ah, yes, I am sorry about this, but I suspected you might try to attack me when you came to. But I assure you, my intentions are peaceful! Well, mostly peaceful, anyway. You see, I came to offer you – “ but his words were swept away by a gale-force torrent of abuse from the giantess’ mouth. She called him every name she could think of under the sun, and then some more she made up herself. Picking himself up, he frowned and stroked his illustrious beard. “I thought it would be tough, but I didn’t think it would be THIS tough. Hmmmm....” he suddenly straightened up, and paced away from her towards the wall. Pausing in her abuse, she saw that both her legs were sticking out of the wall, knees down with the soles of her feet facing her. She tried to curl her toes, and found to her shock that her feet responded, although disconnected from her body. The dress-wearing man turned back to her. “ah, yes, a teleportation spell, you see. Mighty good job I reckon I did too, especially with fear of impending squashing! Let me riddle you this: are you good at fighting?”
She grinned as she answered “the best. I’ve smashed everyone who’s ever come at me, and you’ll be no different!”
He pulled at his moustache. “so it is fair to say you have never been defeated?”
“never.”
“I propose a wager!”
“eh?”
“If I cannot defeat you in 20 minutes, without using force or hurting you in any way, I will let you go and you can smash me, cook me, burn me, whatever.”
“Hmmmm... you look tough, you’d need a lot of cooking” she grinned
He stuttered slightly “b-b-but if I win, you have to do what I say for one month. Fair?”
She mulled this over. Well, what choice did she have? He had her bound in rock, so she wasn’t going anywhere. And although she didn’t actually eat people, she would immensely enjoy firing this small annoyance out of a sling into the mountains. Besides, how could he defeat her without hurting her? “fine. But if you cheat I’m gonna rip out your heart!”
The little man clapped his hands “excellent! Alright, let us begin!” he mumbled some words and ropes appeared out of thin air. With another gesture they wrapped themselves around her ankles and pulled them together. A second set of ropes somehow looped themselves through the rock and between her toes, pulling her feet taut. Flin scrambled up her left leg and perched on her heels. Each foot was as big as he was.
“If you think tying my feet down is going to defeat me, think agai –“ she cut off her sentence as she felt a light touch. She looked at her feet and saw Flin stroking a finger in circles on her right heel.
“oi! What are you doing? That feels.... weird...”
“oh wow! You are sensitive - well that’s a relief – for me anyway. What’s the matter? Surely you’ve been tickled before?”
“tickled?” her brow furrowed. Even Flin’s translation spell was not enough to fully convey the meaning of the word to her. She had felt similar feelings before, of course, when she scrubbed her feet clean, or walked in tall grass, or that one time a cow had wandered over and mistaken her feet for a salt lick – her musings were cut off by that persistent feeling, that damnable scratching by the little man, who she noticed was now running both hands along her heels and reaching down to her instep, causing an unfamiliar ‘eep!’ to fly out of her mouth. If only she could scratch her soles! But they were tied tight as roots going through rock. As Flin traced random patterns with his fingertips and here and there gave a hard scratch, she felt a strange urge... an urge to.... what? To giggle, she realised, to chuckle and laugh like she had as a girl playing on Mount farrowing. Her father had soon put a stop to that – as a daughter of a chief, she had to be tough. To laugh, or cry, or show any emotion but anger was weak, and not done. She gritted her teeth and sneered at the little man in the dress, pushing the urges down.
“You think tha-hat this will defeat me? Pah! Your we-eek-ling tricks are for fools and little girls!”
Flin looked up with a grin as wide as the moon.
“oh, my dear, I’m just getting warmed up! I’ll make you dance to my tune soon enough, my large lady. But first I think I had better get your feet clean, don’t you? They are awfully dirty from this cave, my word yes.”
Before she could protest, he snapped his fingers and the reed brush rose from the shower basin, dipped itself thrice into the saltwater barrel, and with a twirl floated over and above her trapped soles. She tried to put on a brave face but inside she was sweating. If this man’s fingers had felt so strong, what would a brush feel like under his control? The brush descended and then paused. Flin turned to her.
“Oh, but where are my manners? I have introduced myself, but have not asked your name! That will not do, no sir nohow! What is your name, my lovely?”
She was momentarily taken aback – no one had ever called her lovely. Then her rage and pride took over.
“I’ll never give my name to a stumpy runt like you! You can go dump elderberries on your head, you poncy sheep-fancier!”
This gravest of insults only caused Flin’s grin to widen. He twirled a moustache pensively. “then I see I have a new challenge – I’ll not only defeat you, but get your name, too!”
“I’d like to see you try – “ but before she could finish her insult, the reed brush descended and began scrubbing away vigorously. The effect was electric – like lightning bolts had hit her feet. All pretense at restraint was gone as she threw back her head and laughed louder than an elephant’s trumpet. The tickly, itchy, scratchy reed bristles stroked and inflamed every nerve ending, like a million tiny animal claws. Up, down, sideways, figure of eight, the devilish brush sped up and slowed down, seeming to anticipate where it would tickle the most. Her toes vainly tried to clench to give her some relief, but the binding ropes held firm. Her arms strained against the strength of the stones to no avail. All she could do was thrash her head around and scream with laughter like a banshee. Dimly over the sound of her own hooting she heard Flin’s voice.
“so, my locked up large lass, are you feeling ready to give me your name?”
“HAHAAAAAAAHAAHAAAAAAANNNEEEVVERRRRAHAHAAAAAAAHAAHAAAAAAAAAARGH”
He tilted his head in mock concern. Really now? That’s too bad, I’m sure. I suppose I have no choice but to ask – are your toes ticklish?
“WAIT! WAIIIIIIII-“ the brush moved down a foot and with a low hum, started vibrating. With another gesture Flin sent it in a wide swath across her ten trapped toes, left to right.
“AAAAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!”
“Amazing! An even better reaction! Tell me, my dear, which is worse? The toes?” here the brush started to move in circles, paying loving attention to each toe and the tender skin between
“OOOOOOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”
“Or perhaps the soles?”
“NOOOOONOOHOHOHOHOHOHAAHAHAAAAAAA”
“or even the heels?” the brush flew up and with a sound not unlike a chainsaw vibrated across her heels.
“AAHAHAHAAOOHSTOOOOOOOOAAAHAHAHAAAAARRRRHHRGGHG”
The whole cave seemed to be shuddering with the strength of her laughter. Small pebbles and rocks bounced around; on her shelves a pot upended and smashed. Finally, after what seemed like an hour but was probably only three minutes, the demon-brush relented and moved to float beside Flin in midair. Her hair was a mess – sweat poured from her brow, and her laboured breathing showed the exertion she felt. Flin padded over to her and stopped 5 feet from her hanging head.
“So my dear giant, will you give me your name?”
“K....Kringa....” it came out as a whisper, which is to say, slightly louder than a normal person’s voice.
“so, my dear Kringa,” and Flin’s voice was tinged with tenderness “are you ready to surrender, my sweet? Have I beaten you?”
Kringa slowly raised her head, and locked her gaze with his. Then, she drew back her head and spat in his face. Flin calmly summoned a pocket handkerchief, and wiped the gobbet from his protuberant nose.
“I’ll take that as a no then.” Suddenly his gaze was drawn to the smashed pot near Krinja’s ‘Bijou kitchenette’; more accurately, to the contents it was leaking over the stone floor. He Levitated the pot and its liquid contents over to him, and turned to her.
“I say, Krinja, is this Olive oil? I didn’t know you were a gourmet chef! But I think I have a better idea for this” Krinja stared back at him, eyes wide.
- To be Continued -
This is technically the 2nd story I've ever posted, but it is the first under this alias, and the first 'legit' story using original characters. Ages ago I posted a story about a date with Cheshire Cat's character Miko, a tale which never saw fruition. So here is my humble offering, and I hope you all enjoy it.
also, dancing bananana.
A visitor in the Cave
It was dawn, and rosy fingers of sunlight speared through the clouds with the promise of a new day. In these lands the Spring was in full bloom, and the mornings were balmy and bright – which is why in a cave at the foothills of Mount Thorn, the resident giant was wearing naught save for a shift of wool she had spun herself – denuding a whole flock of sheep in the process. She stirred and scratched at herself occasionally, for even giants are not immune to the presence of gnats, fleas and midges. Eventually, she opened her sleep-filled eyes and rose with a stretch and a yawn that filled the whole cave, shaking the crude wooden shelves she had erected and sending birds out of their trees in droves. Liberally itching herself once more with a handy tree branch, she cast off her shift, secure in the knowledge that she was alone, and padded (stomped, rather) to a natural fall in the rear of the cave which she had shaped over time into a crude shower. Grabbing a nearby loofah made from reeds, she plunged it into a barrel of saltwater and vigorously scrubbed her body, chucking inadvertently as the reeds slipped into some more intimate areas. She dipped her long hair into the same barrel and scrubbed at it under the stone’s outflow. She was just about to finish and towel off when her keen ears picked up an almost imperceptible rustling sound, which reminded her of the sound her clothes made when she moved. Clothes – that meant people, or at least person, no doubt another knight errant come to test his mettle against the ‘gruesome ogre’ terrifying the lands. The nerve! She sneaked a quick glance at her reflection in the saltwater barrel. Alright, maybe she wasn’t the fairest maiden of them all, but you try to beautify yourself when all you have is sticks, rocks and mud! And it was hardly her fault if she terrified the common folk – those yokels would run from a harmless little wolf. Pontificating done, she feigned ignorance of the noise and towelled herself off – then spun and lashed out with her fist at the source of the rustling. To her surprise, it was a tiny man in a dress and funny hat, who just before her fist connected, closed his eyes and vanished! Her eyes darted around wildly, and she caught sight of him again, a dozen feet away from her. He was making frantic motions with his hands and jabbering away in that strange language the small people used. Clearly he was about to try some more trickery. She launched herself at him, but he suddenly sped up and darted out of the way, his feet a blur under the robe. She chased him round her cave like a boxer trying to catch a chicken, and all the while he was jabbering away and gesticulating. Finally she had him cornered in a... well, a corner. She advanced slowly and purposefully towards the southeastern wall of the cave. She was 15 meters away from him when on her next step she found her feet sinking into the ground! Her arms flailing wildly for balance, with a sound like a redwood falling, she crashed down and konked her forehead on the stone floor.
She came to with a start. Through a haze she could see the little man blowing some dust into her face and jabbering away. She gradually found that she could understand him:
“Fgersd sojdoiew dfkjesl – etter? Is that better? Oh, good, from your expression I can tell you understand me now. Greetings, extremely large female! My name is Flindarius anthomy bellidan ralagad dastrin mallangong glumgukridge – most folks call me Flin”. He swept off his hat – she saw he was bald underneath – and bowed deeply. A perfect opportunity to smash him! Her fist swept down – or rather it spectacularly failed to sweep down. She turned her head and found that both her outstretched arms were enclosed in solid rock. She strained against it until her face turned red from effort. Flin looked up. ‘ah, yes, I am sorry about this, but I suspected you might try to attack me when you came to. But I assure you, my intentions are peaceful! Well, mostly peaceful, anyway. You see, I came to offer you – “ but his words were swept away by a gale-force torrent of abuse from the giantess’ mouth. She called him every name she could think of under the sun, and then some more she made up herself. Picking himself up, he frowned and stroked his illustrious beard. “I thought it would be tough, but I didn’t think it would be THIS tough. Hmmmm....” he suddenly straightened up, and paced away from her towards the wall. Pausing in her abuse, she saw that both her legs were sticking out of the wall, knees down with the soles of her feet facing her. She tried to curl her toes, and found to her shock that her feet responded, although disconnected from her body. The dress-wearing man turned back to her. “ah, yes, a teleportation spell, you see. Mighty good job I reckon I did too, especially with fear of impending squashing! Let me riddle you this: are you good at fighting?”
She grinned as she answered “the best. I’ve smashed everyone who’s ever come at me, and you’ll be no different!”
He pulled at his moustache. “so it is fair to say you have never been defeated?”
“never.”
“I propose a wager!”
“eh?”
“If I cannot defeat you in 20 minutes, without using force or hurting you in any way, I will let you go and you can smash me, cook me, burn me, whatever.”
“Hmmmm... you look tough, you’d need a lot of cooking” she grinned
He stuttered slightly “b-b-but if I win, you have to do what I say for one month. Fair?”
She mulled this over. Well, what choice did she have? He had her bound in rock, so she wasn’t going anywhere. And although she didn’t actually eat people, she would immensely enjoy firing this small annoyance out of a sling into the mountains. Besides, how could he defeat her without hurting her? “fine. But if you cheat I’m gonna rip out your heart!”
The little man clapped his hands “excellent! Alright, let us begin!” he mumbled some words and ropes appeared out of thin air. With another gesture they wrapped themselves around her ankles and pulled them together. A second set of ropes somehow looped themselves through the rock and between her toes, pulling her feet taut. Flin scrambled up her left leg and perched on her heels. Each foot was as big as he was.
“If you think tying my feet down is going to defeat me, think agai –“ she cut off her sentence as she felt a light touch. She looked at her feet and saw Flin stroking a finger in circles on her right heel.
“oi! What are you doing? That feels.... weird...”
“oh wow! You are sensitive - well that’s a relief – for me anyway. What’s the matter? Surely you’ve been tickled before?”
“tickled?” her brow furrowed. Even Flin’s translation spell was not enough to fully convey the meaning of the word to her. She had felt similar feelings before, of course, when she scrubbed her feet clean, or walked in tall grass, or that one time a cow had wandered over and mistaken her feet for a salt lick – her musings were cut off by that persistent feeling, that damnable scratching by the little man, who she noticed was now running both hands along her heels and reaching down to her instep, causing an unfamiliar ‘eep!’ to fly out of her mouth. If only she could scratch her soles! But they were tied tight as roots going through rock. As Flin traced random patterns with his fingertips and here and there gave a hard scratch, she felt a strange urge... an urge to.... what? To giggle, she realised, to chuckle and laugh like she had as a girl playing on Mount farrowing. Her father had soon put a stop to that – as a daughter of a chief, she had to be tough. To laugh, or cry, or show any emotion but anger was weak, and not done. She gritted her teeth and sneered at the little man in the dress, pushing the urges down.
“You think tha-hat this will defeat me? Pah! Your we-eek-ling tricks are for fools and little girls!”
Flin looked up with a grin as wide as the moon.
“oh, my dear, I’m just getting warmed up! I’ll make you dance to my tune soon enough, my large lady. But first I think I had better get your feet clean, don’t you? They are awfully dirty from this cave, my word yes.”
Before she could protest, he snapped his fingers and the reed brush rose from the shower basin, dipped itself thrice into the saltwater barrel, and with a twirl floated over and above her trapped soles. She tried to put on a brave face but inside she was sweating. If this man’s fingers had felt so strong, what would a brush feel like under his control? The brush descended and then paused. Flin turned to her.
“Oh, but where are my manners? I have introduced myself, but have not asked your name! That will not do, no sir nohow! What is your name, my lovely?”
She was momentarily taken aback – no one had ever called her lovely. Then her rage and pride took over.
“I’ll never give my name to a stumpy runt like you! You can go dump elderberries on your head, you poncy sheep-fancier!”
This gravest of insults only caused Flin’s grin to widen. He twirled a moustache pensively. “then I see I have a new challenge – I’ll not only defeat you, but get your name, too!”
“I’d like to see you try – “ but before she could finish her insult, the reed brush descended and began scrubbing away vigorously. The effect was electric – like lightning bolts had hit her feet. All pretense at restraint was gone as she threw back her head and laughed louder than an elephant’s trumpet. The tickly, itchy, scratchy reed bristles stroked and inflamed every nerve ending, like a million tiny animal claws. Up, down, sideways, figure of eight, the devilish brush sped up and slowed down, seeming to anticipate where it would tickle the most. Her toes vainly tried to clench to give her some relief, but the binding ropes held firm. Her arms strained against the strength of the stones to no avail. All she could do was thrash her head around and scream with laughter like a banshee. Dimly over the sound of her own hooting she heard Flin’s voice.
“so, my locked up large lass, are you feeling ready to give me your name?”
“HAHAAAAAAAHAAHAAAAAAANNNEEEVVERRRRAHAHAAAAAAAHAAHAAAAAAAAAARGH”
He tilted his head in mock concern. Really now? That’s too bad, I’m sure. I suppose I have no choice but to ask – are your toes ticklish?
“WAIT! WAIIIIIIII-“ the brush moved down a foot and with a low hum, started vibrating. With another gesture Flin sent it in a wide swath across her ten trapped toes, left to right.
“AAAAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!”
“Amazing! An even better reaction! Tell me, my dear, which is worse? The toes?” here the brush started to move in circles, paying loving attention to each toe and the tender skin between
“OOOOOOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”
“Or perhaps the soles?”
“NOOOOONOOHOHOHOHOHOHAAHAHAAAAAAA”
“or even the heels?” the brush flew up and with a sound not unlike a chainsaw vibrated across her heels.
“AAHAHAHAAOOHSTOOOOOOOOAAAHAHAHAAAAARRRRHHRGGHG”
The whole cave seemed to be shuddering with the strength of her laughter. Small pebbles and rocks bounced around; on her shelves a pot upended and smashed. Finally, after what seemed like an hour but was probably only three minutes, the demon-brush relented and moved to float beside Flin in midair. Her hair was a mess – sweat poured from her brow, and her laboured breathing showed the exertion she felt. Flin padded over to her and stopped 5 feet from her hanging head.
“So my dear giant, will you give me your name?”
“K....Kringa....” it came out as a whisper, which is to say, slightly louder than a normal person’s voice.
“so, my dear Kringa,” and Flin’s voice was tinged with tenderness “are you ready to surrender, my sweet? Have I beaten you?”
Kringa slowly raised her head, and locked her gaze with his. Then, she drew back her head and spat in his face. Flin calmly summoned a pocket handkerchief, and wiped the gobbet from his protuberant nose.
“I’ll take that as a no then.” Suddenly his gaze was drawn to the smashed pot near Krinja’s ‘Bijou kitchenette’; more accurately, to the contents it was leaking over the stone floor. He Levitated the pot and its liquid contents over to him, and turned to her.
“I say, Krinja, is this Olive oil? I didn’t know you were a gourmet chef! But I think I have a better idea for this” Krinja stared back at him, eyes wide.
- To be Continued -
