Sensory Contest

[*Ariella]

"This is the last week for submissions! This time next week we will close of and vote with results coming out that weekend. If you have not already now is the time to donate!

- Factotum Trissa"

[*Ariella]

"This is the last week for submissions! This time next week we will close of and vote with results coming out that weekend. If you have not already now is the time to donate!

- Factotum Trissa"

[*Ariella]

A Anonymous Donation is added

One Last Wish . .

The recall starts with a long trek up a steep mountain side. Flowers and trees are vibrant,silver leaves and golden grasses. Light here is harsh, and weaves about like liquid warmth upon skin. Catch a wiff of the various scents, combination of honey and vanilla, lilac and rosemarry, even touch of mint thats lingered from clothing. Keens senses tell you that no eyes had watched the path and none will know to stop the proceeding event. The pathing has ended on a precipe of a sheer cliff. Looking down is dizzying, and sight narrows against the sunlight as it glints across clouds.


Purpose creeps across thought, getting close to the edge, then preparing the mind for what was to come. Thinking about falling head first, to watch life coming to an end. Death had been flirting and it was now time give into temptation. Fragments of conversation trickle in like drops. Would it hurt? Do you bleed? Was there even guarantee to survive? What drove you to this end? The snatches have no reference point of who or what asked them.

Pacing back and forth in indecision, vision shaking with displeasure. Crunching of rocks underfoot, shoving hands in pocket, for fingers to wrap tightly of cold trinkets, then taking a deep inhale. Its several paces back now from the ledge, blood drumming in chest and flow could be felt through hot ears. Sudden rush of coming forward, spreading arms wide, feet no longer touching solid surface. Hesitation? Desperation? They are but flickers of emotions crushing.

Then the free fall began. Air brushes along skin like tender kisses, silk fabric clinging as you dive faster by the moment. Vertigo a wash of colors in hues of azure blue, sea green, pearly white till they merge together.

Swirling emotions take their turns step by step. A well practiced tango with yourself. That part that knows every secret and regret, fear and sorrow. That bully that goads one into doing things because it wants make you suffer. Going down, down, further, alone.

Loss of hope descends into despair. Time extends from one point at the start to the current presence of all the negativity that drives one to the brink. Trapped and no where to run but to the end.

Liquid fire coursing through veins. Rage, a brother to torment and anguish. Its been a while since the sensation last manifested, in some dark corner of another time and place. Taste is bitter and comes as whine in the ears as vision turns crimson red.Feverish shake of senses, trying snap out of what it was like with blood lust, to want tear into the very fabric of another, giving into destruction.

Fingers respond, curling tightly into the crevice of palms. Tips press into the groove left by old ritual scaring. Dull, refusing to stretch with the pressure.

Passing of moments. Tick between the heart beats. Hot? Chill and damp all assail the physical form on outside, trickling that information. Staring ahead, somewhere in the back of memories. One that tells maximum air resistance has hit. Its a roar of thunder with the continued plumet. Vision swims through the mists, making it impossible to tell what is and isnt. Did it just get lighter or was it shadows condensing to darker forms. Sight had been lost off the cliff face long ago, streak of muddy browns and greens. Several salty tears pressed to a cheek, stinging. Slow closing sensation upon the tongue as teeth ground in anticipation. Coppery taste, rancid, blood blossomed upon lips. Twisted satisfaction as pain brought focus.

The physical and metaphysical world have become one whirlwind. Thought and reality. Which truely hurts more? There still no fight, toes curling inside old leather boots that know the treaded woes till this moment.

Flight has start to gyrate to the right, arms flying out to spread as flightless wings. What end? The feel? Attempt to halt it? Skittering motion in the head of one that could freeze that second just like that then slid away. Worry. Agonizing, tilting, agitating depression. String in the chest twisting, high twang that something snapped. Even the one person most trusted in this life time refused hopes. Dreams. Confessions.

Every new rejection bit more then the last.
Echoing whisper, raspy, distorted "Mists take you! ..". Melting away that sheer veneer always wrapped around to keep others away. Now left naked. Vulnerable. Stripped. Tattered. Breaking away. Nothing from these hands have ever amounted to good.

All these sentiments and impressions was now pouring out as uncongealed substance in uncontroable rate. Just a single glimpse, a longing, that another sentient understood, would care for all for least one thing that been denied every step of the way. Embittered history, what lies beneath, just wishing to believe in something. Anything.

Heart rate is rapid. Unsettling feeling. Panic was starting to well inside. Abrupt as the idea clinged. There was no safety net. No safeguards of magic nor device. There was only "what if" of uncertainly what was going happen. Just one more soul trying escape destiny through death, or trying a morbid experiment. The empty vastness was heavy with a thrum. Lips dry, cracked, the throat parched due a tacit scream had been ringing as it was dregged out the constricted airways. One those last thoughts how it always starts to rain even when jumping from a mountain cliff. A cleansing of the spirit before start of another journey.
Vision fades with blurriness and last sound a choking sob.

The memory drains away as if a sudden plug pulled from a storm drain, the recorder having lost consciousness from shock of realization. What ever that end may of been.

[*Altair]

As you touch the stone to your forehead you feel foreign sensations imposing themselves over your own...

As you touch the stone to your forehead you feel foreign sensations imposing themselves over your own...

A seething fury pulses in your head, and your chest, the copper taste of blood in your mouth. A burning anger that someone has dared place your family in danger, impersonated them. Your feet slam against the damp cobblestone as you make your way home, the light elven hand of your mate squeezed firmly - too firmly against your own. You can feel its owner slowing you down as you march slightly too fast for them in your haste.

There is the crisp crack of a wooden door slamming shut far too hard, echoing in the large open space of the Wild Side. The silence that follows almost overwhelms the noise, it's after hours and everyone has gone home for the evening. The scents of the patrons reach your nose, and you feel familiar with almost all of them, though there are a few unfamiliar ones. In your fury though, putting names to scents is not terribly important. Some in particular stands out above the others, strong enough to be present. Your other mate is nearby, along with one of your employees, and a family friend.

They are talking, but it doesn't matter. You are the Alpha, and you have something to say. The fury that has been building in your chest, the pressure that is fit to burst comes pouring out as you try to put your concerns and anger to words. The simple questions of the others present stir your agitation, if they would just wait...

In your shouting, you suddenly note something wrong about the setting. Something is off. Something serious enough to cause you to fall silent. You look around, taking in the familiar setting. Everything is as you expect it, so why...? A feeling? A scent? Your mate. The expression on her face. The response to your inquiry brings a lingering concern to the back of your mind. Her legs gave out? Fear, nervousness, and a lingering feeling of butterflies grip your stomach. It's been long enough, is it...?

You shout at the nearby ogre to help you get her downstairs, and get her comfortable. Leaning forward, you take a shape more suited to helping her move - Your clothing pulls back into your form as fur takes its place, your face extending into a muzzle. Your ears pull to the top of your head, and the sounds and scents that previously had been so distinct are now incredibly sharp. You feel your spine extend as your tail grows in, and the feel of the stone under your hands changes subtly as thick pads grow in on your paws, your fingers pulling back into the appendages.

You press your body to hers, her fur bristling against yours as you let her weight lean on you, helping her slowly across the room, along with the ogre and your other mate. Eventually with the help of the other, you make your way down to the small garden downstairs, letting her rest, and none too soon.

The pained gasp she makes next and expression on her face as her body contracts drives any lingering fury from your mind, though the adrenaline coursing through your body leaving you in high alert remains. All of the lingering fears and doubts that have pressed against the back of your mind for two seasons now come flooding to the fore. Your nerves are on high pressure, the worry of being a good father lingering in your mind. What if something goes wrong? Your mate's safety is a concern, as is that of your young. What if she is hurt? What if the pups are hurt? What if? What if? What if?

This is something you've never even done before. What are you supposed to do? The first tiny head appears, and you almost lose your mind as the panic starts to set in. It's happening. It almost doesn't even feel real. You can hear your mates talking, and the ogre asking questions, but the sounds seem to bounce off your ears in some fuzzy cloud of noise. What are you supposed to do? Doing the only thing you can even think of at the moment you simply do your best to make certain that they aren't hurt coming out, helping them gently to the ground. Before you know it, there are two, three small werewolf pups in their natural hybrid shape lying on the ground with their eyes closed.

Their fur is only lightly grown in, a light gray fuzz on their bodies. One of them is slightly shorter. One has a slightly longer muzzle. The differences seem almost negligable, but at the same time are beautiful. It's an almost surreal, detatched feeling, as your mate lets out a strained breath, slumping forwards in exhaustion. You nuzzle against her for your own comfort almost as much as hers, whispering gently how proud you are. As she passes out from the effort, the worry that had caused your earlier fury coming back and nagging at the back of your mind. At this point it was more than just your mates to worry about.

The incredible jumble of feelings in your head is almost enough that you feel like you're going to explode. Fear. Nervousness. Pride. Love. Anger. Resolve. One thing is for certain. The adrenline pumping through you is enough to keep you awake through the night, to make sure that the interloper from before will regret attempting to return, if they dare. You can almost taste their blood in your mouth... Or is it the blood from your earlier anger-induced rampage?

It will not be long until the answer is both. If they do not return, you will hunt them down to the ends of the Multiverse. You swear to yourself that you will be the one to finally pin them, to sink your fangs into their tender flesh. Perhaps while it is still warm, while they are still aware. Any who dare to threaten your pack will find it to be the last decision they ever make.

[*Asigai]

This donated sensory stone is named as "Monsters aren't under the bed, they're inside your head." A warning label with it, "Might cause anxiety. Have fun!"

The donation is left under the name of Katani La Calliwell.

"You're a disgrace to the family!"

Boomed the hateful reminder at the edges of your recovering consciousness, a face of rage given behind a broken window, one recognized to be your own father. Almost any other day it would've slipped through one ear to another, but it had been a bad roll of five shitty days. There are times when everyone wishes to concede their pride, and just crawl back to whatever safe place they had abandoned over childish fit. Lying in a muddy puddle under a disappointingly sparse drippling of a rain. Hungry, aching all over, lonely, out of money and valuables, feverish, thirsty, denounced. A failure. Tired. It certainly started to fit the bill of giving up.

It is difficult to grasp the sense of depression with the mere word, it is not the point when you're feeling a little down, or sorry for yourself. It is the point when you're starting to accept the self-loating as justified. Worse yet, you start to justify the wrongs to be valid, of course the world should beat you down, a paralyzing sense of knowing that you deserve it. This is the depth of depression the sensation has reached, silent apathetic acceptance of personal grief, a vicious cycle of legitimizing your suffering. You're a screw up, you should feel like shit. Failure in even stealing food for yourself in desperation, beaten up by a mob as a consequence and thrown into a ditch of shite in a chorus of cheers and left there. "You're a disgrace!" boomed the voice again, condenced to the core feeling. A warped sense of comfort filling you hearing the voice over and over again. Everything made so much more sense when you simply accepted the fact. Your heart is starting to race and pound in anxiety as the cognitive dissonance over the depression started to act out its tangible aching physical stress. Your mind may be ready to give up, however the body certainly isn't, and it is trying to point it out, in vain.

Looking to your left you see a house with family having a dinner, enjoying themselves, one of them seeing you and decisively slamming window covers shut. Letting you cherish the uncomfortable "bed" made of mud and dirt, whining stomach, the pulsing pain in your head, ribs and arms to your hearts contents. You had a good sense of finding normally meaningless, but in your current mindset incredibly painful proofs. The world was having fun, without you in it. In silence you lift your palms to hover over your face, staring in an unjudgemental way over the limbs which brought you to this mess, as if to find the divine accord setting your fate spiraling down. There was none in the palms, but you were certain the natural lines must've meant it in some ancient language.



"That looks nice, got room for another?" an overly cheeky tone inquired, casting a blurry view, past your own hands, at the man looking down at you. Definitely someone better off than you, not exactly nobility, dressed likely a traveler. A smirk dangling on their lips as if expecting an answer. Another person to insult your existence no doubt. Your expression must've been enough to give them an answer. "No no, don't get up for me. I got this!" and, simply put, lied down in the puddle of mud right next to you. Of course you get a sense of confusion whether this guy's insane or just... no just insane really. A sigh escaping your lips. "So how's your day? Actually don't answer that, is it swimmingly?" worse, it was a joker, to add an insult to injury "Do you come here often?" . You barely managed to rasp your demanding and annoyed inquire "What do you want?"

"I love it when you speak like that. So edgy." though the teasing tone and gesture did vanish a little "Look, I get it. You're in a shitty spot. Possibly literally. But you look exactly the kind of person who has no plausible reason to refuse a terrible offer when they see it." To be fair for the man. You didn't exactly have much reason to deny, other than your own desire to feel the oddly comforting anguish. The sensation gradually started to become less detailed to fastforward, a sense of granting decisive conclusion without distracting from the main emotion. Being convinced to agree to perform as a distraction to practical prank for the jester. And guilty mirth for observing the results, a sluggishly drugged city by a spiced up well. People with incoherent attempts to retain dignity while barely able to blabber a sentence which would make sense or walk straight, while inadvertly still trying to perform as normally.

[*MarblePilgrim]

Dave Turnbull requests that this particular stone be kept in the private collection due to the disturbing nature of some of its content.

This must be it. No more slaadi, Illithids, or spiders. Your descent into this uncharacteristically stable portion of Limbo has come to an end. A vision sticks in your mind, the one you witnessed on the way down here during one of the earthquakes: a giant hideous brain, wreathed in chains and tentacles. “RELEASE ME.” it had screamed into his brain, causing a few moments of confusion and a massive headache. You definitely owe it some head trauma for that, and have no intention of ever releasing it, though since you told them what you'd seen the others have been discussing trying to make a deal with the monstrosity.

The others. You glance to the side.

Succubi are a dime a dozen in the Cage, and most have only one thing on their mind. But this one's different. Or at least you want to think so. Certainly she's had the chance to do you harm, and hasn't taken it. Best not to think too hard about Miss Sherys right now.

You barely know Mister Franklin at all. He's been keeping a helpful gargoyle around, and it's evident at least that he's an experienced cutter. It's been mostly his now-fading wards you've been relying on for your expedition through the incalculably ancient Illithid ruins. He even cast a Light spell on you at some point: unnecessary, but thorough.

You can only see so far in the dark however, the chamber is unbelievably vast, and pitch-black. In the distance, light glows in the shape of chains around a massive bulk.

Mister Franklin speaks: “Do we, uh... jus' walk up and ask it how its day's been?”

“Maybe it has a story to tell,” speculates Miss Sherys.

“RELEASE ME.” The elder brain is colossal, the chains binding it the size of a storm giant's torso. “FLESH PUPPETS. WHY DO MY SERVANTS NOT ANSWER?”

Mister Franklin raises a brow. “Maybe cause ya call 'em flesh puppets.” A beat pause. “Ya mean tha' Illithids?” He's referring to the various illithids your small band met on the way down here. They were undead, and the three of you took the “un” out of that in short order.

“ANSWER.”

Incredibly... the command pierces the protection spell. It's an ironically liberating feeling, this momentary freedom from the responsibility of making your own decisions. Your vision goes foggy, and you are compelled to answer. “They are dead.”

“FREE ME. THE SLAVES CHAINS ARE BOUND AT THE LOWEST POINT.” The brain's incredible will, though weakened by so long in captivity, sends you moving towards the chains.

You hear the others calling your name, but responding won't get your task finished any faster. “We don' get nothing if ya jus' free tha' thing,” declares Mister Franklin as he runs in to stop you. Miss Sherys magically builds some sort of shell around you that immobilizes you, but only for a few seconds.

“KILL THEM!” With sudden clarity, you realize this big beautiful brain is truly a force for good. The sucubus-- well, she's a succubus, isn't she? They only have one thing on their minds. And the cleric, if that's what he is, is fielding that horrendous gargoyle monster. They've come here to murder your best friend and must be destroyed. They are speaking to you, but the words are hazy: no doubt threats of murderous violence. You know what you must do.

You draw your sword, taking a step toward them and melting into the shadowy darkness.

[*Ariella]

Only Two days left to get in submissions!

[*Red the Rogue]

The Dry Landing, donated by Sharon Raynsford.

The memory begins with a tinge of sadness and guilt. You were sure that your prior investigation lead you the right way. The ones responsible for the terrible winter in the North were punished you thought, but the weather only began to take a turn for the worse. Now standing close to the frozen river of the city, the tremendous cold could be felt on your face as heavy snowflakes fell around you. The snow piled high, up to your knees in the very streets of the city. The light from the morning sun had only begun to crest the horizon. Despite the heavy, purple noble's coat you wore, the cold wind could be felt blowing through the fabric, leaving you shivering on the spot.

Despite the cold, you rolled a ball of snow along the ground with your gloved hands. A second pair of hands reached out to help along, belonging to a blonde man in his early twenties, wearing red armor and a large blade sheathed over his back. A smile crept upon your lips as you glanced over to him, then turned away to follow up with another ball of snow along the ground.  Each snowball was stacked upon reach other, followed by your friend sticking pieces of coal and a carrot into the snowman to complete it. Another, a snowwoman, also stood next to it, prompting laughter from both of you. Regardless of the guilt you felt earlier, you felt reassured that things would get better.

A low, distant rumble filled your ears as you turned around. Dark storm clouds began to form around the smoking mountain to the south. A sense of trouble and worry were felt as the storm descended upon the nearby forest. Flashes of lightning were barely made out through the thick snow, followed by the rising smoke above the treeline.

“Blake, wake the others. We need to go back!” you urgently called out to your friend. He wasted no time as he hurried his way past you, towards the nearby inn. Your gaze shifted to the frozen and slick docks on the river as you began to trudge through the deep snow in the streets. Desperately, you ran across the docks, feet nearly slipping out from under you as you approached the nearby boat that still remained docked. A bearded, brown-haired man, dressed in a fine captain's clothing and a tricorne on his head, turned around as you called out to him.

“Captain, we need passage back south!” you explained, desperation in your voice.

“Lass, we're not goin' anywhere,” he replied, his hands spreading out and motioning around him. “The water's frozen. No ship's goin' in or out until the ice melts.”

The sound of several boots clattering against the docks filled your right ear, drawing your attention. Your friend, Blake, has just arrived, along with three others. One appeared to be a dark-haired scoundrel of a man in fancy blue attire, a hooded woman in green, and a pink-haired, armored woman bearing the symbol of Sune on her pauldron.

“Are we ready t'go, Cap?” Blake inquired.

“Look, I already told her, we can't sail 'til the weather lets up,” the captain explained with a hint of annoyance. “It's gonna have to wait.”

The feelings of frustration and urgency began to well up in you. Your gaze shifted from the captain to the rising, dark smoke from the woods nearby. You had to get there somehow, and fast. Suddenly, you feel an idea come upon you. Your hands pat around on your belt as you grasped a wand and pulled it free. In a practiced motion, your pointed it to the deck of the ship and uttered a simple command word.

A flash of blue light filled your vision for a brief moment, then settled as a blue portal opened up. You anxiously motioned for your friends to run through, each one quickly making the leap into the portal one at a time. As the last person jumped through, you quickly dashed through yourself to leave the ship behind.

The scent of burning wood filled your nostrils the moment your feet crushed the crisp fallen leaves under your feet. Your gaze shifted around to take in the small mercantile camp, a feeling of homeliness at the sight. Several individuals, dressed in greenery as druids and rangers, were busy putting out the fires of the storm that had already passed through. Your friends were quick to help out, extinguishing the last bit of flame from threatening the place you called home. A sigh of relief escaped your lungs before you made your way around the tents, approaching one of the druids.

“Is everyone all right?” you inquired her.

“Oh yes, everyone's accounted for,” she answered, a thankful smile on her face. “Thankfully, the fire didn't spread far at all in the cold. It would seem the weather is taking its toll on the volcano nearby.”

As you nod your head, you hear the same gruff voice of the ship captain call out from behind you. “Lass, we need to talk.”

You turn around to face the captain, blinking in surprise. His facial expression wasn't one of concern, but grave annoyance. “Captain? What… are you doing here?” you asked.

“Well, we've got a little bit of a problem.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “I'll need ya to take a look at it.” Your gaze shifted around as your friends gathered, a similar look of confusion on their visage. With a tired sigh, you followed the captain through the camp, back towards where you had just come from.

A mercantile vessel, the same one you had been on earlier, sat in the cold earth before you. You quickly held a hand to your mouth as you looked over the strange sight. Your mind began to race between shock and guilt once more. DidÂ… did you do that?

As the captain looked back to you with an angry look in his eyes, your quickly blurt out, “Look, I'll pay for it, all right? How much was it?”

“Lass, we're lookin' at a good thirty-two thou in gold here,” he replied with a somewhat bitter tone.

You felt like you were being robbed, but you quickly reached down and pulled out a magic bag from your hip. Using a bit of magic, your poured many of the platinum coins into another bag before handing it out to the man. In turn the captain pulled out some parchment, the deed to the ship, and handed it over to you. “Glad we could do business,” he quips before turning to leave the campsite, coin in hand.

Your gaze turns back to the vessel before you, breathing heavily from the shock of the situation. “Congrats, Sharon! You now own a boat in the middle of the pikin' woods,” you hear someone comment before the memory fades away.

[*witchinghour]

Off. - Entered by Danae Gren

The lingering tease of frustration hounds at your steps down a quiet street of the lower ward. Looking on ahead you wandered down with a woman clad in brown, the two of you were making your way to the bazaar after dealing with an ugly and bloody situation. Finally two others you had just seen, a young man and woman in purple colors followed after you two, most likely leaving the mess you all had just investigated, with the thickening smog trailing behind them the nearer they got.


The smog never bothered you, it smelled gods awful here though, straight from the lower ward factories. Trying your best to ignore it and itÂ’s encroaching hands, you looked back to the pair. They stopped mid-walk by you in the wide street to look up at the rooftops. .. The RooftopsÂ…


“... Invading halflings…?”


You went ahead to continue your way with the brown clad woman, staring at the pair with a strange look, clearly not hearing the halted pitter-patter of bare feet on shingles.


“Do things.. usually run around on the roofs?” Asked the smaller woman in purple
“... Uh.. I don't know?” You voiced
“What is usually in this town..? There were.. Movement up there, running.. Barefeet..” The fiendish heritage man spoke as he looked up at the rooftops.


‘Hisssssss' the sound rises from a dozen throats as pairs of gleaming, maddened eyes peer down at them from the rooftops.


You slowly looked up at the hisses, your heart drops to your feet, pounding,seeing the small gleaming eyes, hearing the all too familiar sound taking you back to that night. That one night… Please gods no.. I can’t.. You could feel yourself choking back the painful lump in your throat. Your own eyes locked with the hungry ones above. -  Taking a step out.. The first body toppled to the ground with a crack against the cobbled streets.


Willingly flinging their disturbed malnourished or grossly gorged bodies to the ground trying to get to flesh. You. Those around you. Anything alive. Cagers once, but whatever they were now, it didnÂ’t matter as they fell, breaking themselves on the street while others crawled desperately at you. All you saw was the hungry dark visage in a doorway, fire burning behind it, that ate motherÂ… All you saw were the starving eyes and salivating mouths.


You grew more panicked, horrified that they started to turn towards you once they were finished with mother- you blinked- you meant them. The others with you - Oh gods whereÂ’d Cherry go!? - One fell right next to you, limping itÂ’s way to you while you desperately tried to utter the words for a divine sunbeam only to be interrupted by a shriek as a massive weight toppled you down to the cold stone ground. The utter terror set in as you started to wrestle way up from underneath the viciously chomping horror of a deranged Cager.
Your hands shoved away at itÂ’s gnawing face desperately, the beast grasping at your hand and ripping off your left ring finger in a hungry munch. Oh gods! Nonono please. Tears started to well up in your eyes as your own strength started to falter and fail you, no matter how hard you tried, how hard you fought to flee the reach, you could only lay your head down and succumb as two more piled onto you. All that echoed in the annals of your mind was that gods damned night. The pitch color of your small living room in the dead of night. The screams echoing outside only seemed to dim in comparison to an that all too familiar loving voice screaming out in agony as the dead things ripped her to shreds. All while you could only sit and cry in terror as they went to turn on you.


The scene kept replaying your mind as the three cursed creatures started to tear away at the flesh of your face with bloodied decaying teeth. My gods, you managed to slip back to reality to gaze upon one ripping your flesh like a bear catching a salmon fish. Blood on itÂ’s face. My gods, there's blood everywhere. You stared up groggily in horror at the sight even as the tiefling man slayed and dragged the flesh eating monstrosities off you.


You laid there motionless as the brown-clad woman  rushed over to your body. Faintly breathing in the smog through your bare bones, tasting the blood of your flesh-ridded face.

[*Steamer567]

This stone, under the name of Brantus "Big B" is titled "Innocence and Death"

Mothers.

Nothing makes a morning better then mother tearing off the legs of a cow to feed you with. The way she remembers to pull the hide down to the joint like it's wearing a small cape, reminds you that she love you. Spend a minute playing with the legs as if they are gallant knights marching to save a princess from a terrible monster.

Your hands are large and calloused. Someday you hope that your hands will be as big as your father's, but for now it;s fun that you can play with your food. Getting big will happen when it happens. You know you are already taller then all the other people in the tiny village down the mountain and some day you'll be bigger then the trees.

The knights approach the monsters layer. They move int o attack but the giant beast is too much for them and it begins to eat their heads. As a child this is always fun, even when you see you mother shake her head wondering why breakfast always had to be a game.

After you devour the final knight cow leg and throw the bones in the bone pile in the corner, you tell your mother good-bye and run outside. You meet another boy. He is a little taller then you and his hair is red. He invites you to follow him. This place he takes you is new. You steadily climb up a mountain through a forest. The trees are taller then the ones by your cave and the sun cannot be seen through the canopy. Your friend continues to press on, but your pace slows.

The darkness of the forest can almost be felt. Everywhere you turn something moves. Always int he corner of your eye, but when you turn your head it's gone. Again from the other side, but like before nothing is there when you turn. Is that laughter you hear. It's almost an echo, faint. you cannot tell if you are only thinking of the sound or if it is real. Laughter, deep from the earth. Are the trees laughing at you?

Where is your father. If he were here he would tear the laughing trees out of the ground, but he is not here. Where is he?

your Friend calls your name, you remember you are not alone and you continue to follow him, but very closely. You walk, ever up hill until you break through the forest tree line. Above you is more hill. Boulders and other large rocks cover the hill side. Your friend grabs a rather large rock and throws it down at hill. It bounces after a few seconds. He points to a very twisty tree on the edge of the forest and says that you should see who can knock it over first. You take turns trying to throw bigger and bigger rocks. Some rocks hit the tree and some don't. you and your friend decide that you need to roll the biggest rock possible down the hill to smash the tree.

You look around and see a particularly big rock. You and your friend run to the Rock and attempt to lift it. It seems to be too heavy. After a few tries you get frustrated and kick the rock as if it was somehow the rocks fault for it being too heavy to lift. The rock stirs on it's own. You look quizzically at the stone. Soon you realize that other stones are moving as well. You step back to watch these stones but soon discover that the stones are moving to form a person.

The rocks stack up you realize that they are forming into a rock giant. The completed giant looks down on you and you run. You run around the hill, but the rock giant is just too big and it swats you and your friend from the hill. Down you fall, rolling in a little ball, your head smashing against rocks and the ground until you come to rest against the very tree you tried to assault earlier. Your head hurts but you know that in a second the rock giant will smash you flat and nothing will hurt again. You begin to cry.

Then you hear it. A yell filled with rage and a long fed taste for blood. Father has come. Not sure how he found you, but he is here. You will be safe. Father is the strongest. You see him slam his body into the rock giant. Then scramble over to pick up one of it's legs. The rock giant falls over and your father tries to run over to it's head, but the Rock giant swats your father away just as easily as it swatted you. That's alright Father can beat anything.

The rock giant stood up and grabbed the largest boulder it could find, raised it over it's head and brought it down on your father's. Satisfied with it's work for the day the rock giant walks off to sleep somewhere else. All you can do is cry. Someday you will be stronger then father...you will be the strongest giant of all...