[W/W] Next story
It came to pass, in the days of old, that the Children of Vardansi gathered on the Plains of Kiin to Talk. Of these three things did they speak: Of the rightness of their followers, of the nature of their sacrifice, and of their own power. The Great Ones listed tale after tale of the glorious things they had done in the Days before Men. Yet among their number, the Champion of the gods had no story, for he was youngest of their company. He of the Thunderfist had as yet done no tale told by bards, no great act recounted among the mead-halls.
Thus it was, when all eyes had turned to him, and Vardansi the Sky-father had turned unto him and asked of his story, that the Mighty One made forth this boast: That he would that very day go forth and challenge Dwire, King of the Giants, to a battle, and strike him down. And the Great Ones agreed that, yes, this was a proper act worthy of a champion. And so he left their company to prepare.
He took up his mighty spear, Chakinnos (Lighting-swift), in his right hand, and slung the great hammer Hyalchao (Thunder-roller) at his side, and set out to find the Giant King. Swift as a spring storm, over the land he went, shouting out his challenge.
Many leagues he traveled in vain, for Dwire had heard his challenges and retreated to his own place. Then, in the sanctuary of his throne, the Giant King sent out his reply:
For truth, such a challenge
Among men of repute must be met;
But you, little one, I know not
Neither name nor mighty deed.
Small is the man who fights among boys.
Yet, if thou would see my face
And I, thine,
Come unto my great hall
And we shall discuss this matter there.
When Chaonc heard this, he raged, and smote the land with his hammer so that the shaking of the land was felt even in the rocky fastness of Dwire’s realm. And the Thunderlord came unto Dwire, and issued his challenge:
Small though the boy may be
Yet to the ant he is a god.
A sparrow never flies
In the face of the storm,
But safely waits out the rain.
The mountain though
Holds up his face to fight.
Ant, bird, or mountain, King of fools?
Dwire, outraged by the insult, accepted the challenge. In the heat of his anger, he called for his weapons and strode out to the field of battle. They arrayed themselves in battle gear. Dwire fought mightily, but Chaonc taunted his enemy with still harsher words and greater insults as he, smaller and quicker, avoided the great blows. For two days they fought, tireless and fierce, before Chaonc put his spear in his right hand, and took up the hammer in his left, and fought back the Giant King. Then, with a sudden stroke, Chaonc thrust his spear through Dwire’s belly, and smote his helm with the hammer. So great was that stroke that the helm and head were cleaved in twain. And thus did Chaonc win the field, and defeated the King of Giants, and Dwire lay where he fell.
And so did the Mighty One win great acclaim and reknown. Yet he, every year, goes to Mt. Dwire, and fights the giant again, and then are the passes shut fast against travel, from the rage of the god