Perhaps I will be slain and return to my creator, a definite possibility, although they wait instead of forcing their way in and dragging me out. Either a positive sign or they are patient and prepared to wait for their prey to come to them.

I am determined though to remain strong, not act cowardly or beg as Frost Giants respect strength and I have witnesses of my power albeit false, perception is everything of course. The truth is therefore unhelpful, hence I must refuse any calls to demonstrate it or prove it, before the assembled throng. They must never know I don’t wield such power and Zeus is the key here, I will tell a suitable fable espousing random wisdom! I am hopeful I discover this random wisdom before they call upon me to prove my power.

My situation, no weapons and no armour, smaller in size to those I must sway. Perfect. Surely, they won’t view me as a threat or a meal? Time to test my theory. With a gentle push, I open the door, the steady outward swing announcing my presence allowing those waiting, to prepare themselves for my introduction. No dramatic door slamming, no timid peek between a narrow door and door jamb opening. Confidence with humility.

Their chat and discussion taper off, finishing their last words before paying any attention to my entrance. A respectful audience acknowledging my arrival perhaps. Erland and Arnora hold the attention of several strangers. Arnora is the single female amongst a sea of male strangers, who mill about in groups of two or three, perhaps representing different Steadings. One group is more important than any others as those nearby observe and maintain a clear gap or distance of physical separation.

This single most important Frost Giant, as an exception, wears a blue-dyed woven linen shirt, pants and woollen cloak with armour made from a mix of metals, iron breastplate, bronze greaves and vambraces covering an appropriate portion of the blue clothing. A huge Axe head peeks out over his right shoulder in case I mistake his costume as mere show and doubt his skill in violence.

“Aphrodite, I am honoured to introduce you to our Jarl, Solveig Bloodaxe,” announced Erland, who lent back, raising and waving his arms, one hand grasping his Axe, to encourage the gathering of Frost Giants to cheer loudly, which they whole heartily do.

The wolves from last evening, not to hunt, messengers or heralds perhaps announcing my arrival at Erland’s Steading to other settlements, especially the Jarl’s. The Steadings therefore close, I surmise less than a day of travel, or in this case a night, although none before me exhibit signs of tiredness or lack of sleep.

The cheering continues and echoes off the surrounding mountain valley and while the Frost Giants occupy themselves in honouring their Jarl, I approach him, taking care to maintain a respectful distance the same as his subjects. I then awkwardly place one paw slightly over the over, while bowing my head to improvise a curtsey.

His voice rumbles. “Respectful at least.”

I took the response to indicate I could stand properly before him, although wary as he reaches for his giant-sized axe as I straighten.

“Not of our race, you are impervious to the frost it seems, given your naked torso,” he muses, now leaning on the huge axe head of his axe in position before him. The resulting stance, shortening his overall height, bringing us level, into an intimidating eye to eye challenge, which I didn’t expect.

Studying me with his eyes, my presence before him of little consequence even though Erland would have described my power to his Jarl. I also notice the two Frost Giants who escort him tense up as he leans towards me, although nothing more. Their blue woollen cloaks are an indicator of their favour and rank.

“I have adapted, although if my nakedness offends, I am sure I could borrow some clothes.”

“No need they are small, childlike to my eyes, where did you learn our language?”

The dismissal and then a quick follow up question to catch me unawares I realise. “I have adapted.”

Throwing his head back, both hands still holding the axe head, his rumbling laughter invites those in attendance to add their laughter. He quietens, laughter tears in his eyes, allowing others to finish while staring at me with his piercing blue eyes, blue as the clear sky above us. His tears freeze and glisten in the sunlight upon his cheeks.

“You speak our language, endure the cold effortlessly, but I ask, do you drink mead?”

Mead? What is mead? Instinctively I respond with the truth while trying to conceal an edge of panic.

“I am not familiar with Mead, Jarl Solveig Bloodaxe, perhaps you can introduce me to him or it?”

His mouth opens, flashing yellowing teeth between his coarse yellow, blonde beard and moustache bellowing out a laugh, a mischievous glint in his eye. Surviving this would seal his trust or dismiss me from his sight I reckon. At worst it shapes up to be one more test and I allow him to continue, I will not explain Zeus to him until he asks, as I am sure Erland would have already given him an inkling or overview, perhaps inept, possibly competent. Either way, he would know what name to ask about if his interest proves genuine and ongoing. What leader though didn’t chase the acquisition of more power?

---

The plentiful volume of mead passing over my lips eventually demands release forcing me to leave the Jarl’s side to attend to my ablutions. Returning to the steading, the chat is quiet and difficult to eavesdrop upon whereas when I left the lodge quite the opposite, a celebration in full swing, plenty of mead to grease the vocal cords to tell tales tall and deeds worthy, with meat on a spit to fill the belly. With some reservation I approach the wide-open doorway to the steading, needing to pad past a sleeping Frost Giant leaning against one of the two tree trunk pillar supports. Possibly a lookout?

The mumblings and whispers cease the moment I gracefully bound past the slumbering lookout.

Admonishing myself for not casting any Faith Magic during my approach, I regret the oversight further as two Frost Giants shadow my return. Following behind both unloop their Axes, the wooden handles rasping crisp through the leather fetters. Behind me, out of my sight, I can only imagine them blocking the doorway in a fighting stance, their axes lowering the moment I try to confront them and make my escape. The Frost Giants within the log cabin, difficult to read; apprehensive, expectant, perhaps neither. Do they wait for the axe to fall upon me or is there some plan and guilt resulting from their quiet discussion, obviously about me and, or perhaps the worshipping of my God?

I decide immediately to hurry to take up my former place beside the Jarl, conveniently available. The two who follow me, hopefully, not expecting this response, catching them out and thereby avoiding any possible strikes. With relief, those Frost Giants within the lodge do not attempt to move.

“We have been discussing you and your God, deciding we live well enough now and need no other to show us a better way.”

The already quiet lodge became dead silent. Waiting, apprehensive, did they expect violence from me? Divine spark, or genius resulting from fear, I reply as best I can.

“The God Zeus doesn’t demand servitude he invites belief in him and his ways, rewarding those who worship him faithfully. I am his humble servant, not his ardent prosecutor.”

With a generous sweeping motion, I grasp my half-filled giant-sized mug and down the remaining mead. I regret the action shortly after as I belch and burp for several heartbeats, the harsh reverberations deafening in the silence of the lodge. My face reddening at my social lapse, the warmth spreading to my chest, complete surrender to etiquette misadventure as my tail rises and falls involuntarily, in time with each outburst.

In response, the entire lodge erupts into raucous laughter! A trumpet call of sympathetic exploding belches and burps vent from the lodge full of Frost Giants.

“We have much to learn about each other it seems,” the Jarl says. He follows his comment with a loud burp of his own, exhibiting great relief across his bearded face.

The rapid expulsion of stomach gases is an expression of appreciation after imbibing vast volumes of high-quality mead it would seem. Their restraint due to respect, granting me an honour of sorts? Possibly, still a concession to my presence and therefore an encouraging sign.

---

Drinking continues until everyone except the Jarl, and I remain, still somewhat coherent. A convenient outcome, almost certainly upon sufferance and a direct order from their Jarl.

“Why do you have, erm, faith in your God Zeus?”

This question, ignites a source of conflict within me, although the moment I hesitate Zeus’ divinity reasserts itself and fills me with unequivocal belief.

“He supports me when no one else can, my belief in him lifts me in times of hardship and enriches me in times of celebration. I suspect my present state of coherence due to his support as I look upon many seasoned mead drinkers now slumbering.” Flashing him a smile as I finish my reply.

“Indeed, your capacity for one so small is worthy of note and perhaps a song.”

He contemplates his thoughts, while I make busy sipping from my recently filled mug. Discovering the acquired taste mark several mugs ago I now find myself resisting the urge to vomit. Too much of a good thing I suspect, not knowing for certain.

“Explain to me your God.”

His crips clear words kick me into action and my sermon rolls out from my lips. “Worshipers of Zeus, his faithful, are filled with his blessing. He rewards those who follow him most ardently and grants them boons to demonstrate his benevolence to others. Imagine your faith like a mug of mead, where your faith is the mead. Once your mug of faith is full you can request from Zeus a favour, and if granted your mug empties and your belief and worship in act and deed refills your mug and so on.”

“He is giving much for little it seems, and I would never trust such a generous offer.” He shakes his head in denial.

“You undervalue the effort and dedication required to worship Zeus truly and completely as any pretence is known to him, any lip service recognised for what it is. You must live your life according to his teachings, you must defend your faith in him against any who would doubt and take offence and finally you actively share his faith with others.”

His eyes glint eagerly after my final words, which triggers a need within me for further clarification!

“You are to invite worship, not insist or enforce.” I hold his eyes searching for any misunderstanding, eventually releasing them.

“Yes, as you say, invitation certainly, although he would welcome more worshippers and reward his herald further. Yes?”

Cautiously, slowly I utter my response. “Yes.”

His huge hand messes my hair in celebration, taking me by surprise, unaware until that moment of the speed of his reflexes, misjudging his giant size and equating his stature with slowness.

Quirking a large bushy caterpillar-like eyebrow the Jarl asks another question. “What title or honorific does your God Zeus bestow upon you?”

“Priest or more specifically Priestess, either is worthy.”

The Jarl curtly nods and then asks, “Aphrodite, Priestess of Zeus, tell me about your God.”

---

Morning light shines strong and brilliant through the wide empty doorway of the lodge gently waking any within its glow. Several Giants crawl back into the shade, others reach for water skins. Long discussions with the Jarl finish the mead well before dawn and I, therefore, quench my dry throat with water to continue to answer his questions. Each time I find myself falling asleep, Zeus’ divine spark reinvigorates me. I am unsure what power or inner strength accomplishes the same for the Jarl.

“Why not a Temple?” he asks, not for the first time.

I need to attempt a different explanation.

“A place of worship is more than the building. This grand lodge is magnificent, and many can shelter under it. The size is appropriate. The number of buildings in this steading is ample, now with the loss of two, the empty buildings will be a reminder. Faith is built up, first one log and then another and so on. A place of worship illustrates to all, the faith and dedication of those attending to their faith.”

“I will fill the Temple!”

“To worship is to exercise your free will, your choice to embrace Zeus and his teachings, filling a Temple with unfaithful or half-hearted believers diminishes its holiness and importance and Zeus will turn away from such falseness. Better a genuine acclaimed Site of Worship, than a hollow Temple of Worship. If we were tasting mead, it is the difference between superb quality and poor quality.”

He accepts the rebuke well enough and finally, I believe comprehends.

“We will start with this Site of Worship then, how?”

“I must claim the ground for Zeus in a ceremony, which is possible if a Shrine. The more significant the place of worship the more Priests required.”

His eyebrows raise.

“You do not have the power to proclaim a Temple, all your words meaningless before!” Doubt creeps back into his voice.

“To consecrate the ground for a Temple, requires four Priests, one for each corner. Four Priests require a huge swell of faith to support them. Zeus is venerated above any other and very few non-believers dwell nearby, perhaps children are taught to worship Zeus when they are taught to speak their parent’s language. Your way of life and Zeus, Zeus and your way of life will be one, indistinct, inseparable.”

The Jarl maintains his silence for a time and after investing an entire night and early morning, perhaps I now present him with a log too huge to grasp.

“I would know of my husband,” asks Arnora.

Her joining the discussion, is a surprise, although dawn is now over, and she is not the only Frost Giant beginning to stir. The Jarl leans forward slightly, his curiosity once again alive.

“He died before my arrival, the Lord of the Lake has taken him,” I reply.

“If I worship Zeus, dedicate my life to his glory, will he not grant me the power to be reunited with my life partner?”

Several Frost Giants show interest in the question, halting whatever they are doing and concentrating, to eavesdrop on my response. I don’t know the extent of Zeus’ power although there seems affirmation within me from his divine spark. I appreciate his encouragement, although I hesitate to offer anything without some chance of success. As I ponder a possible response, my shoulders tense under the gathering scrutiny. My stomach then churns, and I blame the mead.

“I will need to pray to Zeus. If my faith is not wanting and if there is an answer, he will reveal it to me I am certain.”

“I will pledge my life also,” calls Hrut, peering his head around the doorway of his and his mother’s room, obviously eavesdropping on our discussion for how long I don’t know.

I remember him as the child from my dream, tightly bound; arms, legs and snow being tossed between his parents, the family overflowing with joy. A joy I tore asunder.

“And I. Gudmund was my brother and I wish to witness his return!”

Before I can weep for Hrut I assume Gudmund the unfortunate Frost Giant half-devoured by the Giant Gar. My past returns to haunt me, and I am unable to escape it or in this Lammasu form ignore it, unlike the Griffin form. Everything, not Griffin is prey and there is no regret or remorse for prey.

“I am sworn to the service of Valmund so I will worship Zeus also and if necessary, wrestle his dead body from this Lord of the Lake if required.”

“Quiet, let me pray.” My words are harsh as I am doubtful, and emotion squeezes my heart. I need respite, I need to descend into my singular consciousness.

Closing my eyes, I lower my beast body and hold my back straight, folding my wings, chin upon my chest, arms by my sides. My first thought, I need to create a more dramatic pose, to impress, to appear beyond the ordinary. Despite my pain, I am driven by Zeus to consider the illusion and his need to dress his agent in mysticism and theatrics. His purpose is paramount and my feelings and emotions are irrelevant. I realise a Master is a Master, only the name changes and I now yearn double to reunite with my Creator.

My Dungeon Master would be able to create Frost Giants from the two he absorbed after I slew them, this would be more expensive in mana than simply renewing them. I didn’t know if they would retain any memory or personality though, although during my evolution I sensed named denizens, one in particular; guilty for being slain and Azizos needing to respawn him, no memory loss, no personality loss.

Does Azizos hold the memory and personality of all who die within his Dungeon? His ability to respawn a flesh body, memory and personality of the slain being developed as his power over me increases, although regardless they are with him, somewhere. So, where does the memory and personality of the beast kin I slew go? Zeus would claim them if they worshipped him, there is no exception as far as he is concerned. A question for another time, as I don’t wish to dwell on my guilt.

If Azizos has respawned them to offer them denizen contracts and they accept, when they die, they would belong to him, and their memory and personality would recycle back to allow him to respawn. If they didn’t accept, he wouldn’t slay them, a waste of mana. Nevertheless, when they die, what becomes of their memory and personality, perhaps diluted or polished to become a template for Dungeon creations. Wait! Polished? Where did I learn that term? No one answers me.

There is a final part to this puzzle, to reclaim his monsters Azizos must be in contact with them. I know this because when I held up the dead before I slew them, I could absorb their essence before he could claim them, if at all. Perhaps their essence represents their memory and personality, although my gains, after absorption, are only a small portion of their existence. Do I take or do I copy? To take is to destroy, to copy means, what?

Salt tears sting my eyes. My thoughts remind me of my great burden, the slaying of the beast kin. No, much worse, not slaying, utter destruction, if I take, if their essence is trapped within me. They will never walk their lands again if they could be reborn. I cannot reveal my emotion as the Frost Giants believe I am newly arrived, with no past, no debt for past deeds to be met.

Have I vanquished the Frost Giants also? Sadness wraps its tendrils around my heart as I understand, and I feel empathy and guilt. My Harpy form would admonish me, my Griffon form would purge such emotions and hunt, all creatures are prey. This Lammasu form, which cares and tends to the weak and helpless coupled with the surfacing of human emotions within me accepts the burden and responsibility of making amends and any denial is futile. I squeeze my eyes shut, resisting the urge to cover them with my hands as tears leak; remorse and regret overwhelming me.

“Priestess, you weep?”

I recognise the Jarl’s voice, sympathy lacing his words. I am surprised by their softness and the comfort they extend to me. I respond the only way I can, which could make sense to them.

“Zeus fills me with joy, and I am overwhelmed.” A lie, I must maintain the facade.

The Frost Giants as one, exhale a breath in a chorus of reverence, absurdly venerating the remorse I feel for my callous deed. What illusion am I weaving and when will I be revealed for the charlatan I truly am. For now, I must help, I must begin my contrition and I return to my thoughts.

Perhaps I haven’t destroyed the slain Frost Giants, I acquired skills and racial abilities of one by consuming his liver, not the other, although perhaps Azizos didn’t either since the Giant Gar slew him and ate him. All of him? Including his liver? Doubtful as the Giant Gar became stranded, my target and the target of its smaller escorts.

So, one of those I slew I consumed, perhaps utterly, Valgard. While the other, Gudmund, Azizos would have consumed when he claimed the Zone. What will happen when one of the two can be saved and the other can’t? My plan is simple, kidnap both and deliver them to ground consecrated to Zeus so he can claim their essence.

A choice remains, kidnap and slay on Zeus’ consecrated ground or slay within the Lake Zone and ensure the body doesn’t touch the ground and carry it to Zeus’ consecrated ground? How long does their essence remain within the body if slain? Will I need to consecrate the ground adjacent to the Lake Zone so that alive or dead the body doesn’t pass over any neutral ground to prevent the contained essence from joining others of this world, when slain, before either of my Masters can claim the creature?