Chapter 1. Fiona's personal Introduction

My name is Fiona and this is my story, or at least my side of the story anyway. The legends and tales spun about me are entertaining and I won't say I'm not flattered by some of them, but someone should tell the real story without all the exaggeration and poetic license. In truth, I am a bit larger than life for most people, and I've and done some things that make great fodder for tall tales. Truthfully, I'm not even a hundred percent sure that I qualify as human, or perhaps even, strictly speaking, as a mortal, but I've lived amongst humans my entire life and my story is, for the most part, one of a human girl who's just wee bit bigger and stronger than those around her.

I'm definitely not smarter, though, and while I did eventually learn to speak intelligently enough to dictate this tale, I beg your indulgence for its style. This is my story, and I've chosen to tell it mostly in my own words and in my own way, which will undoubtedly reveal the fact that, despite my latter experiences, I am but a simple tavernkeeper's daughter and not a scholar. Likewise, while I intend to reveal as much of myself and my life as I can, there will likely be people and events I will have to omit and even, perhaps, fictionalize to protect others. Again, I beg your indulgence for any inconsistencies which may result.

I grew up in a small fishing village called Fail in the far North, taken in by a kindly innkeeper after I was found as a small child alone in a cave. I wasn't a small girl even then, but it wasn't until puberty that I shot up to match my brothers and started to develop both the freakish strength and oversized curves that the bards make so much of.

At sixteen or so, I stopped growing, which leaves me just under seven feet tall not the ten feet in some of the stories. In fact, there were several men near my height in Fail for most of my life and I still think of my brother Sven as taller than I, despite the fact that it hasn't been true since we were both children. . But, even as a child, I was always the strongest in the village. How strong am I? Honestly, I don't know  but I've never met anyone stronger and can hold my ground against a team of oxen, if I can set my feet properly.  I'm certainly no flyweight and my weight is a little disproportionate to my size, but those tales of me lifting buildings and moving mountains are absurd.  Take it from me, ants can't move rubber tree plants, even if they can lift a part of them over their heads.

Women warriors were not unheard of in the legends of my people, as were the giants some believe were my real kin, but  Fail was a peaceful village and while I did play at arms with the other children as a child , it was always sort of a joke. We wrestled and played, but even before my developing body made horseplay of that sort into something else, the boys learned that I was so much stronger that it wasn't a worthwhile contest.

As a child I was even considered pretty. I  have good skin, if a bit dark for a redhead,  my muscles are not so obvious at rest, and parts of me are even soft and feminine. On a smaller scale, my proportions might make some women envious, but I never felt like a beauty. I felt like a freak, and whether men were staring at my enormous body or even my face didn't much change that fact.

I learned to cope, and in a way, even capitalize on it though. My tips were better than most when I poured ale, and, I learned to laugh with the customers some. After all, they were right, I had more of what every other girl had after all, and while few sober men would choose me even for a role in the furs, I had my share of drunken offers for sure.

But in truth, I refused them all, and had little in the way of a romantic life back then. I had feelings, like any other girl, but there was only one boy whom I was even halfway seriously interested in, and when I actually tried to let him take my maidenhead, he wasn't up to the task. With time, I like to think it might have worked, but time was not on our side.

The raiders came at dawn, when Rolf and I were off in the woods and the shouting interrupted our fun. To this day, I still think, if it had happen happened differently, I might have meekly submitted to the slavers chains. I was a girl and while I was strong enough to hold a sword, had no skill with it and the hundred or so armed raiders were more than adequate to take our whole tiny village. But when they cut off Rolf's head, something in me snapped and all I felt was rage.

I'm not sure how many men I myself killed that day, but it was enough to send the raiders fleeing back to their ships and there were more than 30 bodies left on the sand, not counting the villagers. My brother Sven and a few other men were still alive, along with most of the women and children.

For weeks, as we buried the dead and tried to rebuild the village as best we could, I remained in a sort of state of shock, revisiting the battle. I'd never seen a violent death before, but I saw plenty that day and most of them were by my own hands. With no weapons skills, I just went at them, ripping off arms, putting my fists through chests, and basically making a horrible spectacle of things. I had practically no skill and absolutely no technique or finesse, but my strength, speed, and rage translated into slaughter, leaving all those armed men utterly defenseless against a hopelessly superior and ruthless killing machine. To this day,  the memories of how I fought my first battle bother me far more than all of the ones since put together.

The tales of the red headed giantess took a month to reach the capitol, and it was another month before the kings envoy came to see if the tales were true. By that time, we were on the verge of giving up on rebuilding the village. There weren't enough men left to man the boats and our little inn was doomed anyway thanks to a neighboring town with a better harbor and more labor for ship repairs.

So, when the King's man offered to rebuild our village and station a garrison of soldiers there, Sven, the few remaining men and the women of the village rejoiced. Of course there was a catch. The king wanted to see this strange warrior woman for himself.  Fail was nominally within Alcatian territory and I was his subject.   He hinted that,  if I proved worthy, there might be a position for me in his army, but assured me, regardless, that Alcatia did not keep slaves and even if I didn't choose to join the guard, there would be more opportunities for me than there were up in the frozen North.

It was a really nice offer, and one that I knew I couldn't refuse in front of the women and children of the village who'd surely starve over the winter without help. Sven, as my eldest and only male relative made a show of giving us time to think on it, but the next day  I left the only home I'd ever known to save the only people I'd ever known.