“The difference between us and other giants is as plain to see as our namesakes,” the giant says. His voice thunders across the great hall, as sunlight from the windows behind his throne shines down on him. He stands upright, his laughter heavy like a torrent, and the light is somehow covered by his silhouette, as though he himself were a storm cloud approaching you. “You may inhabit the hills, harness flames, shape stone, thaw frost. But a storm is not a force your people can control. It is not something you can do with as you please, not something that exists to bend to your will.” The javelin in his hand flashes brightly for a moment, blue-hot lightning coursing through weapon and wielder simultaneously. “There are only two things you can do against a storm: weather it… or die.”
