Jorundr’s Story

Jorundr’s story starts east and north of here, in the Green Sea. He was born to some of my kind of who live underwater there – while many of our kind dwell in the high mountains among the clouds, others dwell deep below the sea.

Jorundr did not wish a life on the currents, following the weather of the ocean and the movement of the waters. The ocean is not so changeable as the storms above, and Jorundr was always a changeable person. More so than many of my kind, eager and impulsive. Sometimes he had trouble seeing the paths of the future that guide our decisions.

He left when he was a young giant, just barely 20 feet tall, still growing. He journeyed south, spent many years wandering the great deserts, beyond the eastern borders of the Drankorian Empire, flying with the sandstorms and winds that crisscross those lands. Feeling the power of the rare thunderstorm that brought life once every year, or less. Tasting the moisture that settled on the dunes near the ocean as dew. He loved to talk about those dunes, the tiny drops of water that could feed lizards, chameleons, all the life that could be sustained by something so small.

But eventually I think he grew tired of the sameness of the deserts. He wanted to learn more of the history of our people, and was known then as something of a scholar, I guess, something of a gatherer of tales and sharer of history. Much of the mythology of our people is not necessarily remembered by us, but is recorded in the lore of the Dwarves and the Stoneborn, and in those days, the Kingdom of Ardith – I believe now destroyed – was renowned as a center of learning for history and stone craft. And so it was, I guess, inevitable that we would meet.

Jorundr did not have the powers that I do, he could not travel as the storm, so he journeyed across Drankor. This was during the Golden Age of that empire, before the civil war, before Apollyon came to power, during the reign of Alador the Elf Friend. He had made Drankor a safe place for many, our kind included. The stories Jorundr would tell, of traveling across Drankor at the height of its power and grace! Cities of golden brass, of marble and stone; people teleporting across the continent on a whim with circles of magic runes; lights floating in the sky to illuminate the night. The Empire then seemed a magical place, even reminding me a little of the stories and legends of the great kingdoms of the giants.

Despite the glory of the time, I could see in the portents the seeds of Drankor’s destruction and downfall, but Jorundr was an optimist. He did not see it. He preferred to believe in a new era, a new age of Humans and Giants and all the Elder Folk living in harmony. Even all the Fey and Dragons and Elementals who had fled to other planes returning. Foolish, I guess.

He spent a hundred years with me, maybe more, and in that time much changed. When he left, war had broken out. Helea was assassinated, Ysabel fought Vestian and lost, and the faction associated with the Omnis Pura took control. And soon after I was trapped.

I think, from your memories Kenzo, that Jorundr learned of this and came to try to save me. But failed, dying in the magical disaster that brought down Drankor.