So, I told you how I don’t really like going after water-bound grosslings on land, but this one was different.
This one almost destroyed Dalsnes all by itself, and of course, I was the one who finally killed it.
Well, of course the others helped; but my final blow was the killing blow.
See, this sea-beast wasn’t just a turned seal, or even a former orca, which can get really nasty, believe me. No, this was something different. When we looked at its corpse, the wisest of our elders said that it had once been the greatest and rarest of whales, the Blue Whale.
Whatever it had been, it was a grossling now; moreover, it counted as a giant by size alone, even among the oversized sea-beasts. The thing was hundreds of meters long, and it seemed like every bit of it was a flailing tentacle, a slashing rib-claw, or a ravening pseudo-maw.
It was pretty arrogant, too: it swam right up our fjord and hit Dalsnes directly, after smashing all the barriers in its way, like there was nothing we could do that would stop it.
Nobody in the Known World ever survived by giving up, and Dalsnes in particular is not home to those who would be inclined to do so. Even the non-immunes were shooting and throwing spears at the thing before it even pulled itself out of the water--some of them were even crying with joy at finally being able to fight.
Well, as soon as it appeared, we threw everything we had at it--even a couple of the longships in port tried ramming the thing, but nothing happened. It just kept pulling itself forward with all those tentacles and rib-claws, as though we were tossing spitballs its way.
It was making its way up the main street towards the feasting hall, pausing to grab at anyone who got too close, and not a thing we were doing had even slowed it down.
This was where I came in.
See, I’d been watching the thing really carefully since it pulled itself ashore, studying it to find that one weak spot all grosslings have: its brain. It took me almost half an hour of looking really hard to spot it, and of course the thing kept its brains more or less in the center of its mass of lashing death.
My Dad has this really super huge sword he got from one of the Old Scots who came to Dalsnes with Old Man MacMurray; they call it a “Claymore”, and it’s almost too big to use when you’re troll Hunting, so he keeps it in a place of honor in his and Mom’s trophy room. I made tracks to break it out, believe me.
So, I knew where the thing’s kill-spot was, and I had a weapon that could finish it off, but how could I get to it?
I had pretty much resolved that I’d have to try a flying leap from one of the nearby buildings as the thing went past, but Fate decreed otherwise. As I was looking at the buildings to figure out which I should jump from, Crazy Ivor called to me.
Crazy Ivor. That guy helped me get in more trouble than any ten of the other kids in Dalsnes, and now, he was going to help me save Dalsnes.
Being launched from a catapult--OK, Ivor called it a “trebuchet”, but a catapult’s a catapult--well, it’s seriously fun. I almost forgot why I was doing it, it was so fun. Be that as it may, I landed right where I should, using the force of my landing to drive the claymore right into the Whale-Beast’s brain.
I was cutting, hacking and slashing for a good five minutes more before the thing finally bit the dust, but in the end, I lasted longer than it did.
And speaking of outlasting things, that reminds me of another story...
