WhiteWall - Grudni's Ginnel

Grudni's Ginnel

Grudni Girthsbroad was a very large barbarian indeed. He was so large that it was said he rode into battle on a giant ox... and even that was before he went to seed in later life. In those golden times he could eat as many of a clan's cows in a week as the Lunars now take in taxes in a whole year! Breakfast, Forenoon Fortifier, Elevensies, Luncheon, Afternoon Tea, Dinner, Evening Feast and then Supper: you could set a water clock to Grudni's culinary observances.

Most barbarians stopped growing a few years after their Initiation, but not Grudni. He happily kept on expanding outwards. Problems arose when he got to be so big that he couldn't fit through the doors to the King's Hall. Now, naturally the King got very angry with this and his thane's appetite, and called Grudni to his Hall. Which kind of exacerbated the problem. Tired of waiting for his burgeoning thane to navigate his way through the doorway, the King rose and strode across to the blustering thane.

"Grudni!" cried the King. "You weigh as much as two oxen! You've broken my furniture thrice this week and even cracked the marble floor in the temple! It just won't do! I'm sending you to my cousin in the South. There you are going to face a diet and exercise!"

Poor Grudni looked quite taken aback by this. And slightly worried. He'd never fought a 'diet' before, and it sounded dangerous. "It's not fault!" he roared. "I've just got big bones!"

But the King had spoken. So Grudni was packed off down south, to a strict regime of healing waters and daintily nibbled wafers. Grudni lost weight. Really, it was hard not to, given his usual habits. But as a man he felt... drained. Weakened. He'd be no use to his King like that! So on his way back to Whitewall? he decided to get himself back up to his fighting weight. It was hard work, but he persisted, and the arduous hours of preparation paid off. He returned to the King his happy rotund self.

Quite understandably the King was angry at this. But Grudni was also quite important to the tribe, a capable warrior and not one to fall afoul of when he'd had a flagon too many. So the King bit his pride, reinforced his furniture and had the portal to his Hall widened.

Grudni made his name in an act of heroism that is still sung across the land. All children know that Whitewall is built on a Tor, a magical hill that itself rises from a scarred plateau. There are many paths that wind up from lowlands to the plateau top, but one of the most famous is a mighty cleft that cuts clean through the plateau, providing a gently inclined way that winds up to the Tor, framed by vertical cliffs the height of hundred or more men.

In olden days this path was known by the locals as the Ginnel. It was a powerful wayfare, for it was easily defensible. Three hale men abreast could the ginnel hold, but Grudni was not so much hale... more humongous. In happier times children used to play in the Ginnel, running down its narrow passage in Fire Season, or sleighing down its long, gently winding slope in Darkness Season. The walls of the ginnel were awash with wondrous magics that cast the voices of those passing back and forth off the cliffs, causing a jolly cacophony of sound.

Once Grudni was returning from an errand, when he noticed that the warband of a rival tribe (ill-favoured southern folk, it should be highlighted) were coming up the Ginnel behind him. Puffing from his exertion -- the seemingly shallow incline was deceptively steep, he argued -- Grudni had no option but to turn and face his foes. He was outnumbered a hundred to one, but his girth covered the whole pass, and none could cravenly work around behind him. He still had to face three at a time, of course, but those were poor odds for overcoming Grudni.

Bellowing like a cow in labour, Grudni had at his foes. His shouts bounced off the walls and echoed down the Ginnel, washing over those around him. This caused his enemies to panic, for they thought they heard the shouts of a thousand defenders coming to Grudni's aid, not a solitary corpulent fellow who was trying to be home in time for the Evening Feast. Grudni prevailed, and the Ginnel floor was awash with blood and sweat. Most of the latter his own. And thus Grudni saved his people.

He was feasted and feted (which in retrospect wasn't exactly the best of ideas), and grew so large that he had trouble making his way down the Ginnel as he went back and forth between Whitewall and the plain. Grudni grew angry at this. The Ginnel was obviously playing tricks on him, and he wasn't fond of being the butt of jokes. He'd kept an eye on that Ginnel, and noted that every time he walked down it, it narrowed just a little more. Slowly, surreptitiously, just so as he wouldn't notice. Oh, but he noticed! On many occasions he had harsh words with the Ginnel, but still the walls tried to squeeze him.

One Darkness Season, after he'd exhausted all the supply of freshly slaughtered cattle, he decided to go and have it out with the Ginnel once and for all. Give it what for. And so he left, wrapping himself in thick furs (though in truth, with his bulk he didn't mind the cold) he set off for the Ginnel. Angrily we strode down the thoroughfare, until it happened. The Ginnel got him. Finally. The rotter.

"Help me you blighters!" he cried, but the only answer was the hollow recall of his own voice, reverberating in wailing mocking tones off the cleft walls.

No-one is sure how Grudni died. Maybe he died of thirst, or of exposure to the Frostbeard's icy breath. Or perhaps he actually lost a little weight, and managed to free himself, but was overcome by the hoarclad beasts that howl in the night. All that people know is that when the cold passed, and the Thunder Brothers did battle with Valind's kin, his bones were espied. Lying on the Ginnel floor, clean as freshest snow, and swaddled in thick furs. And you know, he did have big bones.

<Stu>