The Giants are the last scions of a dwindling race, towering humanoids who once ruled the high places of the world and now shamble through its wild corners as sad and dangerous relics. Standing tall as a village steeple, a giant is strong enough to pluck a knight from his saddle or flatten a house with a single club, yet the years have not been kind, and most are half-mad, filthy, and rarely sober.
Solitary by nature, giants haunt the mountains, moors and blasted wastes, coming down to raid herds and cellars when hunger or thirst drives them. The cunning peoples of the Old World have learned to turn this to advantage, and the Orc & Goblin Tribes in particular lure giants to war with promises of drink and plunder, unleashing them as bellowing battering rams. Others are bound by the Ogre Kingdoms, who reckon a captive giant a fine addition to any tyrant's warband.
In battle a giant is a whirlwind of ruin, stamping foes into paste, hurling them over the horizon, or stuffing the unlucky into a filthy sack. Yet they are unreliable brutes, as likely to sit down for a nap or wander off in search of ale as to finish a fight, a fading remnant of an age when the world belonged to the vast.
The bestiary continues
