The Archlands were a charland, an area of the land affected by Elemental Fire, basically reduced to a mostly volcanic wasteland where Primal pyric energy allowed flames to be liquid, solid, and gaseous at times, instead of just flame. Lava flowed in rivers here and there, fumaroles burned like over-sized candles, and of course the Arch of Fire overhead was so solid not even a continental blizzard could move it, only start wild vortexes of hot and cold air changing places around it in tornadoes which kept constantly breaking away to go dancing across the sky… or scour the ground below before breaking apart.
It was definitely among the most dangerous lands that mortals could probe into, which meant it was now the #1 goal and destination of those beneath us trying to Level.
There was no problem with exhausting the supply of natives of Fire. Even if we vivified those who were here so they didn’t just return home to report on the exciting adventure they’d had, more spilled constantly out of the Mouth of Fire, ready to experience the rough-and-ready environment of the Prime Plane, the cold and hostile things that dwelled there, and then go back home to boast about it.
Maybe they’d even get to kill some of those Wizards who were always Summoning hapless Elementals to fight and slave away for them!
Yeah, there were a lot of dragons and other monsters among the many brooding mountains and foothills of Eislas, but with the crushing of the Dragonfangs and the quiet exodus of the serpents that was following, adventurers would have to pick places further afield to go looking for them.
Once the winter was done.
We didn’t have to worry about the Elementals coming out. Fire Elementals didn’t like blizzards, snow, and cold at all, even worse than humans, and so weren’t going to come out of their relatively cool charlands for the freezing deathtrap of a Prime world during winter.
Fire giants found the normal world cool and uncomfortable, but not like fire Elementals did. The giants’ internal temperatures could handle a normal winter fairly easily, although snow and ice hitting their skin instantly melted and soon sublimated to steam, meaning just standing there they tended to hiss and bubble like a teakettle at work, and they’d slowly melt any snow around them, even if it would rapidly refreeze.
But able to survive in winter didn’t mean they could suddenly ignore geography. After all, they couldn’t fly, and their homes were built around fireflows, fumaroles, and lesser volcanoes, they didn’t go extending out into the cold rock of the surrounding area. Actually, they went down, not around, having a racial tendency to mine and craft that wasn’t all that different from dwarves, and often traded weapons and armor they forged to other giant tribes as a result.
There were only seven passes out of the Archlands heading east. Naturally those were also collecting all the falling snow/water that was melting, and so three of them were basically flooding with fast-moving flows that could tear an eighteen-foot fire giant in plate mail off his feet and crush and drown him beneath uncaring and hostile water.
Two other passes had suffered mudslides and avalanches and would be unnavigable until cleared, which nobody was going to do under the really bad weather here.
That left two intact enough and not overwhelmed with run-off the giants could traverse. The more southern one was an easier course down into the lands of the soft shorties, especially the Shires of Loha, where the fire giants were anticipating digging hyn out of their burrows for quick snacks.
There was a significant population of Moorian hyn leading the Loha hyn against the fire giants, and contrary to all expectations, they had a great, great deal of experience against giants of all kinds.

Darkmoor on the Far Shore, previously…
“You have all been chosen for your adventurous spirits and willingness to brave danger to see new things,” King Antius told the assembled young hyn proudly. Despite the Kingdom of Darkmoor looking less and less like a kingdom and more like a representative democracy, calls by the overly ambitious to tear down the king and elect their own rulers tended to fall flat. King Antius’ wisdom, foresight, even-handed style, and sense of justice cut across all racial lines, and those proponents of doing away with the kingship couldn’t actually find anyone to replace him in his duties.
If anything, his reputation had only grown with time and the advancements the Green brought with them. His position was more secure than ever, even with the lack of most organized opposition.
“This spirit of adventure is what we are needing most, and it must be trained and tempered,” King Antius went on. “In keeping with this, you will be dispatched into the Jotunbrul, and you will be joining the efforts to bring down the Kingdom of Giants.”
The hyn were a little wide-eyed after hearing that. “We, we will have the support of the field army for this, right?” one called out hesitantly.
“No,” King Antius said grimly. “You’ve all been read-in enough that using the army to sweep out and conquer our enemies will likely lead to catastrophic retribution by their Immortals. We wiped away the nifloids with some help from technology, but the force they contributed that day is but a tithe of what we could deploy now. If we start conquering with that technology, there will be direct action taken against us, and we likely will not survive it.
“This is a deed that must be done by mortal heroes, using fire and steel, slings and arrows, much the same as our ancestors.”
“Why the Jotunbrul, Your Majesty?!” another young hynnyl spoke up, irrepressible yet somber in the face of that pronouncement. “It’s just so… big!”
“Because we can make excuses that we’re not attacking it to gain experience for all of you. We can use the excuse of the vast mineral wealth of the mountains as a pretext for sending our people in, and giants are known to hoard wealth, so going after their stores of it is also an excuse.
“But no. The main reason we are sending you in is so that the hyn of Darkmoor can be trained as giant-slayers. And you will be the ones leading that new tradition.”
There were excited murmurs from among the hyn at that statement.
“I am sure you know Oswald Brandybuck.” There was an immediate spike at mention of the name the most recognized hyn in the kingdom, the personal hand of the Lady Edge, short blade to the long of his daisho partner, the swashbuckling human Guyven. That excitement was elevated when he stepped out of the shadows of the podium, while his human companion stood up from behind the stage, and all of the hyn there realized the two had been there all along, and simply were not noticed.
King Antius went silent as the hazel-eyed and curly brown-haired hyn stepped forward to the edge of the stage. He didn’t look all that exceptional, but in the eyes of the hyn there, he could have been ten feet tall for all that he dominated their vision.
“Bad times are coming, and we’ve got to prepare for them,” he said simply. “There’s going to be fighting of the worst kind, the kind we left dead and buried a generation ago. Many of you grew up in these last years, where the Northmen weren’t raiding, Iberon can’t threaten us, beasts don’t come down from the skies or crawl out of the seas, and the nifloids don’t slink out of their caves and crawl through the forests looking for blood and gold.
“But this is a hard, cold world full of things bigger than hyn, who think that we are meals because of it.
“Gods praise the Greens!” That fervent call from him was repeated loudly and sincerely. The technology that was protecting the scattered hyn shires was truly a godsend. Gravsleds and laser cannons were no less effective in the hands of shorter hyn than taller humans, and arguably the hyn were better shots. Sledders, as the racing troops who used them were called, were among the most enthusiastic and disciplined military forces in Darkmoor, and were deployed at the borders of Darkmoor all over the place, not just around the Shires, working with humans, elves, and dwarves alike to keep the lands safe.
“But what is coming is something that can’t be won with merely technology, or it will be turned against us, as the Ei of Hazz has been known to do.” Curses arose at the name of the thing, its corruption of technology and kidnapping of citizens of all races to make slaves of them well-known and despised, while equally valorous tales of raids to reclaim them spurred those on to get stronger.
“We will have to take this threat on with steel and stone, the same as our ancestors,” Buck went on grimly, hands resting on the short sword and dagger pair that he wore. As he was one of the most accomplished fencers in the kingdom, and all the tales indicated he was absolute murder if he surprised his enemies, the hyn paid rapt attention to what he was saying. “Steel and stone,” he repeated for emphasis, “and SKILL. Great, directed skill. Something that cannot be given, only earned.”
The power and principles of Levels was widely understood by now, and the Buck system of hyn Improvement was widely distributed and understood now. There were scores of hyn of all ages who pursued it and had repeatedly proven the truth of its benefits.
They were called Hyn Adventurers, and they were out in all the places, exploring the world, opposing the Ei, rescuing slaves and fighting tyrants, and otherwise being exciting busybodies making the world a safer place!
“This, then, is our goal. We want you all to be trained up as not merely Adventurers, but as true giant-slayers. You will be introduced to those humans who have proven easy to work with and willing to form to a Daisho team, for when the long and the short work together, great things are made!” Without looking, he formed a fist, and bumped it against his partner Guyven, who also didn’t look at him. “The dwarves can make their claims, but by the time we are done, this will be the strongest force of giant-slayers in the entire world!”

Four months later…
The hill giant was powerful, with long reach, great mass, and tons of muscle, even if it had a flabby belly and poorly-treated bear hide for attire, and stank enough to be smelled a hundred paces away… or a mile, if you had a Hound with you.
Bestie the War Hound had led them quickly to the foraging hill giant, whose instant reaction on seeing the three of them had been for his face to light up and come charging over with his twisted heavy tree limb of a club, certain he’d found dinner and that they couldn’t possibly outrun him.
They weren’t here to run, after all, and it would have been utterly surprised to learn just how fast Jace and Eshauna could get around, especially if Jace was riding Bestie.
But, no, this was their first test facing a true giant after all their training. The two didn’t even have to exchange looks as they separated, Blades coming out and not even using missile fire, which likely could have ended this fight before it began.
Lightfoot allowed them to ignore the uneven stones and dance along the riverbed as if it were level ground, no risk of turning an ankle or tripping on the uneven surface. The hill giant probably thought it odd, but not important as it bellowed, raised its six-foot long hunk of roughly-hewn wood, and brought it down.