[center][h3][color=brown]Bigher[/color][/h3][/center]

Loud thumps in the distance could be heard at Illyuss, it was the god Bigher making his arrival. His size immense, for several miles a single step could be heard leaving a path of destruction that competed with the god of calamity himself. Arriving at the hall, he had taken a much smaller form than usual, his true size being too immense for even a palace fit for the gods.

Entering he stood around 20ft tall wearing sturdy leather armor, accompanied by his axe Sigmire and a worn wooden shield large enough to cover his head if held properly. His white beard so long it nearly touched his knees stained blood red from a previous battle, it had gone unwashed for a while.

“Greetings” he boomed followed by a long and hearty laugh. It was not often that he was in the presence of so many gods. Some of whom he respected more than others, not because of who they were, but of how they dealt with issues. He has never liked gods too afraid to face issues head on nor has he trusted them. The amusement of battle and the destruction that it left behind was taken away through ideals like planning and deceit. It was a testament to true strength, the ability to endure that he loved.

To large to take a seat next to his fellow gods, he simply stood along the end of the table, facing opposite to the throne. Two votes had been cast, the first for Prothos, an admirable choice by Onheil truly one of the strongest gods, the second for Orugoru, a more surprising choice. “I vote with Onheil. Prothos is truly a worth god for the throne, one whom I see fighting with me as an equal.” Bigher boomed. “I do not see the same for Orugoru.”

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[center][h3][color=brown]Stio Clal[/color][/h3][/center]

Thousands had gathered in the Famous Stone Arena in Stio Clal, easily seating ten thousands attendees. Today was a sight like none-other. Grevog “The Titan”, crowned king of Stio Clal three hundred years ago, faced off against Alackos “The Iron General”, second in command of Stio Clal’s army. Both warriors of unseens magnitude, what many consider the strongest in history. It was the fight for the crown.

Grevog stood patiently facing opposite to Alackos in the arena. He had brought his warhammer “Devastation”, forged in the fires of a volcano it had withstood five hundred years of use. He knew that he had peaked for his age long ago, yet he held the confidence of a warrior. With the strength of Bigher himself, he feared little, he would prove the might of Stio Clal’s king.

Alackos gave a smirk, and taunted Grevog. The giant carried a large one handed sword and massive wooden shield. The only giant to wear armor in the entirety of Stio Clal’s army he had brought it today, as a testament to his strength. Given only to the strongest individual in Stio Clal’s army, determined by the king himself, it was now used against him. This armor was powerful, but it had not tested it’s durability against Devastation, nor has it seen weapons swung by a giant, let alone their king. It was a fight, few would ever see.

A gong was rung signaling the start of the battle, and both giants charged. The first swing was made by Grevog with a booming force strong enough to collapse a city wall, blocked by the large wooden shield carried by Alackos, before shattering. “Your shield will not save you from a second blow Alackos, say your prayers.” He boomed before making a second swing, however Alackos had mobility on his side. With a quick swing of his sword, he cut Grevog’s leg, throwing his next swing into a clear miss.

“You are old and weak, die like a good king.” Alackos shouted preparing to make a final thrust for Grevogs heart, before swiftly being knocked to the ground by a swift kick. The crowd cheered, as Grevog slowly began to stand once again. Preparing another swing, this one stronger than even that of the first, a clear shot for Alackos chest. Alackos tried rolling to the side, but his left arm caught by the impact of the hammer, broken and useless. The giant could only feel pain, unable to fight back. The Iron General’s armor could not deflect a blow from a warhammer, let alone one swung by the strongest of giants.

“You fought well.” Grevog remarked, before the final swing was made. This time for Alackos’ head, leaving him dead on the ground. “If any others challenge my authority as the strongest in Stio Clal then step forward.” The crowd fell silent, and no one said a single word. “Then it is decided, I am still king of Stio Clal. The strongest of warriors. As for who shall take the Iron General’s place, that will be decided soon enough. For now enjoy the festivities.”