Hammered

rest of the group.
    » Greetings, noble sir. May we speak with you? « I asked the eagle. » We have come to Jötunheim to have words with Hrym, if that is possible. «
    The eagle leapt from its perch and turned into a towering giant, shaking the earth and sending sheets of snow into the air as it landed. He was twelve feet tall, with skin a few shades lighter than the blue people in Avatar . His beard had real hair, but it was sheathed in ice, as were his eyebrows. His tangle of dark hair was tipped with highlights of white frost. Despite his obvious cold, he wore nothing but a fur about his loins, which made me wonder: If the frost giants figured out that a fur would keep their privates a bit warmer, why didn’t they figure out that more furs would keep the rest of them warm? Did they never worry about hypothermia? Considering their elemental nature, they were most likely immune to it, and their scant clothing and shivery appearance was calculated to cause hypothermia in all who gazed upon them.
    » Who are you? « he demanded. His voice was like barrels rolling down a dock.
    » No friends to the Æsir, « I assured him, thinking that was probably more important than our names. I offered those next, and since he had yet to squash us into jelly, I thought relations were proceeding remarkably well.
    The frost giant fixed Perun with an icy glare (what other kind of glare could he possibly deliver?). » Graah. I do not like thunder gods. Do not trust them. What words do you have for Hrym? «
    » We can end the tyranny of the Æsir tonight, or the next, or whensoever the frost Jötnar choose. Odin is vulnerable, and he knows it not. Thor is crippled, yet he knows not how. Freyja is there for the taking. The Norns are dead. All of Asgard is a fruit waiting to be plucked if Hrym feels hungry. «
    The giant laughed like someone with severe respiratory symptoms. » Mrr-hhr-hwauugh! What nonsense is this? You think scrawny snacks like you can defeat the Æsir? «
    There is no use in bandying words with the muscle-bound and oafish. They communicate physically, and that is the only way they can be reached. I turned to the immortal Zhang Guo Lao and spoke to him in Mandarin. » Master Zhang, I believe he needs a brief lesson in manners. Perhaps you could show him how to speak on our level. «
    A flicker of a smirk played under the wispy mustache of the ancient alchemist, and he afforded me a brief bow. He shrugged off his pack and set his fish drum aside, drawing out one of its iron rods.
    » Allow my comrade to show you a glimpse of our power, « I said to the giant, switching back to Old Norse. » Perhaps you will be willing to hear more when you have seen what we can do. «
    » Hrrgh! « the Jötunn snorted. » What can this old man do? Fart on me? «
    I hope I never get taken down by a fart the way Zhang Guo Lao took down that frost giant. He swung a high kick to the giant’s kneecap to begin with, just to let him know he was serious. The giant bellowed and kicked spastically at Zhang with the same leg. Zhang grabbed on and then leapt up at the giant’s face, somersaulting until his spread legs approached the giant’s throat. These he locked around the giant’s neck, then hung upside down, and the giant’s eyes widened in surprise: How’d he get saddled so quickly with an old-guy necklace? His massive hands moved toward his chest, obviously intending to grab Zhang and yank him off, but Zhang wasn’t merely hanging out. While performing a sort of extended crunch, he used his iron rod to administer surgical blows to various pressure points on the giant’s chest and neck— thup-thunk-thak-thunk-thup . After the last one, the giant’s hands stopped moving. He was paralyzed from the waist up. Zhang, still hanging upside down, relaxed and spread his arms wide in a sort of » ta-da! « gesture. I led our group in a round of appreciative golf claps. The giant slowly processed what was happening and staggered about, trying to get his upper body to move. When he lurched back a step, Zhang bent at the waist until he could grab on to a couple of beardcicles. Then he allowed his feet to slide from around the giant’s neck, planted them against the giant’s collarbones, and sprang backward as if he were participating in a high dive competition. After a bunch of twists and flippy thingies—I’m not a gymnastics expert—he landed gracefully on his feet, if somewhat deeply in the snow. The frost giant fell backward in a