>>6196417But it’s at this point that you notice the screams. About half the onlookers are filled with outright terror, may trying to run away, with the rest seeming transfixed, rooted to the spot. It occurs to your now warped draconic mind that these foolish mortals might not see you as the most beautiful, majestic being to grace this or any plane. The panic however soon dies down once Anya’s Dispel suppresses your ring and forces you out of polymorph. A dishevelled elf is rather less intimidating than a massive dragon, to be sure, especially as you try to fend off the Leskylor’s claws, which a Lesser Deflect spell succeeds in doing.
You have the presence of mind this time to choose a form modestly less terrifying the second time, choosing instead a Sun Giant, twenty feet tall, red-gold of skin, and immune to the fire that is Anya’s specialty. Anya attempts another Dispel - but this time, to no effect, which gives you an opening to reach down, grab her, and swing her bodily into her own summoned Leskylor with tremendous force. Before you can do any more damage she whispers a Freedom of Movement spell to slip from your grasp.
As she rises, your slower-flying Arcadian Avengers finally catch up to you, and two interpose between you and your sister while the third flanks from behind. Unable to ignore them entirely, Anya tries to Dispel again, but you lazily lash out with your now-enlarged sword and break her concentration, costing her the casting to no effect. Two of the Avengers’ blades strike home. The Leskylor makes a valiant display of pulling one of the Avengers off of her and pinning it to the ground, but you grab it by both wings in one hand and smash it against Anya, knocking her off her feet again. Your sister drops her sword in recognition of defeat.
“Good fight,” you say, voice the deep growling of a bonfire, as you offer Anya a hand up. “That Flame Strike hurt like hell.”
Anya takes your enormous hand, but stops short of speaking, instead freezing in place and staring at something behind you.
It’s Lord Stark. Returned from administering justice, along with his sons and men-at-arms, staring at you and Anya with an abject expression you’re not sure you have a precise word for, although fear and horror would both be in the definition.
You, although with your normal face and shape, are now a golden giant the height of a two-story building, dressed in clothes which you realise are just now finally knitting themselves back together such that they cover your chest.
>Greet him casually - just another day sparring with your sister. >Return to your own body with all haste and try to smooth things over as best you can without a shared language. 