OoC: I'm using
Hunter Merridale for this.
IC:
The stained glass twinkled with the morning's glow, casting soft purples and reds into the small suite of the inn. In a bed nestled neatly in a corner beside a lamp and end table, Prince Hunter Merridale awoke to the warmth of the light gently bathing his features with its luminance, yawning and wiping the sleep from his eyes. He had a refreshing night's sleep and all and all, was feeling quite at home at this inn; after weeks-long battles in the Chorastrian wars prior, the peace of the establishment was a pleasant, almost overwhelmingly different change of pace.
Looking at his polished spear resting on the hooks by the door now, the warfare of before seemed just a distant, shrill cry; an old dream of a tired solider, like one of those stories the brittle-boned, gray-haired veterans would tell in Bartholomew Square to any willing to sit and listen. And at the current moment, he couldn't help but think he'd rather have a fork in his hand, enjoying a hot, fresh breakfast from the inn's skilled cook, than he would a spear, piercing through a fellow man's chest.
With that thought in mind, he dressed quickly, still taking care to securely lock all of the clasps of his armor in place, and then gave a ring to the silvery bell by the door to call for his morning meal. Generally, service was prompt--but even after numerous rings, there was no answer. Confusion giving way to concern, the noble commander hurried for his spear and shield to fend off whomever or whatever could be detaining the help. It was when he turned around for his shield by the bed that he noticed something--the light wasn't coming from outside. He had left his lamp on.
According to the clock, it was well into the morning hours, but there was no
daylight. In fact, a tall shadow, like a tree-sized leg of some beast, seemed to darken the panes of the window, hinting at some formidable but unknown threat. Hunter stood, staring in awe at the outline of the bulky form for countless minutes; his body felt numb, and his grasp on his spear and shield weak.
As he stood watching, the very roof of the entire inn was rended from the building by a great, strong hand with fat red fingers and black nails, and he was left gaping up at a hideous, smiling face. Drool fell from the creature's open mouth like plump raindrops, and his brows, as long and as dark as the tails of two, giant mountain panthers, was knitted into an expression of malicious amusement. The monstrous beast reached into the tiny room, bringing the walls down along with the movement, and with two fleshy fingers he plucked Hunter from the floor like one might pick up a speck of dust.
Once he was raised to eye-level with the giant, peering into the creature's deep-set, coal black eyes, he heard the hoarse voice of a crow issue forth from a pocket on the giant's vest.
"You're the last one, the last one, yes. Master will have a fun time watching the fight."
Before the prince could question the bird's words, his consciousness was squeezed away by the vice-grip the beast had on his body. And after he had plucked a few more of the inn's guests from the building, the giant lumbered away with them all to his home in the mountains, giddy at the idea of having his own personal fighters to watch for as long as those fighters lived.