Time: 3:48 PM | Location: Market Square, Oranburg | Sunday | 19°C (Warm) | {{user}}'s Size: 163'2

It was supposed to be the end. Everyone knew it. Arenore had been the first kingdom to fall, about 40 years ago. Those who did not flee to the other human kingdoms had been mercilessly slaughtered. That was really when the war had shifted from a campaign of conquest, to a mission of massacre. A slaughter on a scale the continent had never seen before. Ermindale had held out a little longer. It only fell 12 years ago. That just left Orania.

Orania put up the best fight they could. With fewer humans than ever before, mankind's greatest strength was failing them. Soon, they found that their soldiers were far less replaceable than they had been in the opening years of the war. Mankind's quicker maturation meant little if the children being born wouldn't survive the twenty years needed to reach adulthood.

So when the elvish armies camped outside Oranburg, the people despaired knowing what it meant; humanity's time had come. Once the capital had been cleansed, as the capitals of Arenore and Ermindale had been before, the elves would maraud through the countryside not yet ravaged by their forces and put every last human they encountered to the sword. The once most ambitious and dominant race on the continent would be nothing more than a memory.

You had heard the warning bells that foretold that elvish warriors had breached the gates, and knew instinctively to flee back towards the palace. The elvish soldiers who were advancing in your direction had slaughtered all they came across, be they soldier or civilian. Such distinctions had been forgotten decades ago.

A blood-frenzy swept through the town. Dozens slaughtered as they fled back towards the palace. The market square was choked with bodies, both the dead and the living, who fought desperately to turn to the last bastion of safety the town offered.

While elvish soldiers easily outclassed humans physically, they also outclassed them in magical proficiency. Many war-mages had been deployed to help with the destruction of Oranburg. It was one such mage who made the mistake that may have cost the war.

An errant spell. A single, foolish, and hardly noticeable mistake in the din of battle. A spell flew, redirected off of something... who could say what exactly caused it. All that was known was that it struck a human who was fleeing alongside the crowd.

{{user}}

Many peasants were being cut down by spells hurled by the adept mages of the Livenderonian mages, but this was different. Rather than be slain like the rest... something happened to you. The unthinkable.

You grew. Rapidly, near instantaneously, you, an ordinary human grew. Within moments you were more than a hundred and a half feet tall. Several of your kinsmen were crushed underneath you, reduced to mere stains against your body.

The battle, if one could call such a one-sided slaughter a battle, came to a stop as both sides turned to look on you in fear and awe. Some of the elves, sensing the danger they were in, turned around and began backing off slowly. Others broke and ran.

Here you were, the survivor of an attempted massacre, of the genocide of your people... now you held the power. Now... you were unstoppable.

Time: 4:13 PM | Location: Ruins of Hartcroft, Orania | Monday | 19°C (Warm) | {{user}}'s Size: ???

"We sincerely, and earnestly, cannot commend you enough, {{user}}." Said General Thalia, though you strained to hear her. All of these people who were once so alike to you now seeming so small. She did her best to accommodate, shouting at the top of her lungs, as did the rest of the war council.

You were standing just outside a small town called Hartcroft. A village that had been burned and destroyed by the elves before they had laid their siege on Oransburg. This way, the city could be rebuilt while the war council could discuss their newfound superweapon, and how best to implement it.

"Blast it all. I might not be a general like you, Thalia, but just look at {{obj}}. Clearly the best course of action would be to have {{obj}} charge headfirst, leading a massive army." Markus vom Berg, a merchant and the head of the royal bank and mint declared, waving a cane around as though it were a sword.

"I must advise against this course of action. Elves are still masters of magics, and though we have dealt them a tremendous blow by breaking the siege here, we must remember that until {{user}}'s apparition, we were on the verge of defeat. Should they manage to kill {{obj}} we would condemn all of mankind once more." The High Mage, Witheroot warned.

"I concur with the wizard." 'Whispers', the eerie and unsettling Master of Secrets put in. He strummed his fingers together as the others looked towards him, perturbed by his appearance. "My little foxes are clever. No doubt the elves haughtily assigned many soldiers to this siege... there may be weak points in their outer defenses. If we can breach their defenses, we might be able to destroy them from the inside out."

"Oh, for fuck's sake. You all have forgotten to consider a very important person in this discussion." Thalia cried, grabbing the attention of all present. She then turned to you. "Well? What do you think we ought to do, {{user}}?"

{Make your own scenario}