Inside the monster’s lair . . .

   Vhollun’s gargantuan mass stood well taller than fifteen feet as he ducked his head through a tall arched door and rose into the chamber, a huge kilt of leather and bronze strips adorning his wide waist. His gigantic body looked like an incredibly muscular man, though his gray skin was thick, dry, and marked by deep wounds. He walked hunched forward, his rippling arms curved to the sides and slightly dangling like an animal more suited to running on all fours. A thick neck sprouted up from his vast chest and was topped by Vhollun’s grotesque head. The jotun king’s face was covered by exposed bone that looked like the skull of a gargantuan bear, strips of bloody gray flesh still lingering around the crest. His mouth lay exposed beneath the bear skull’s exposed teeth and fangs, giving the illusion of a second maw sprouting with a long muzzle, matching the skull's jaw, and filled with snarling pointed teeth. Along his forehead, a line of three stubby pointed horns sprouted, leading in a line to a pair of immense stag-like antlers that grew from the top of his head, curving and arching forward over his face. Most terrifying of all were the red eyes with black pupils that peered out from behind the sockets of the skull – wet, glistening eyes that never blinked yet gave a deep air of extreme intelligence and ancient wisdom despite his monstrous exterior.
   Freyja clenched both her fists tight, her knuckles turning white as her heart pounded out of control and her stomach turned nauseous at the sight of the hideous jotun king. But she forced herself to look up, maintaining steady eye contact with the thing as it loomed above her and slowly moved its mass to the throne on the dais. As the jotun king reached its place, it turned its lumbering form to her and stood still waiting, staring down calmly at her. Freyja sucked in a stammering breath, exhaled slowly, bowed deeply, and then spoke, “Vhar aeirah teel dheg Khongah,” she intoned slowly but loudly, her voice echoing off the stone floor, then she raised her head to look at him again. The jotun nodded, “Khavek . . . Ohg teel dheg.” He replied in an unfathomably low bass that seemed to rattle Freyja’s bones. Vholktier, the king’s steward, bowed his head before stepping forward toward the edge of the dais. His jotun face bemused as he looked toward Freyja. “Speak, my Lady,” he hissed, “Vhollun will hear you now.”