Circe Origins

Autumn was the working mans season, or so his old man had always said. One of a handful of old wise sounding bits of parlance the giant recalled from his father, a few of many more forgotten. This is one that resonates him particularly in this moment. Standing under the bridge. Shovelling the bodies of poisoned rats into sacks.

Despite the rather rancid conditions the giant is in elevated spirits, humming to himself as he worked, horribly out of tune a deep chuckle dispersed among what could only generously be called notes each time a grey body was deposited into a sack. "Ha. Long over due this." These rats in particular had been the thing that made him uneasy about the bridge, the bit he did not like. "Hmpf. No more eating each other for you lot." Sure he had never seen them eating each other. But rats on mass in a confined space what else would they be eating. And looking down on the writhing squeaking mass from above had been all to eerily similar to events that hit very close to home.

Getting rid of these vermin had been his first request when he had entered the tunnels, denied at the time but like so very much with patience and effort things had gone his way eventually. A large booted foot nudges a rat corpse further onto the shovel. "Uh. There you go, no trying to escape now." Does such a small win really justify triumphantly taunting the corpses? Would he stop if he realised that's what he was doing? probably not.

Reaching up over the lip he retrieves a fresh sack to begin filling. A bucket of soapy water and a mop wait their turn. Sure a hose or power washer would be efficiently but the giant is savouring the simple hard graft and some things were only proper after all.