Annapippalagarah, known sometimes as Pip, Pippala, Annapippala and Annapippalaga, was a famed god-hero of the goliaths of the Kingdom of Endon. It is unknown precisely when she lived, other than that it was previous to the rise of the Ssthessic Vrasa and the fall of the Goliath Dominion. Notably, she is said to have directly interacted with several of the First Ones.

Her main accomplishments are told in traditional goliath oral storytelling fashion over five parts: her initial claim to heroism in her meeting with the Dark Man, her encounter with the Baelobard, her quests for the First Ones, and the planting of the first Stone Tree.

Amongst her legacies is the feywild known as Pippala's Wild.

Pip and the Man in Shadows

Long ago, in the days when it was newly-built, the young goliath Pip was wandering in the mountain passes of Agdu-Stein when she tripped and fell into a narrow chasm. She stumbled and rattled and fell, and as she knew not the use of stein or haug, she could not stop her fall as she tumbled further and further into the darkness. 

She fell for a day and a night, falling, falling, falling into the shadows at the bottom of the world. And she plummeted into a cold and dim lake deep within the bowels of the earth, and spoke laguz to it, and so survived. And she swam unto the edges of this lake, to a shore of black sand warmed by a fire within the rocks themselves, and there lay, gasping and weeping, by the edge of the water.

There she lay, until she heard the rustle of footsteps on sand, and sprang up to see what manner of creature made its home in the bottom of the world. For Pip had heard many stories of the pools of whispering darkness, of the crittering spiders that wait in mountain-crags for young goliath children, of the slumbering Leviathan waiting in the deeps for the night to wake, and of many more dangerous things. So she was surprised - and suspicious - when she saw, in this most dangerous of places, a bowed and bent man. 

He was tall, and wide, but frail. His skin was pale, and his hair black, and from the depths of his eyes came a strange glow that seemed to peer into Pip’s very soul. He wore a beard, which he scratched as he wandered along the shore of the lake. And over his shoulders, he wore a cloak of darkness: light as a shadow it seemed, and wrapped around him so well, that if he stopped he seemed to disappear. When he came closer, Pip leapt up, ready to flee, but the stranger raised his hand and smiled. 

He invited her back to his home, and though Pip was wary of this stranger in a strange place, he offered her salt and bread, in the traditional manner, and Pip knew that she would be safe from him, and she followed him along that midnight shore. 

The stranger lived in a hut made from shards of obsidian on a rock jutting out over the lake, and they supped that evening on a meal of bread and fish - a curious white fish that lived in the lake. And when the stranger asked Pip of how she came to this place, she wept, for she saw no way of returning to the world above. And she asked the stranger if he knew a way.

And the stranger scratched at his beard and watched her with his pale eyes, and he said that he did. And Pip leapt up with excitement. But the stranger said that she knew not what she asked. So Pip said that she would do it regardless. And Pip asked again, and the stranger shook his head, and said that Pip knew not the price of such a way. So Pip said that she would take such a way, regardless of the price. And Pip asked a third time, and the stranger said that she could not do it without help. So Pip said that she would offer him anything he wished if he would help her to return to the world above. 

So the stranger watched her, and thought, and wondered. And after a time had passed in the regard of this man, he agreed to help her. 

So the man in shadows led Pip outside, and drew forth a blade of bitter obsidian. And Pip in trust, held out her right hand. And the man in shadows took it. And he wove a great magic about her, and drew forth her bright blood, until she was consumed by shadow and darkness. And when she opened her eyes, she stood once more at the brink of Agdu-Stein, never again to venture in the lands of the man in shadow. 

Pippala’s Journeys Through the Agra-Skye

In the days when the world was first covered in forests, and the goliaths were a young people, the giants were greatest in power and wisdom, but varied much in temper and restraint. So it was that Pippala, whom they call the One-Handed, was journeying through the passes of Agduvar in a storm, and came across a shallow cave, where she made camp for the night. 

And there, in the night, she came first across a young skye-kyr, or a cloudwalker calf, who had been injured in the storm. And Pippala, who knew the secrets of laekni from the forest giants, gave the calf her tending. So when the storm had passed, Pippala emerged from the cave with a faithful companion. 

Pippala had long searched through the mountain passes, forging clear ways for goliath pilgrims to reach the high places of the giants, and thus far they had eluded her. But with the help of a skye-kyr, Pippala thought, such things would be far easier. And so she coaxed the skye-kyr with cloudberries, which are the favourites of the calves, and with great patience it allowed her to mount it. 

Such freedom that Pippala had in the air was a joy like none other, but her venturing into the high airs around the mountain peaks, keeping her gaze upon the ways that pilgrims could venture, brought her into the territory of the mischievous Cloud Giants. They waylaid her with mockery and angry words, insulted by her presence and her domination of their livestock, the skye-kyr, and brought her unwillingly to the Himminin, the crossroads of the Agra-Skye. 

There she was brought before the Cloud Giant court, and asked to answer for her trespass, for all knew that the Cloud Giants punished trespassers with death, for the Cloud Giants obeyed their laws to the letter and to the grave. But Pippala was cunning, and asked for a single boon from the Court before she was put to death. And when they agreed, she asked that they shake her hand to seal their animosity, and they agreed.

But Pippala brought forth her hand-that-was-not, and the court could not shake it. The Cloud Giants had agreed that their animosity would be sealed by their handshake, but Pippala had no hand to shake. And they laughed, for - as she was not an enemy - she was a friend, able to travel freely through the Agra-Skye.

And Pippala left, and was welcome amongst the Cloud Giants thereafter. 

Annapippala and the Baelobard

When the hills were newly raised, and the haug was not yet made, Annapippala was journeying to see the Fire Giants building the torenn, the Towers of Bronze, and she broke bread with Regna, her skye-kyr, at a lonely hilltop. There they laughed and rested in the night, until they were approached, near midnight, by a lonely child. 

Annapippala, kind-hearted and warm, invited the child to the fire and gave her bread and salt, but though she offered and pressed to return the child to their clan, the child refused. The child, instead, told Annapippala that she had been found and cared for by a kindly man, and that they wanted to return to their mentor. So Annapippala promised that, at first light, they would take the child to their caretaker. 

Annapippala rode with the child on the back of Regna, and so it was soon after dawn that they arrived at the abode of the mysterious caretaker. In a cave hallowed by candles and silks, they were urged by the child to sit and eat and wait for the caretaker, for they would undoubtedly want to thank such kind peoples. But when the caretaker came, it was not a goliath, nor any of the giantish peoples, but a huge dog, dark of coat, with two great antlers rising from its brow. And Annapippala leapt up in dismay and rage, for it was a baelobard. 

The baelobard was fast, but Annapippala was faster. The baelobard was cunning, but Annapippala more so. The baelobard was strong, but Annapippala was versed in the runes. Their battle raged, as Annapippala called upon her magicks, and the baelobard reached out with its eldritch powers and puppeted the child and Regna in a bid to overwhelm the runemaster. But when the dust settled, the baelobard was laid low, and Annapippala banished it from the minds of Regna and the child. 

But the baelobard was not dead, for Annapippala knew that it was a demon of great power and knowledge, and that it had the ability to grant a wish to those that bested it in battle. And Annapippala stood over the body of the demon hound, and pressed it to grant her wish. 

“Why grant thee thy wish?” it said to her. “For my life is to thee forfeit, and even should I give thee thy wish, thou shalt surely kill me. I can see thine intent.” 

And Annapippala was troubled, for she knew at once that the baelobard knew her thought, and was right, for she could not allow it to live and prey upon the weak-minded. But if she killed it, she would not be granted her wish. 

“Give me my life,” it said. “I shall go from this place, and trouble thee no more. And thou shalt have thy wish.”

And Annapippala considered all that she wished for, in the quiet of her heart: for a family, for a home, for her hand returned. And she looked at Regna and the child, and knew what she must do. And she banished the baelobard. 

But for the rest of her days, she watched for more minions of the baelobard, for she knew that it could not be killed, only banished, and would forever work to be set loose upon the world again. 

Annapippalaga and the Grave in Flowers

It came to pass that the days of the First Ones came to a close, and the era of their children dawned, and the giants built their cities in the mountaintops, and the goliaths wandered the earth. But though the First Ones lost their influence, some still clung to the edges of the world, now too great a presence to be borne by the earth, decaying in power and stature, and waiting for the end of their days. And it was thus when Ithilenna, the Elder Giant, died of old age. 

Long had been the years since Ithilenna had roamed the world freely, finding the joys in the mountain peaks and delving into the deeps of the seas, and she had made herself a home in a valley deep in the mountains, where none could disturb her, and she could disturb none. So she was alone when she died, and the world outside the valley would not have known of her passing - nor, indeed, of her living, with the short memories of the later races - were it not for Annapippalaga and Regna. 

There had been a wedding in the Himminin, and Annapippalaga and her skye-kyr were returning to Agdu-Ise when they flew over the valley in which she had spent her final millennia, and they beheld the bones of the Elder Giant: the titanic form of the First One, stretching from the foot of one mountain to another. And Annapippalaga was overcome with grief. 

She landed at the foot of that great grave, and turned her thought inwards. She gathered her power, and felt the life of the mountains beneath her. And with a rune she sank the bones of her foremother into the earth, to rest. And she wept. 

For the life of a goliath is short and fleeting, and the life of a giant is longer and harsher, but the lives of the Elder Giants were the beginning of the world. Since their passing, the world has been made smaller, and their wisdom, which was the lightening of the burden of the early hurts of the world, has now gone. And so Annapippalaga sat at the foot of the grave and meditated. 

Barely a few days had passed when she first saw the plants. From the earth of the grave, shoots were rising fast and joyously, and Annapippalaga was troubled. Within a month, great trees were growing above Ithilenna’s grave, and Annapippalaga was grim. And when the beasts came, drawn by the pull of Ithilenna’s magic leaching into the earth, Annapippalaga frowned upon it. 

But they kept coming, digging their burrows into the earth, climbing through the trees, and living loudly where before had been such a sacred place. And Annapippalaga was enraged, and laid waste to these creatures so unconcerned with Ithilenna’s peace. But still they came, in greater and great numbers, until Annapippalaga was surrounded by thick verdant forest unlike any she had seen. 

For the magic that was spreading from the bones of her foremother was true life, changing and vibrant. The trees that drank from it grew taller and faster and stronger, and had minds of their own. The beasts that lived upon it grew in connection to their forest home, covered with flowers and leaves and berries. And Annapippalaga wondered. 

In the second year since Annapippalaga made the graveplace, a strange goliath came to the valley. In this time, Annapippalaga had put aside her hatred for the plants and beasts, and had come to learn from them with Regna. But all beasts and plants stood aside for this newcomer, a goliath unlike any Annapippalaga had seen. He was stouter than most, with a purplish hue to his skin and hair and beard that looked to be made of twigs and leaves. And wherever he moved, he attracted birds and beasts to him.

And he approached Annapippalaga and bowed before her, thanking her for her labours in caring for the grave. And Annapippalaga was ashamed of her anger to the beast, and confessed herself. But he forgave her, and introduced himself as a firbolg, a tree-guardian. His was the task to protect the graveplace. 

And Annapippalaga thanked him, saddled Regna, and said farewell and thanks to the inhabitants of Ithilenna’s Grave. For though she had not known it, it was fated to be a fey-wild, a place of wild magic, in memory of that Elder Giant. 

Annapippalagarah and the Stone Tree

When the days of yore were coming to a close, all who were wise to the world knew that a new era was beginning. The Elder Giants were dying, and the world was become small with their passing. Though the goliaths were yet young and vigorous, and knew nothing of the long centuries ahead of them, they knew that times were changing. And so, when Annapippalagarah returned to the moot in Agduvar to give the news that Ithilenna was dead, she was chosen to take the news to the Arboriad. 

For in times long before, when the world was new and smoten with fire and ash, Ithilenna had been closest to the Arboriad, and had often visited them in later years. She had taken joy in the life that her sluggish friends had created, and they loved her dearly. And so it came to pass that the message needed to be delivered to her friends of her death. 

However, many long centuries had passed since the First Ones had spoken openly with one another, and none alive knew where Annapippalagarah could find the Arboriad. And so she saddled her faithful skye-kyr, and set off through the open air, heading towards the sunrise. 

As she sailed high in the air, higher even than the Himminin, Annapippalagarah came to the layer of the Mist, where the eagles roam. In the days of the War of the First Ones, when the Radiant had destroyed themselves, much of their essence had fallen back towards the earth, and was caught by the air, in a golden layer known as the Mist: the source of sunsets and auroras and sundrops. And the eagles, who most often fly that far above the world, are because of this most alike to the Radiants, an echo of that long-dead race. 

But the eagles knew not where the Arboriad were, and so they parted. 

Annapippalagarah crossed the seas and found herself at the edge of a vast desert and saw ahead the peak of a tall mountain. And so she stopped to rest there, and found a large city in the shadow of the mountain, inhabited by the children of the Elder Dragons. But though she expected their animosity, she found them warm and friendly - for though the goliaths have long memories for crimes centuries past, the children of the dragons are quick to anger and quick to forgive. Though they offered her their hospitality, and she was herself curious about these long-sundered people, the Elder Dragons were long-dead. 

And their children knew not where the Arboriad were, and so they parted. 

Annapippalagarah and her skye-kyr flew south to the edge of the great sea, and journeyed for many weeks across the storm-iron waters until they found the lair of one of the last of the First Ones, a Leviathan of old. And she beseeched them to help her in her quest to find the Arboriad. But, as always, the Leviathan would do nothing to help, and nothing to hinder.

The Leviathan told her not where the Arboriad were, and so they parted. 

Long were the journeys of Annapippalagarah in this time, and with little hope, for none could tell her where to find the last of the Arboriad. But Annapippalagarah stayed true to her quest, the last need of her fore people. And so, after a long search, she found herself in a forest grove, in the crater of a long-forgotten volcano, where, she had been told, she might find the last of the Arboriad. 

But when she arrived, it was long dead. 

A great white trunk, leaves glittering silver scattered around the bulk of its body, it had long ago fallen to the same evils that claimed the life of its beloved Ithilenna. And now it rested with her. Annapippalagarah’s quest was over - there was none alive to give the message to. But nonetheless she stood and told it, and wept, and raged, and sang of the deeds and the life of Ithilenna, and of the end of the days of the First Ones. 

And the Arboriad gave forth a single seed. White-shelled, filled with the life now gone from its parents, Annapippalagarah wept for joy, and brought it back, through trials and terrors, to the quiet valley of Ithilenna’s Grave, where she planted it, and waited. 

There was nothing for a day, or a week, or a month. And when her hope was failing, and her joy was fading, after a year staying in the fey-wild as a guest of Bargidan the firbolg, it sprouted: the first of the Stone Trees.