Lightning!

Once upon a time, there was a little kid.

"Sure is dark and rainy outside," the little kid said, setting the mood. The weather outside was indeed rather inclement.

"Clement weather is my favorite. I cannot play baseball with my friends when it is raining," he lied. The little kid actually hated baseball.

"Oh, and my name is Voth Stenger, Lord of the Northlands," he continued. This too was a lie. His real name was Mark.

Suddenly and without warning (for if warning were forthcoming, it would not be considered sudden) a great spike of lightning split the sky, cratering the lawn and sending a shower of debris pattering down on the roof.

"Debris!" Mark squealed. THIS was something worth squealing about! As his excited feet carried him (willingly, as it turns out) down the stairs and out the front door, only the plot of his nightmares could prepare him for what was about to happen.

A giant stood on the lawn. He wore a fur kilt and viking helmet, and did not appear happy.

"How dare you use my name in vain!" he roared. "Only I am Voth Stenger, Lord of the Northlands. No one else is allowed to use that name. Unless, of course, they've paid the nominal fee of $29.99."

Mark quivered and shook. "Are you gonna harm me, mister?"

"Not if you have thirty bucks."

Mark ran back upstairs to his room and dumped out his piggy bank on the bed. He began counting slowly, carefully, taking care not to miss a cent. $29.98...

The giant was watching him through the window and Mark looked at him beseechingly. "I'm only off a penny. Is this enough?"

"Sorry," Voth said, shaking his head. "Rules are rules."

Mark stared back at the towering viking. He surveyed the man's weatherbeaten face, searching for a hint of pity; a chink in the giant's armor; a momentary softening of those icy blue eyes, which were so blue, they were twice as blue.

"Please, mister, I didn't mean it. If I can't afford to buy your name, can we trade?"

The hulking man hulked derisively.

"Not on your father's grave, wee one! Perhaps you mistook this for momentary softening?" Voth flicked a bit of something from the corner of his eye. "It is but a piece of shrapnel from a flintbeast I vanquished earlier! As for chinks in my armor, why, perish the thought. I always make sure to sweep them out before I put it on in the morning."

The piggybank crashed to the floor as Mark sat down on his bed and prepared to meet his doom.

"Boy! So help me God if you're up there breaking things again, I'll drive you out to where your doom lives and make you meet it!"

"Dad! There's a giant viking outside! His name is Voth Stenger and he's going to harm me if I don't pay the rent on his name!"

A terrible silence followed.

"That's it. I am going to get permission from your mother to beat you. Don't move."

"Besides," Voth continued, picking up the thread from a conversation you thought had ended, "if I were to be called Mark, how would I strike fear into things? It's not a scary name."

Mark thought quickly. There might just be a way for him to stay alive after all.

"I know a 24-hour coffee shop where we can discuss this, mister," he said. "Help me out the window?"

"What is this coffee you speak of?" Voth asked, once they were firmly ensconced in a corner booth.

"It's the hot drink of choice for millions," Mark said. "You haven't tried it? You're from the Northlands!"

"We're a little behind the times," Voth admitted sheepishly. "Our computers are still running Windows 95. Oh, and I'm still planning to kill you."

"Try the coffee first. If you don't like it, you can do with me as you will."

Voth narrowed his eyes. "Very well. But if this is a trick..."

"Just try it."

The giant raised the drink to his lips, his massive hands dwarfing the cup. He sipped...