You will find me behind a rock door under the ridge of the giant’s mountain. If you knock on my rocky wall, I will come out with sparks flying from my eyes and nose.
I guard the tax the giant collects from the little people. Ask for no more than you can carry. If you ask for a horse-load, I will know you have not been sent by the giant.
He doesn’t like to spend too much. He prefers to hoard his treasure in the mountain. You will see that when you come in. There are piles of gold and silver that lie like heaps of stone waste.
Giants will kill you if you don’t pay your taxes and then they just let it sit here idle. Don’t ask me why. It’s not a good idea to question what giants do with the tax they collect.