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Grephthosthenes is a well-known (though little respected) figure of mythology to all those who inhabit any of the myriad lands where the shaky, scattered and sometimes downright neurotically inclined Quezlar family can be said to have made their mark. Since X R Quezlar spoke about the famous stein at the opening of the company picnic in -188 EC (one year before his son Rahjoon took over the management of the family's finances) it has been referred to repeatedly in Fefferberry Folklore as well as in the numerous anthologies of fairy tales produced by Archimetres and Troy - owners of The Underfunded Eastside Publishing House for Small and Insignificant Mammals - who thought it was a fairy tail. Although many people question it's actual existence (not to mention it's importance) this author has recently uncovered new evidence that leads to the inevitable conclusion that the clinically insane might be "onto something" (as opposed to "on something" which is a well-known and un-repudiated).

Who stole what

In -185 EC, a little-known archeologist (i.e. grave robber) called Maxilla von Sims found several articles at one of her smaller digs (i.e. a cheap job that really should have been done by somebody else). One of the items happenewd to be a hat which although disintegrated to a point where it was almost unrecognizable as such still had the remnants of an off-green feather stuck in a narrow yellowish band along which the words "Ey wer kilt bi Grefosth" were written in a crude handwriting. This author made contact with Rubella von Sims (the only descendant of Maxilla who actually stuck around long enough to be registered as a local citizen) and recovered some scraps of the hat. Upon greater study it is possible to assert (though not confirm) that the handwriting is in fact not that of a giant. It is believed that the inscription was made by one of the giant's prisoners in an attempt to market the huge individual's unique talent: bopping somebody over the head so hard they never get up.

Indeed, it would seem that the writer was trying to write "I was killed by Grephthosthenes" and ran out of space, time, or both before the work could be completed. In and of itself then, the hat lends only a small amount of credence to old X R's rantings.

Scribblings on paper

It was in the fall of last year that this author uncovered the following set of lines (some incomplete) that speak for themselves on the subject of the mighty Grephthosthenes. It must be said however that since the Quezlar family has many resources and many friends that, not unlike certain objects of a receptacular persuasion, these lines may have been created, commissioned or at the very least not hidden by some member of that illustrious brood.

Huge, hulking and dark he stood face to the sea
Back turned to the mainland, the city and me
Backlit by the sky a real symphony
Of colours, red, orange, blue, purple and green

Some intermediate lines were missing at this point and this author believes there may have been as many as 20-30 of them. Fortunately, the lines continue as follows.

His massive bulk swung like a sack of potatoes
As he danced in the cool evening mist from the water
He told me he only could manage to make foes
No one would believe when he talked 'bout his father
"My father was smaller than me, more like you"
He said as he proffered the stem of his pipe
"From my mother I got these arms strong as a yew
But I've hated them ever since I was but a tyke"

The rest of the lines were obscured by what appeared to be the remnants of a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich no doubt left as a placeholder in the book by some long-forgotten librarian. There is however one last section of verse that runs

So I took leave of him who was giant and gentle
Left him to play in the night and cool breeze
How could any small man try to shoulder the mantle
Of the one that was found inside Grephsthothenes

From these last few lines we can see that there was definately at least one eye-witness account of the giant's existence. Unfortunately the original author was listed as Kifomyria Altos, a slightly loose (in many senses of the word) poet who was rumored to have wintered with X R in -185 after a small incident with a burning town in the northwest forced him to adopt a more ambulatory lifestyle. Whether X R left his mark on Altos or vice versa is unknown at this time.

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