I find it hard to believe it's been almost two weeks since my last entry. The time has flown.
I am 18,545 words into my NANOWRIMO novel. So far there is a bit of character development, but nothing resembling a plot or a story. <sigh>At least I'm on track for the word count.</sigh> I should do 1667 words a day to get 50k in just 30 days. I was at 101% of that yesterday and at about 95% today (wrote nothing).
I've spent a good bit of time in World of Warcraft (WOW). I've got my incessant alternate character creation habit in check and have basically just two character classes, warlock and hunter. I've a human warlock or two ranging from lvl 20 to 45. I've tauren, blood elf, and orc hunters, all over lvl 20. I've been busy.
"I am sorry if my silence has left you uncomfortable. I have the habit of silence. I have had no apprentice for some years and tend, these days, to keep my thoughts to myself. Your presence will change that. I do know this place, and I was actually enjoying your narrative. Some of the names and the stories of the places were of considerable interest. They have changed very much since last I walked this land."
"Ah, I see," Dallen was a bit puzzled. "Are you saying all these places had different names?"
"Different names and different stories. You talked about the Giant's Grave a bit ago. Do you want to know the truth of that name and the place?"
"Do you know of the Kingdom of Maystrike? Have you heard of its King Madreg?"
"I've heard of Maystrike, but not that name."
"Madreg is the 'giant' in the Giant's Grave. He was a man or ordinary stature. There are no giants of the sort you probably think, no enormously tall humans able to uproot trees or hurl boulders. Madreg was a giant, though. He ruled all the land hereabouts for over fifty years. That is a long reign for a King."
"By fifty years, you mean two hundred seasons, don'tyou?"
"Yes. It is the measure to which I am accustomed. It slipped my mind that it might not be familiar to you."
"When you kept referring to me as thirteen years of age instead of forty-two seasons I caught on."
"Good. Your ability to recognize such things will suit you well. But we were speaking of Madreg. He was some two hundred and forty seasons when he fought a great battle on that spot."
"It must have been very long ago. No one I know has ever talked about a battle there."
"Give me a chance to tell you and you will not need to comment."
"Don't apologize. I don't need it. Others won't respect it. But on to Madreg the Giant; they called him after that battle. He stood on that hill with his guard around him and fought a battle that lasted from sunrise to sunset of the next day. Neither army gave or asked any quarter. The guard around Madreg died every one. Madreg himself, stood in their forefront and swung the great axe that he called Shieldsplitter until he dropped from exhaustion. Only then could the enemy reach him and kill him. He stood in a ring of enemies who hewed at him from every direction, whirling, smashing them back, alone on top of that little hillock for over an hour. Nobody can say how many he killed, as the dead around that hill were never numbered. His guard of fifty, and Shieldsplitter, between them accounted for more than seven hundred. At the end of the battle the victorious rebel leader who became Ardmen of Maystrike, ordered the dead removed and a cairn built over Madreg's body. He ordered that every stone in the cairn weigh more than a man. He said anything smaller might allow such a giant of a man to rise."
Dallen's eyes were bright, "Then that is the grave of a great king, not a giant?"
"Not a giant in a physical sense, but he was a giant in that his name was long remembered."
"I have never heard of him before…"
Whitestone interrupted, "Can you learn somewhat from that fact?"
"Don't trouble with it. The fact that you have never heard of a King who's name was bathed in glory for five hundred years, that's two thousand seasons, should teach you something about the transience of glory and mutability of history."