A Job That Needs A Great Big Man
There are some things in this world you just can't explain, and that goes doubly so for good ol' Paul. See, there's a reason why those giant light-as-a-cloud cannibals never made it into the backwoods and generally rustic towns that had done their best for years to keep steam and other unecessary advancements from getting into their lives, and Paul was that very reason. Tall enough to scratch his back on a mountain, heavy enough to leave welts in solid rock with those thick leather boots of his, and keen enough to split an ancient redwood clean down the middle just as easily as he could do the same to those so-called Titans. When the good folks of a backwater settlement found him as a babe, swaddled in a clipper's sails, they all figured a giant bird from the heavens must have dropped him off, like storks do in all such stories. See, they were all God-fearing people, but superstitions will still abound in wayward towns, and beholding a few tons of infant giggling at them lead to reasonings such as a thunderbird delivering him to ward off the evils in the woods, although ask any displaced native of the land and he'll mutter that any thunderbird stupid enough to carry that babe would end up with a broken back. That was still the reasoning, the reasoning still stuck, 'cause there are some things in this world you just can't explain.
Good thing for good ol' Paul that times were good up by the mountains. The blacksmiths had their metals from mechanical wrecks from a bygone era, wide fertile grounds and a lack of predators meant chickens produced enough eggs to feed a village thrice over, and in due time a giant iron skillet was filled with two thirds of said eggs, as the townsfolk needed only one for a full week. How could they feed a giant baby all depended on good times, hard work, and one old mean lady sitting on a rocker on a poor (figuratively so) farmer's roof yelling out, "Good lord don't need to explain nothin' to ye heathens!" So, Paul grew up right, grew up quick, and put himself to work felling trees to compensate for the number of schoolhouse rooves torn off every time he sought to ask a teacher what one thing or another meant, and for jumping into a lake which flooded the town, sending the poor (emotionally so) farmer surfing down the road on his wagon, and that ol' grandma of his yelling after him, "Ya keep runnin' from ya troubles and ye'll never be gettin' no grandkids for me!"
Lord above, that boy was indeed a gift to the town. There had always been rumors of giant cannibals in the woods, you see, and talk of a hundred foot tall bigfoot that'd flatten a God-fearin' town flat with a single step. Paul's lumberjacking not only helped to build the town bigger than ever, it clear enough trees almost as wide as his chest that said monsters loved to dwell in. No trees meant nothing could hide by them, and he may not be a knight in shinning armor to defeat an ogre, but he sure was a proud and boistrous giant that the titanic creatures did their best to avoid. Paul smelled human to them, he stood upright and clothed like a human, but the few cannibals that ventured to the forest's edge were quickly called away by forces unknown when they realized that a smell of several hundred people pertained to one muscle-bound lumberjack. It does help that one standing behind a tree found its head a quarter mile back through the woods from a mighty chop, with Paul being none the wiser and dismissing the sudden burst of steam as, "Something mighty strange in these woods."
"And ya can't explain 'em ya twenty ton peluka!"
"Ma, get off the dang roof!"
And Paul would barely hear the farmer yelling up at the old lady, nor the lady's retort that the poor (reasonably so) farmer had a whiney voice like mice farts, as the lumberjack was busy scratching his head and readjusting his cap.
At some point in Paul's life he decided to trek out a bit to see if there were other towns to work in. His hometown had grown a bit wealthy from the harvested lumber and safe traderoutes, and the mayor did agree that his wanderings could open up even more businesses to lost settlements too afraid to expand beyond their borders. He had no real desire to find others like him, figuring that he was a human just like everyone else, one that had been gifted the strength and desire to lay claim to the land, so with his axe over one shoulder, the other hand waving his hat at the good folks that raised him right and well, Paul ventured out into the dark woods.
Everyone expects a giant to move slow, with thundering footfalls spaced a good ten seconds apart. If that is how a giant is meant to walk, akin to some dazed cannibal wandering about, then he never read up on it. He walked as a human will, proportionately so, a half second between heavy boots gouging out craters and scaring the living daylights out of any poor fool who dared to travel through the forests. It was as if the world would shake apart, and a good number of merchants found themselves on their rears, and gazing wide-eyed up at Paul as he passed on by. Such was Paul's spirit that he could march for days on end without rest, but rest he soon did at the other end of a country-spanning forest, always oblivious to the tiny screams drowned out by his epic footfalls. Several miles through an open clearing, up on a wall as tall as good ol' Paul, one Captain Levi peered at the horizon where a foretelling rumble was replaced with the mighty crack of honest steel through ancient trees. Down below several merchants leapt from run-down horses, frantically waving at the guards and speaking tales of a Titan that had come far too close to the city.
And so as Paul felled lumber and cut timber to build his shelter for the night, as the mean ol' lady told him no God-fearin' man ever slept like a poor fool under the stars, several scouts sallied from a massive gate to discover what sort of Titan walked like thunder.
AN: Getting back into writing. Trying something silly.