Mao

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"My name is Mao.

I was born of ancient steel and old memories.

Memories of an ancient kingdom, long defeated. A lost kingdom, a rich kingdom. A kingdom with treasurers amounting to a dragon's hoard. Filled with jewels, gold, crowns and weaponry. I was one of those weapons. I was held as one amongst twelve. Twelve animals to fight the darkness.

I am Mao. And I am born of crystal. And I will die only after I have given this world my offspring.

The offspring filled with the voices of a thousand dwarves.

The offspring filled with the scars of battles old.

The offspring filled with the knowledge of how to dig, how to listen ... how to run.

Filled to the brim with rabbit."

Digger

~*~

Rubbing her hand over the back of her neck, Philomel van der Aart let out a long sigh. It was the middle of midsummer and it was hot. Far too hot for a creature who is half fur and born to roam in the plains of a temperate climate.

Even so, even though it was indeed Corone where she was - the most temperate of all temperate nations - the faun was still stifling. A warm spring had brought a perspiring summer, filled with glistening foreheads, moaning knights still covered in full steel, and gasping birds gulping down rivers. Around the Fortress of the Gilded Lily more than half the women were outdoors, unable to bear the heat of being inside the thick stone walls, and were wearing as little armour as possible.

Any traveller walking by would think they had stumbled upon a troupe of professional succubi.

Though this was not far from the truth. Every single one of the warriors in the fortress had, at one point, been within the sex industry at some time or another. Therefore, for them, they were all comfortable walking around with little to nothing on. Philomel had ordered that there should be no nudity - their dignity should remain with that at the very least - but that all else was fine. Only those who were on watch duty, walking slowly up and down the walls of the fortress, looking straight down the steep mountain side need worry about proper protection. After all the portcullis gate was down, and the scouts had not reported any wanderers for days.

Peeling herself away from the cold wall delightfully cold, Philomel moved very slowly out into the direct rays of the sun with a sigh. Around her the courtyard of the fortress sung with sighs and moans. Nearby several of the women were working hard, under their own command, stacking large stones into a circle. They had asked earlier on if there was any possibility of making a pool, and Philomel had given no objections. All she had said was, "Just do not tire yourselves," and thus, production had begun. They strained and sweated under the striking sunbeams, yet seemed determined not to give up. Onwards they went, slapping wet mortar onto the stones, and minute by minute they completed their project.

Personally, I hate the phrase, "breed like rabbits." It is a very unbecoming sort of description to suit a race so proud and strong. In fact, there are many varieties of creautre, large and small, who repopulate many more times than the humble bunny. The sunfish for example, found in the hot seas of the south, can produce three hundred millions eggs at once, spilling them from her body into the ocean and the flirtacious males fertilise thereafter. A single queen ant can lay up to three hundred thousand eggs in one sitting, producing an entire army to respond to her every whim. Once in a spare moon she may bestow upon a daughter a gift of strength and flight, giving this winged beauty the chance to flee away and establish her own colony. And a mouse, the smaller mammal of the rodent family, can reproduce every six weeks or so - more frequently, it is to be factfully known, than the rabbit. Therefore, to breed "like rabbits" is something of a misnormer when there are other more fruitful beasts in the environment.

Such is life, however, that the creature that I was so graciously blessed with the form of, was to become the butt of so many falsehoods and jokes. Once I was the type of being to hop down the street, head held high, ears magnificently erect, but those times are long gone. Years of spite, of injurious jeerings, of weakened expectations had developed me into something of a cynical being, and thus I hid. Away from life, away from the hustle and bustle of loud city streets.

In my recent years I had begun to board with an elderly woman by the name of Esmerelda. She had a fondness for cooking large stews in a massive cast iron pot - stews that became the staple for many a hungry man passing by local taverns. During the years we travelled from city to city, setting up a store of sorts, where her stews would bring in the paying guests, and my words of wisdow would gift them with the answers to life.

Roughly, I am two thousand years old. At least, the majority of me is. The soul that resides within me, the Behemoth fire whisp, scourge of the ancient Tular Plains at the beginning of existence, is somewhat closer to seven. I was born, and then the Behemoth soul came into me, whether by accident or by the will of Drys - that I cannot confirm. My brother, the fox, however, is far younger than I, nearing his fifteenth birthday by the likeliest of accounts.

We rarely met, and when we did it was a cocophany of voices, a time for celebration. Though I am thousands of years old, Veridian is my closest kin in this century, and I treasure him beyond what is good.

"Are you abolutely sure you need to talk to her?" Philomel asked as she followed Veridian down the stone staircase.

The fox-form earth spirit did not turn to look at his life-long companion. Instead he held the end of his tail in the air, twitching constantly. his eyes were bright, round and full of intrigue as he headed down from the battlements and onwards into the belly of the fortress. So far the hot pool's walls were building up nicely, with the beginnings of mortar being mixed in a vat. Most of the women wore little in the way of clothing and it amused Philomel a little to see them so concentrated on one subject.

When she did not receive an answer she pushed at Veridian's mind and pondered the same question mentally. Still the tail waved and complete ignorance was done.

She is not exactly the most polite of souls, Philomel told him, I am glad we hardly see her. All she wants to do is to persuade you away from my side, from my companionship, to go and live as a guru like her.

One, I will never leave you, Veridian finally replied, his golden eyes following the movements of the strong warriors as they perfectly place a large stone atop two small ones, the curves fitting together like pieces of a foreign 'jigsaw puzzle' (a recent import from Kebiras). Two, she is the only sister I will ever have, and is far wiser than any other I know.

Including me?

Especially you, The fox sniffed the air, tasting the shards of the mortar in the air, then twisted to continue on his path under the dire sun. He was heading for the keep, where his and Philomel's chambers were. You can be an idiot at times.

Excuse me, who started up the Guild? Who led us to where we are now?

Veridian scoffed a little, and with a lithe bound he leapt up the whole four steps to the entrance of the keep in one stride. Tilting his head back to her he fixed her with a single golden eye. You, and that has been your greatest achievement. You are the pride of all women within Althanas, you are their hope. But, he waited until she caught up with him, her hooves making light clops on the stone. But you can be stupid. And make mistakes. Which is why I like Farragise.

Ugh, "Ugh." Philomel both mentally and verbally made the noise. And you want to find out about if one day you will regenerate by my side. Like she can.

Exactly, Veridian replied. And since we have nothing better to do today, and the weather is so nice, we are going. Or at least I am.

Bah, I wouldn't let you go by yourself in a hundred moons.

There was one within the Fortress of the Lily who would not allow Philomel on her own, to the same thoughtful standards as Philomel was protective of Veridian. His bold chest, broad shoulders and strong jaw did not mark him out as peculiar amongst the bodies that made up the people of the Gilded Lily, but the fact he was a man did. With a tight jaw he held onto the reigns of his mighty warhorse, Megalodon, following the rear end of the tera'k that belonged to Philomel. Golden eyes watched him with every movement of the bovine beast's stride, a hint of Veridian's irritation that Rameses Vaeron, Philomel's best friend and unofficial second in command, was coming with them. Making their party three.

Or four if you included Delath, the earth-dragon who dwelt beneath their feet.

When Philomel had mentioned the voyage to Radasanth, the capital of the country in which their fortress technically dwelt (technically, for the Gilded Lily reasoned themselves

[[UNFINISHED]]