A Tale of Mythos

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01-25-2017, 04:40 PM

Philosopher

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Join Date: Jan 2017

Location: Miami, Fl.

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A Tale of Mythos

There was a dark time in our history when men would gather around bonfires or in dark taverns in heated debate about skinning cats. It was an era of great consternation, of feuding clans, and honored skinsmen—an elite class of trained cat-killers wielding their proud feline cutlass; each proclaiming their method supreme. These were brutal times.

One night, while gazing upon the moon, the greatest skinsman of the era had a vision that brought an unknown chill to his skin and a sickness to his belly. It was of wind and cats; the greatest and most fierce cat-wind he had ever known. It roared and screeched and hissed and clawed over the land like an ocean of fur and fury leaving carnage and devastation behind it. He saw clan after clan laid waste in blood and flame and smoking thatch. He saw flesh from bone fall from tooth and scratch.

After all had fallen and the cats had eaten their fill a sound arose, quiet at first; a low and rumbling sound, and with it, the wind. This time it was a peaceful wind from a vast blanket of cats breathing and purring over the moonlit countryside. As he stood there sick and humbled a figure far off at the edge of his sight leaped and danced on two feet over countless corpse and broken cart. Prancing towards him ever closer he could hear these words,

“You…men…fight over how to skin us cats! Now we’ve skinned your friends and made cone-shaped hats! When…men’s…hearts are filled with hate and malice, cats will come to drink your blood in a golden chalice. Be…cause…man’s ways are corrupted by greed and deceit it is time for you to witness your final defeat. Now…I…give you a choice to determine your fate.”

All the cat’s sung, “Make the right choice before it’s too late.”

King of Cats continued, “You must learn to accept what you’ve sought to hate. You must take longer naps and learn from the wisdom…of…the…cats!”

The great skinsman who had never bowed to anyone let alone a mere cat knelt down upon one knee and proclaimed,” I swear to thee O’ Great King Cat, Bringer of Wrath, from this day hence forth my blade shall cleave no more and nor shall any of my clan fell your kind again.”

And with that, the man collapsed from his vision, falling back in a stumble. He then climbed in the dark of night to the Cliffs of Contemplation at the edge of his lands and flung his once sacred cutlass into the moonlit abyss thus ending the days of argument.

It has been whispered that in times when men have fallen into strife, forgetting the lessons of the feuding skinsmen, a great Cat King will return with his legion hoard to bring reckoning upon him.

Some also say this is the origin of engines said to purr, the furious whirlwind of forced induction, screeching tires, the hiss of a blow off valve, and why cats are given for a job well done.