First I'm posting Keaton's story, his origins, etc. It's not completed yet, but should be within the next couple of days, and I'll post the rest as I complete it. Enjoy.
The Beginning
Keaton was created some centuries ago on the whim of one of a few goddesses who had created a realm of their own. Her expertise was in wisdom, and so Keaton's job, as a creature who would enter into the mythology of the land, was to teach lessons to the people by means of various riddles and tricks, often parting people with their possessions, their children, or sometimes their very lives. It was not long before Keaton was a centerpiece of Hylian fables, and everyone knew an encounter with the mythical fox could bring fortune or ruin.
While Keaton darted about the countryside, the yellow-and-black fox with three tails, teaching caution and cunning to the people, he had learned nothing himself from his goddess but wit. Morals he certainly had a sense of, in order to test the morals of men... but never before had he cared enough to consider the lives of the people he was making and breaking, until one day...
Keaton had been watching the actions of a humble young man by the name of Rhala all morning: at his humble farm before his family awoke, at the market, and now, walking back to the market with three new pigs in tow. It was from the bushes, as Rhala rounded a corner in the beaten path, that Keaton erupted, landing nimbly before the young man. Rhala cried out, and as his frightened face registered who it was he encountered, he itched nervously at his receding hairline, frightened to look the unfeeling fox in the face. The great fox merely blinked, either his patience eternal or his ire well-concealed, until the man finally spoke:
"O Keaton, Creator and Destroyer of Fortunes, what business do you have with I, but a lowly farmer, Rhala?" He was stooped in a bow, frightened to be confronted with a life-changing decision, the hand holding the tethers of his pigs shaking violently. "I am only headed home with these three young pigs, so we may raise a pig farm." He continued to shake, looking up as much as he dared though his head remained bowed.
"Rhala," Keaton said simply. His voice was low, serious, and sharp without the proper feelings to smooth it. "My maker has need of those pigs. I am willing to make a trade."
"Trade them for what?" The farmer looked up again, and slung his head back toward the ground.
"For one wish.?
There was an eager gleam in the man?s eyes, one of hope. It was a magnificent fire, and the fox was given pause by its fragile beauty. He licked his lips nervously, uprighting himself: ?For? you mean, for? any??
?For anything within my power to give,? Keaton finished for him, casting the farmer?s uncertainties again towards whether this creature was efficient or impatient.
Rhala almost wanted to cry. He laughed, spinning in a circle, arms spread wide, and promptly lost control over the pigs. Scrambling and falling to one knee, he secured their leashes again, and looked up at Keaton with a broad smile. ?I want the jewels beautiful enough to impress my beautiful wife.? The fox could see the little hairs on the man?s arms standing on end.
?Done.? No flash, no magic words ? the farmer was left with three empty leashes and a small pile of beautifully colored crystals where the pigs had stood.
Rhala was quick to scoop up the crystals in his shirt, standing there, awkwardly thanking the impassive Keaton, and then dashed off towards his farm. Keaton followed in secret, setting his paws on the windowsill and looking in on the living room.
Rhala?s wife was indeed very pretty, and appeared tolerant of her husband ? adoring in the loosest sense, and a little grudgingly accepting of his humility and his bumbling behavior. She did not stand when he entered, though she dropped her sewing as Rhala displayed the jewels, eager, pleased and excited? even proud. The farmer began stammering and explaining and gesturing, probably telling the story of his encounter with Keaton, when, in one wild gesture, he dropped a few of the crystals. They did not merely clatter to the floor as normal jewels should ? they shattered into millions of shards, as they were made of glass.
The silence in the living room was deafening, broken by the snap of the woman?s patience as she stood up and began gathering whatever of her belongings she could find in her path. The farmer could not believe his luck ? he merely stood there, going over Keaton?s words as best as he could recall them, and realizing his mistake in asking for jewels ?beautiful enough to impress,? not necessarily valuable at all. And then the fire went out. The eager gleam the man wore in his eyes when he thought about impressing his wife, the hope that someone else would care for him as much as he cared for her, was replaced by a vacuum-like blackness.
The Beginning
Keaton was created some centuries ago on the whim of one of a few goddesses who had created a realm of their own. Her expertise was in wisdom, and so Keaton's job, as a creature who would enter into the mythology of the land, was to teach lessons to the people by means of various riddles and tricks, often parting people with their possessions, their children, or sometimes their very lives. It was not long before Keaton was a centerpiece of Hylian fables, and everyone knew an encounter with the mythical fox could bring fortune or ruin.
While Keaton darted about the countryside, the yellow-and-black fox with three tails, teaching caution and cunning to the people, he had learned nothing himself from his goddess but wit. Morals he certainly had a sense of, in order to test the morals of men... but never before had he cared enough to consider the lives of the people he was making and breaking, until one day...
Keaton had been watching the actions of a humble young man by the name of Rhala all morning: at his humble farm before his family awoke, at the market, and now, walking back to the market with three new pigs in tow. It was from the bushes, as Rhala rounded a corner in the beaten path, that Keaton erupted, landing nimbly before the young man. Rhala cried out, and as his frightened face registered who it was he encountered, he itched nervously at his receding hairline, frightened to look the unfeeling fox in the face. The great fox merely blinked, either his patience eternal or his ire well-concealed, until the man finally spoke:
"O Keaton, Creator and Destroyer of Fortunes, what business do you have with I, but a lowly farmer, Rhala?" He was stooped in a bow, frightened to be confronted with a life-changing decision, the hand holding the tethers of his pigs shaking violently. "I am only headed home with these three young pigs, so we may raise a pig farm." He continued to shake, looking up as much as he dared though his head remained bowed.
"Rhala," Keaton said simply. His voice was low, serious, and sharp without the proper feelings to smooth it. "My maker has need of those pigs. I am willing to make a trade."
"Trade them for what?" The farmer looked up again, and slung his head back toward the ground.
"For one wish.?
There was an eager gleam in the man?s eyes, one of hope. It was a magnificent fire, and the fox was given pause by its fragile beauty. He licked his lips nervously, uprighting himself: ?For? you mean, for? any??
?For anything within my power to give,? Keaton finished for him, casting the farmer?s uncertainties again towards whether this creature was efficient or impatient.
Rhala almost wanted to cry. He laughed, spinning in a circle, arms spread wide, and promptly lost control over the pigs. Scrambling and falling to one knee, he secured their leashes again, and looked up at Keaton with a broad smile. ?I want the jewels beautiful enough to impress my beautiful wife.? The fox could see the little hairs on the man?s arms standing on end.
?Done.? No flash, no magic words ? the farmer was left with three empty leashes and a small pile of beautifully colored crystals where the pigs had stood.
Rhala was quick to scoop up the crystals in his shirt, standing there, awkwardly thanking the impassive Keaton, and then dashed off towards his farm. Keaton followed in secret, setting his paws on the windowsill and looking in on the living room.
Rhala?s wife was indeed very pretty, and appeared tolerant of her husband ? adoring in the loosest sense, and a little grudgingly accepting of his humility and his bumbling behavior. She did not stand when he entered, though she dropped her sewing as Rhala displayed the jewels, eager, pleased and excited? even proud. The farmer began stammering and explaining and gesturing, probably telling the story of his encounter with Keaton, when, in one wild gesture, he dropped a few of the crystals. They did not merely clatter to the floor as normal jewels should ? they shattered into millions of shards, as they were made of glass.
The silence in the living room was deafening, broken by the snap of the woman?s patience as she stood up and began gathering whatever of her belongings she could find in her path. The farmer could not believe his luck ? he merely stood there, going over Keaton?s words as best as he could recall them, and realizing his mistake in asking for jewels ?beautiful enough to impress,? not necessarily valuable at all. And then the fire went out. The eager gleam the man wore in his eyes when he thought about impressing his wife, the hope that someone else would care for him as much as he cared for her, was replaced by a vacuum-like blackness.