A libretto for the Foxian Drum Chant, recounting ancient legends of the foxians.
Foxian Drum Chant Lament of the Six Follies
... Amidst the cosmos's glittering stars, there lay a prosperous realm, the Verdantia. Its lands were lush and the seasons fair, a scene beyond mortal ken and ordinary flair. Unexpected war struck with conquerors' greed, the borisin storm roiling the Verdantia greatly indeed. Oceans of blood flew where'er canine barbarians went, foxians wallowed and wailed, their homes buried and rent. Our people lamented midst bitter wind's chills, as they looked on their homes, tears covering the hills. Suppressing their sighs they mourned for this change, beseeching the gods to stop the borisin's rampage.
The foxians hid from the world, fleeting from war. And among them six brothers, wandering from day till nightfall. But cold and starved in the end they fell sick, twisted their fates, fortunes catastrophic. O'ercome by anguish they fell to their knees, wailing out lamentations that shook the mountains and sea.
Their weeping echoes soared up to the skies, a celestial descended, heeding their cries. The brothers asked the celestial's name, and so the master with their staff did proclaim. The Master of Immortality am I, and asked: Why, oh six, do you whimper and cry?
Eldest brother cried for he feared the borisin's sharp blades, how their weapons could pierce and slaughter with rage. Second brother sobbed due to pain of disease, illness deep-rooted, a pain none could ease. Third brother lamented out of cowardice and fear, driven near witless by the too savage curs. Fourth brother weak and powerless was born, unable to run and with all hope forlorn. Fifth brother witnessed the slaughter of family and friends, the living enslaved, his heart torn a-rent. Sixth brother longed for peace to descend, that the war might conclude, and all hatreds be spent.
Master of Immortality with a compassionate gaze, heard out the six brothers as they laid out their pains. Brothers' cries ceaseless till all concerns vented, beseeching the Master for miracles granted. To dread not the blade, the brute, nor disease. To fear not the thief, the invader, nor fiend. To pass vales and crags as if t'were flat plains. To finally know peace, bereft of anxiety or pain.
To eldest brother, regeneration was granted. Second brother, to be free of disease, was enchanted. Third brother, gifted endless courage, confidence unmatched. Fourth brother, wings to grow on his back, to lift him away from threat of attack. Fifth brother, freed from all concerns, all anguish, all grief, and mortal yearns. Sixth brother only, for reasons unknown, no power was gifted, no revelation shown. Having bestowed many gifts of power and skill, the Master then left, and in their wake all was still. Leaving five brothers who all blessings had gained, and a sixth with no obvious gift to his name. Yet the Master did not forget the sixth's reward, for in time all would know he had not been ignored. As the borisin army attacked foxian hills, and the five brothers unveiled divine power and skills. Using miraculous powers they drove back the foe, the great martial heroes bringing the borisin great woe.
...
For their crushing victories, legends, the brothers became. As the dogs ceased their attacks, fearing even their names. But one day fate turned, with no forewarning given. In the blink of an eye, was hope killed, a plague risen.
Eldest brother's wounds festered, rotting within. Second brother, free of ill health, spread disease to his kin. Third brother's mind, twisted and poisoned with hate. Fourth brother body covered with feathers like leaves coming awake. Fifth brother, all consciousness lost, sat immobile as stone. But the sixth was untouched, for no reason known. Alone the sixth brother raided the borisin bands, all elder brothers lost to the Plague Author's hands. With no hope of salvation and no gift of grace, the powerless brother only sought death's embrace.
The borisin Warhead smiled slyly at sixth brother's words, then waved and called for his personal guards. Sixth brother was untied, made to sit among erstwhile foes, as the Warhead in plain speech explained to his woe. "Granted the Merciful One's blessings were your brothers like we, champions of the Master of Immortality." "In savage nature and cunning and even in form, you are like us, as a mirror informs." Shocked to his core in the words' revelation, he looked to the glass with much hesitation. The face that looked back was by cruelty twisted, blessed with canine ears and a snout that the Master had gifted.
Lamentable. O how lamentable. For this is how...
The six gained miracles against their wishes, living dreamlike away from calamity and strife. Obtaining the Merciful One's immortality by a chance meeting, only to be possessed by the Plague and losing much worse than a life.
Do not dream of peace with Abominations of Abundance. Do not harbor any delusion of possible co-existence. Only when the Skybow has eliminated all demons and monsters, shall we ever see the arrival of eternal peace.