The Mimic and the Madpole
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MimicandMadpole |
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Infobox data from game version 2.0.206.57
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Crisp pages of goatskin vellum are bound into a codex.
The Mimic and the Madpole is a book that recounts an old fable with no known original author about a 
mimic and their attempts to assimilate within different cliques. This effort is eventually for naught, leading to the mimic's death by 
madpoles.
Contents
A mimic crawled from the cold, starless reaches of Bethesda Susa to stretch itself across the prairie grass and warm its gummy scales in the sun of the noonday. Warm breezes blew through the lonely heath, and before long the mimic fell into a lazy sleep. Hours of restful slumber passed until it was stirred awake by the near rustling of shrubs. Its eyes opened upon the visages of three fork-horned gnus grazing on the prairie grass. Tresses of auburn hair streamed from their mammoth heads as they leisurely chewed the straw of the earth.
Allured by their languorous way and wanting for companionship, the mimic asked the gnus if he could tread among them, and graze of their pastures, and nap with them beneath the evening sun. "In all these things you may with us partake," said one gnu, "but, take heed, for ours are idle lives, and you may soon grow weary of them."
But the mimic joined them anyway. Day after day it filled its belly with the tall grass, and it cooled its lips upon the quiet banks of streams, and it surrendered its sluggish mind to the land of Nod before the light of day was extinguished. Until one morning, while the gnus slackly chewed their grass tendered by the early dew, the mimic, who had indeed grown weary of the beasts' idle habits, stole away down a babbling brook and into a thicket dark with shade.
For the remainder of the day the mimic followed the brook as it winded its way into the wood. As the last of the waxen light began to seep from the air, the mimic noticed several peculiar pilings of muddy sticks and logs up ahead in the middle of the prattling stream. A musker, its brown fur soaked and pressed against its small body, arranged twigs around the base of one of the piles. The mimic understood immediately; these were the musker's lodges, each one meticulously erected twig by twig. So impressed was the mimic with these well-built abodes and the diligence of the musker that it asked the rodent if it would share its home, and teach the mimic its craft, and abide the mimic as it built a lodge of its own. "Erecting a lodge is no paltry charge," said the musker. "Near all of my day is spent chipping and stacking wood, and though you marvel at the lodge itself, you may scowl at the labor that brings it forth."
But the mimic stayed with the musker anyway. And the following morning it awoke with the musker at dawn, and together they hewed branches from the Wine Cypresses with their teeth until the pall of evening was cast, and then they gathered all the rent wood and packed it together with mud drawn from the bed of the brook. At the break of each day they began anew, and they did not quit until long after sunset when the mimic could no longer spot the musker in the darkling thicket. Until one morning, while the musker wore its teeth on a rotting log, the mimic, who had
indeed grown weary of the labor charged to it by the musker, sneaked away by the babbling brook, out of the shady wood and into a valley quilted with the gnarled roots of brinestalk.
Again the mimic followed the stream through the hollow crook of the foothills until it spent its brackish waters into a vast lake. Here upon the bleached shore, the mimic gazed into the lake and marveled at a shoal of madpoles as they lashed through the briny water and pursued their fishy prey. The ferocity of these hunters, unrivaled in their agility and viciousness, enchanted the mimic, and so it asked the madpoles if it could dive into their waters, and race with them through the weeds, and feast upon the scaly flesh of the smaller fish. "Nay, you should desire none of these things" said one madpole, "for we are ravenous fiends and oft succumb to fits of maddened fury."
But the mimic dived into the lake anyway. And as it splashed in the water, the madpoles, who sensed in their proximity living and nubile flesh, darted toward the mimic and tore it limb from limb.