Many moons ago, there was a mythical land known as the Revelan plains. Many strange and wonderful creatures inhabited these lands, and many odd and unbelievable legends were spun. One of the many beasts that roamed the land was the golden butter goat, which lived high on the mountain plains.
Golden butter goats were wondrous creatures capable of producing the finest butters and curds from the pores of their hides. These butters were produced all the time, slinking through the goats coat and creating a shimmering, delicious illusion that the goat was dripping with molten gold.
The golden butter goat was a shy creature, never leaving the highest mountains and never coming out in the day. Its existence was limited to wandering the crooks and crannies of the Revelan mountains, leaving a shimmering golden butter trail in its wake. They lived simple tribal lives, with other members of their species.
The beauty of the goat is almost matched by the variety of butters it produced. For the golden butter goat was no ordinary butter goat, I assure you. As time marched on, it would produce different breeds of butter. The cycle of butter production changed every year, and no two days produced the same flavor.
For example, during the high moon, the butter produced on the goats hide would be as silky as a Persian blanket, melting in the mouth of the consumer as they were overcome by bliss. During the summer months, consumption of the butter made men think of what had come before them, of summers once forgotten but now remembered by all men.
When it perched on a great boulder and gazed into the moon, one could almost feel the lonesomeness these beautiful creatures endured. For if they were ever to leave the mountain sanctuary, they would be hunted down and consumed by the greedy men who lived below.
Alas, the phenomenon of the golden goats could not endure for all time. As the years rolled by, many goats became slower, producing a less golden sheen and fewer new kids. Many in the hills below whispered of the gold becoming sour, and a pestilence sweeping the population.
The final days for the golden goats began when the gold lost its marvelous sheen. It went from a shining gold to a putrid, ugly yellow, and then from there to a stinking thick fluid. The hair on their hides became not gold, but a viscous black that hindered movement and stank like the rot.
Men did not know the truth of the golden goats fate until seasons later, when one man strode up the Revelan mountains to see them. All that could be found was the old caves and fields where they once lived, now empty and overgrown by red sung vines. All that could ever be found were the bones and skulls of the last to fall.
And even now, they have faded to legend. So as you taste your next buttered delicacy, remember the golden butter goats. For without the fairness of their coats, we would have never tasted it at all.