Ashes of bones
and a little bit of life all mixed together.
Bake it in blood and sweat in fire hotter than Hell
Give it teeth to bite and eat
and fingers to work and grasp
But give it no eyes to see
and no tongue to speak
Lest the Golem devour your soul.
Long ago when the earth still whispered and people listened to its secrets there were golems. Such lonely creatures they were, born from fire and earth but no parents. Instead, there were made by people who knew the craft of building golems. No one remembers who made the rules about the craft, such as golems must never have eyes or tongues, perhaps so people wouldn't feel bad about mistreating them. Rules are rules though no matter how ridiculous they seem (such as "Never let a golem be bathed in the light of a full moon") and the Makers held to them with a death grip and no one questioned them. You'd think that with time people would start to treat golems better, maybe allow them to speak or see, but you'd be so very, very wrong. Nothing got better for them, it stayed the same for the most part. Golems were bought and sold, the more rough looking ones used for farm work or blacksmithing or other lowly work while the more well crafted, decorated ones were purchased by the rich to be used as nannies or stewards or entertainment. There were some, however, who served no one whether it be because they escaped or they were no longer needed or whatever the reason. They were the ones who usually turned to more unpleasant type of work.
Things did change for the better for the golems, but I'm getting ahead of myself. The one to change all of this was a golem called Gol who had a shiny head of metal, which was uncommon for his kind during that time, and he was to be publicly executed with a hammer (supposedly he killed his master) if no one would buy him. Gol would hiss at any who tried to approach him to scare them off and so the hour of his execution was soon upon him and he surely would have died had a voice from the crowd not spoken up.
"Wait! I wish to buy the golem!" The voice cried. The auctioneer shaded his eyes with a gloved hand, peering into the crowd to see where the voice was coming from. A small, round hand gripped his coat and tugged at it. He looked down. It was a small girl with a pouch of clinking coins. The auctioneer smiled.
"Are you sure, young lady? This golem is very dangerous and I'm sure a child's allowance wouldn't be enough to buy it," the auctioneer told her in an overly sweet voice. The girl stared blankly at him and he soon grew uneasy.
"I wish to buy the golem," she repeated with a slight edge to her tone. She then opened the bag to reveal enough money to buy Gol several times over. The face of the auctioneer looked like a gaping fish's. The girl counted out the money and had the man holding the hammer release Gol. The golem hissed at the girl but she merely took his hand and led him home through the winding brick streets and down alley ways. Gol never stopped hissing the entire time.
Once they arrived outside of a ramshackle hut in an alley the girl looked up at the golem and pointed at a patch of dirt and said, "I know you can't speak but you can write. What's your name?" He let go of her hand and wrote with his index finger in the dirt G O L, though they were a bit shakey and he continued to hiss. She told him that his name wasn't very pretty or creative but she liked that it was simple to remember. The small girl told him she was called Lise.
The hour grows late but the tale is far from over. Gather 'round tomorrow night for more.