-The Adamanchyt-

Roaming the fields and forests of Thamasa are strange bird/beast/reptile hybrids known as baskervors, or briareus to the more learned folk. Powerful bipedal creatures the size of horses, but capable of standing upright when needed, they are some of the top predators of my homeland. With their powerful beaks and talons, and impenetrable mythril-laced carapaces, few creatures short of a roaming chimera dare to tackle these hardy beasts.

But dwelling deep within the Crescent mountain range west of Thamasa is an even more formidable breed of baskervor known as the adamanchyt, or adamankary according to some dialects. These beasts have been forged in the fires of creation itself, basking in the magical glow of the Source hidden deep at the heart of the sacred mountains. Where the lesser baskervors have shells of mythril, these rare creatures have shells improbably made from the near-mythical metal adamantite. As such, physical attacks of even the strongest hunters barely faze the adamanchyt, and are typically laughed off with a scorn-filled snort of their powerful breath.

These magnificent beasts are not invincible, however. Being born and raised in a near constant field of powerful magical energies, they are highly susceptible to the smallest disturbances in the flow of magic around them, and can be felled by even minor spells. I enjoyed sparring with them in my youth, easily felling them with basic blue magic spells. Even Relm could handle these creatures thanks to her unique and unpredictable pictomancy gift. When used against the adamanchyts, her pictures manifested the infamous Blaster technique normally reserved for coeurl cats, taking the surprised creatures out instantly. And although I strictly forbid her from roaming those hills alone, she was ever the wanderer and rebel, like her father. Many were the days I would wake up to find a massive adamantite carapace lying on the floor of the kitchen, and the surprisingly savory smell of adamanchyt meat cooking on the stove.

But those halcyon days would not last. Before the collapse, magic was almost nonexistent and they enjoyed carefree lives with virtually no predators and nothing that could conceivably harm them, save the occasional Thamasan. The adamanchyt would glut themselves on the worm-like slurms throughout their days, unaware that soon their peace would be shattered by the Fall, like so many others. The Fall brought magic to every corner of the world, and this massive upheaval of the delicate balance the adamanchyts required almost instantly wiped them out. The initial blast of uncontrolled magic unleashed by Kefka decimated the adamanchyt population and brought their numbers to a critically endangered level. We Thamasans immediately stopped all hunting of them and tried to stop the new breed of magic-wielding hunters from finishing them off, but it was no use. The adamantite shells of these creatures were too tempting a prize, and within a year, the adamanchyt was no more.

Along with the adamanchyt, so too did the baskervor go extinct. Once the hunters could no longer obtain adamantite, they set their eyes on the lesser prize of the mythril shells of their lesser brethren. The only relatives left of these strange and majestic beasts are the chitonids that still roam the plains of the central continent. Sometimes called Murussu by preening hunters, after a mythical breed of ancient dragons, they are nonetheless rather common predators in the new world. Their hides, while surprisingly tough, are nothing more than chitin, the same stuff as the shells of everyday crabs and lobsters. Ironically, it was this very lack of value that saved the chitonids and allowed them to prosper in the new world like they never had pre-Collapse.

To this day, the adamantite husks of fallen adamanchyts can still occasionally be found if one looks hard enough through what little remains of the Thamasan mountains. As this is the only known natural source of adamantite, it is prized higher than diamonds or gold, and routinely goes for several million gil on the Jidoor auction house on the rare days a piece goes up for sale. The deep blue metal is extraordinarily hard to work, especially nowadays when magic no longer exists, but a skilled and patient enough artisan can still fashion small trinkets of unparalleled durability and beauty. I have read that the metalworkers of ancient times could fashion entire suits of armor from adamantite, making the wearers almost impervious to harm. Such a piece would be a treasure beyond price today, and if a blade could be forged from this otherworldly metal? Let us just say I am glad it is impossible to work adamantite to such a degree in modern times. We need no more weapons of mass destruction to be abused by power hungry fools.