As promised, here is the story of the narwhal; a story few know. A story that I bring to you now so you may share it with your children.
GENERATION ONE
A long, long time ago in a land far, far up north there was a whale. Not specifically one whale, but, like, a species of whale. They were pale and adapted well to the arctic waters. They may or may not have liked Dungeons & Dragons; I base this purely on their complexion. This pod would dive and play and frolic and do most of the underwater activities whales partake in. But one day, a young arctic whale became separated from his pod. He drifted southward, searching and searching but it was no use. The current carried him too far from his home, and now he was hopelessly lost. He searched for weeks and weeks, until he lost track of the time. But one day luck struck -- he encountered a new land. And there he heard a voice crying out from the shore.
"Oh, woe is I!" spoke the voice.
The whale used its amazing sense of hearing to detect the voice. He surfaced and looked around but saw no one. Finally he dove beneath the ocean waves again. But once he was submerged, he heard the voice cry out again.
"Canst no hero aid me in mine peril?" the voice wailed.
Again the whale surfaced and looked around. It was the most beautiful voice he had ever heard, but he did not see who was speaking. So again, he dove back beneath the waves.
"Forever shalt I be in thine debt, he who cometh to mine aid!" the voice wailed one final time.
The whale burst to the surface and this time the woman revealed herself. It was not a woman at all, but a beautiful, white horse with a single horn protruding from its forehead. It was the biggest, most beautiful horn the narwhal had ever seen; he longed to use his flippers to stroke it's long, hard beauty.
"What is the matter?" questioned the white whale, hoping to aid this land-bound beauty.
"I have dropped my golden bracelet into the waters and cannot retrieve it," she moaned between sobs, "If only I were not cursed with these hooves and incapable of swimming!"
The white whale pondered for a moment. "I could get it for you!" he agreed at last.
"Would you?!" The beautiful horse shouted with glee "I would be ever indebted to you! I'd even do anything for you." She batted her eyelashes. "Anything."
And so the whale dove down and in a couple moments he returned with a golden bracelet, spitting it up on the beach. The horse reared with delight, then slipped the accessory over her long, hard horn. "Oh thank you, young water-dweller…forever am I yours."
The whale gave a whalish smile. "Anything for you, my beautiful ungulate."
Then they made hot, hot, whale on horse love.
GENERATION TWO
The unicorn rode the white whale back northward, to return to his homeland. There they lived happily together, despite the fact she was restricted to life on land and he in the water. He fathered a beautiful child that swam beneath the waves like him, but also had a beautiful horn like his mother. But all would not be well for long.
Vikings traveled the northern waters. Too long had they exhausted the natural bounty of whale meat, whale blubber, whale oil, and sperm. From sperm whales. They had a long history of stealing things and killing things, and occasionally getting lost and wearing bull-horned helmets. There was not much left for Vikings to do.
It was on this fateful day of 1939 that their captain, Magnus of Thorgils, spotted the white whale and commanded his ship to pursue, so they could take his precious whale meat, whale blubber, and whale oil, but not his sperm. They followed, but soon lost him amongst the waves; it was then that they spotted his love.
Unicorns were poached to extinction in the middle ages for their horns, which contained mythical properties. In fact, it was the magic of her horn, transferred to the young whale through copulation, that had kept him alive this long.
Beneath the waves, he was now in panic. Him and his only child darted away; the frothing water tossed them about and soon the two were separated. He feared the worst.
Magnus, ironically, took out the magic horse with one clean shot from the harpoon; for a mythical, illusive creature she died quite easily. They hauled the catch back onto his ship and sawed off her long, hard horn, dropping the bracelet into the water.
For killing the last remaining unicorn, Thorgil's people were cursed, and he later died. Historians believe the name he took as Captain was a pseudonym. His real name was Neil Schwarzchild, proves they weren't really classic Germanic Vikings at all. So I guess that whole curse thing didn't work out.
Alone, unable to find his son, the whale found the bracelet of his deceased wife. Unable to bare the pain, he took his life in the traditional way of his people: he swam up on a beach.
The horned whale managed to survive. And as it would turn out, the horn gene is dominant. He knocked up many non-horned babes, and his offspring live to this day, populating the seas.
