[Mkguild] First & Last Part 1

[Chris]

Here is a little preview. The first part of a story I am working on.
Feel free to comment and make suggestions!
 
 
Chris
 
 
 
Plain and Simple
By Christian O’Kane
 
   George is a personal favorite of mine. He came about thru a debate on
the MK mailing list. Christie bemoaned what she called the Superman
syndrome. It was the habit of writers to create a character who was
super powerful, capable of destroying huge numbers of enemies. Usually
these characters had some deep, dark, world shattering secret. A secret
so deadly that revealing it could shatter the whole world. She had a
distinct point. Even I had created a super powerful character in Misha
and that powerful axe of his. As a result I created a character who was
the direct opposite - someone plain and simple. And thus George was
born.  I deliberately made George simple. There are no hidden depths to
him. He is as deep as a bowl of water. And yet I’ve grown to love him.
 
 
April 700 (6 years BEFORE Winter Assault)
 
  City of Frondham, The Outer Midlands
 
   Hung over and feeling tired in spite off the sleep George sat on the
edge of the bed trying to get his weary body moving. He managed to stand
up feeling the aches and pains through his whole body with each step he
took.
 
   The mirror was cracked and dirty which fit the cheap and dingy tavern
he was in perfectly. Still he was able to see himself clearly enough.
The figure that reflected back him was of middling height with a strong
physique. What drew his attention first was his chest which was
crisscrossed all over with scars both big and small. He ran his fingers
through hair that was light brown but was now liberally sprinkled with
gray.
 
   “You’re getting old George.” It was times like this that he envied
his brothers for their choice of staying peasants. Sure they would have
struggled and worked hard but now in their later years they would have
families to take care of them. He briefly considered traveling to his
old village but he hadn’t been there in decades. He wondered if either
of his parents were still alive.
 
   There was a sudden, loud POP behind him breaking George from his
reverie. Turning he saw a small, wooden figurine laying on top of the
tangled blankets on the bed. It hadn’t been there the moment before.
 
   He muttered several curses under his breath. This was the last thing
he wanted, another one of Misha’s cheery messages. Still his friend
rarely sent such messages unless he needed George or he had a well
paying job for him.
 
   George sat down next to the small figure and looked at it. The
figurine was one of a fox seated on a small rock. Its tail tuck under
it’s front legs. He waited a moment before picking it up.
 
   “Good morning George!” a voice emanating from the figurine said
cheerfully. “I hope this message finds you in good health. I’m doing
good. I am finally getting used to my new body but I still slam the door
on my tail occasionally and it HURTS bad,” the figure commented.
 
   “Why does he always have to be so cheerful?” George muttered to
himself. “It’s like he’s talking to his mother!”
 
   “The mages here keep talking about reversing the curse but I doubt
it. I know too much magic to be fooled by their double talk. They have
no clue how to reverse it but they know better then to actually admit
that openly. I don’t mind. I like this new body. My hearing and sense of
smell are incredible and I have a nice fur coat to keep me warm in
winter.” The voice was cheerful but George had known Misha too long to
be fooled.
 
   Misha’s voice paused and when it continued it was in a more somber
tone. “Thank you for going to my funeral.” The voice said. There was
another long pause. “It was a nice thing to do. They tell me it was
quite a spectacular one. Even my brother attended.”
 
   There was a long pause and George knew that Misha was probably having
trouble containing his emotions. He waited patiently and soon the voice
continued.
 
   “You’re needed here at Metamor Keep George,” the voice from the
figure said. “It’s not the curse. People have mostly adjusted to the
changes. It’s the Lutins. I know I’ve talked to you about this before
but they’re getting more brazen with each passing day. Thier raids are
burning and destroying everything. The people here are brave and skilled
but they have no idea how to stop these bandit raids. They have no
organization and it shows. The Lutins are raiding at will. They need a
good scout leader here. Someone who knows how to fight bandits. The
first person I thought of was you! Who better to stop bandits then an
old bandit like you.”
 
   “I think you just complemented and insulted me at the same time,”
George said sarcastically.
 
   “Be warned my friend. If you stay here more then two weeks the curse
will take you and you’ll change. You could wind up a child, a woman or
an animal person like me. The voice laughed. “I just had the image of
you as a woman and damn you look terrible with breasts!”
 
   George just shook his head and scratched the scar that ran along his
left side. It was a new one and it  still itched and would till it had
healed fully.
 
   “The offer is the same as the last time. The work is good. Your pay
per month would be the same as the ransom my parents paid you for my
release all those years ago. But you would have to earn that money
George. You’ll have to organize the Duke’s scouts and reorganize all the
locals and the militia. That alone could take years. But these are good
people. Tough, hardy folk. I already mentioned you to Duke Thomas and he
liked the idea of you working for him. Thomas is a fine man, er –
Stallion. He is someone I trust. We really need you George. What do you
say? It would be a lifetime job but it would be a plush one.”
 
   The figurine was silent, expecting a reply from him. The money would
be nice. It had been far too long since he had lived the good life. The
task didn’t bother him. George the Cutlass had been both a bandit and
hunted bandits many times. Still the idea of being changed into
something else gave him pause.
 
   George looked at himself in the mirror again and noted the gray hair
he saw. He was old by the standards of a bandit. Everyone he had known
was either dead or rotting in some prison somewhere. All he had to look
forward to was death in battle or at the end of a hangman’s noose. He
trusted Misha’s judgment. The young man had never been wrong in the past
and had given him some well paying jobs over the years.
 
   “Yes,” he said firmly to the figurine. “I accept the task and the
pay!”
 
   “GOOD! See you soon George! And don’t loose the parchment! If you get
in trouble just show it to someone. It might help,” the figure said and
vanished from his hand. In its place was a folded piece of paper and a
small leather pouch.
 
  Unfolding the paper he found it was a well detailed map of the
midlands with both Metamor Keep and the town of Frondham marked with a
red X.
 
   In the pouch he found a good collection of gold, silver and copper
coins and a piece of parchment with writing on it. George couldn’t read
so the words were alien to him but the seal at the bottom had a rearing
horse at its center. It was most likely the seal of the Duke of Metamor.
The document probably stated that George was on the Duke’s business and
was to be allowed free passage.
 
   He doubted that the document would work anywhere but on the Duke’s
land as the bounty for his head was rather large. Still Metamor was held
in high regard in many places and it might well help to get him out of
trouble.
 
  Suddenly the sound of loud voices raised in anger came through the
closed door. George dressed quickly pulling his chain mail shirt on over
his head. He tucked the map, free pass and coins into a safe, inner
pocket. He strapped his cutlass across his back and the dagger went onto
his belt.
 
   Moving quietly he opened a window and leapt the short distance to the
street below.
 
 
*******************
 

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