[Mkguild] "Following" (1/2)

[Kendo Virmir]

This one shouldn't have taken three months to write, blast it...  I
had some reservations about this piece at first, particularly near the
end, but I think I pulled things together at last.  In the end, think
I'm happy with it.

Comments always appreciated.  Hope you enjoy!

----

"Following"
by Virmir

Part 1


"Good, good...  Your control is superb, though your reach lacks somewhat..."

I showed no reaction to his critique as he stepped behind me, each
footfall a drag of whatever sort of mush the wizard-freak's feet were
comprised of.  I folded my arms as the three wooden balls rotated my
head counter clockwise.  Further out, three dim witchlights rotated in
the opposite direction.  It was about the max I could handle as far as
making things float through the air, but I did not show it.

He stopped and I heard him fall into his chair, the repressed groan of
old age escaping his lips.  "You certainly do favor the flame.  Even
your witchlights are orange.  A proper light is white."

I didn't bother turning my head, instead electing to keep my gaze upon
his rows of dusty books. What a pompous jerk!  "I see no reason to
make the effort."

He chuckled softly.  "Perhaps..."  I felt his eyes upon my back,
studying me for a few intense moments as the objects rotated around my
head.  I simply stood there with my arms folded, feeling the lower
edges of my cloak with the tip of my tail.  It was a habit I picked up
ever since the appendage became familiar.  "So, you come to us from
the land of Fan Shoar, eh?  All the way across the seas..."

Ugh.  So he bothered to read the information I left with the scouts.  "Yes."

"Valandair?  I take it you studied under the Academy..."

My right ear, the one closer to him, perked slightly.  But I assured
myself that wasn't much of a deduction.  After all, my higher
education should be plainly obvious to him with my speaking Suielish.
And it was not like I pretended to be entirely self-taught in the ways
of magic. "Yes."

He paused.  "The city of heathens, eh?"

The wooden balls clattered upon the floor, and my witchlights doubled
in intensity, flames leaping from their cores.  I turned slowly, ears
folded, deliberately glaring into his eyes...

He laughed.

He laughed!  Blast him!

"I apologize.  I merely wanted to see if you had any emotions at all!"
 He wiped some slime off his mouth with a tentacle that snaked out his
robe's sleeve. With the other "hand" he gestured across the table.
"Come, sit.  You need not fear my scrutiny."

Valandair was indeed the city of heathens, due to the movements of the
Academy no doubt.  Intelligence and the sense enough to reject
ridiculous myth go hand-in-hand, I suppose.  An alarming 5% of its
population had openly rejected all forms of religion.  At least I was
not foolish enough to be vocal about it.  Particularly outside that
small border of acceptance.  Not fitting into society's mold wherever
one goes is an offense punishable by death.

He sighed forlornly.  "I am also a non-follower, my friend.  Please, sit."

My ears perked.  Friend?  What was this old geezer... tenticle-freak
trying to pull?  Obviously it was a trick.  He was trying to lure me
in.  Get me to open up.  Ugh.  I couldn't believe I had to study magic
under this moron once a week...

Still, I never really met any one else who didn't believe...

The witchlights dispersed in a puff of crimson stars.  The wizard
warily watched them as some shot towards his books, but they vanished
before striking.  I slid into the oversized wooden chair, slipping my
tail through the hole at the rear.  The tabletop came to my middle
chest.  Curse this form again...

"Not a non-believer, mind you," he continued.  "I acknowledge there
are forces out there I do not understand.  Many much more capable in
the ways of the arcane than me.  But I have yet to find one to
worship.  At my age, I doubt I ever will."

I nodded.  Ugh.  The very notion of "worship" unsettled me.  Like
slaves worshiping their masters... I didn't get it at all. Nothing out
there was worthy of worship.  Merely a mix of psychotic spirits and
fantastical myths invented by the human mind to explain away
unpleasantries it did not like...

He folded his tentacles under his misshapen mouth, black eyes fixed on
me, hoping for a response.

Ha!  Blast if I were to say that out loud...

We sat in silence for a moment.  Apparently acknowledging the
conversation's dead end, he slid his tentacle-hands under his mahogany
hood, pulling it back to reveal his head.  Argh.. now why did he have
to go and do that?

Archmage Morlak was an octopus.  Or a squid.  Something freaky like that...

Black bulbous eyes stared at me, twinkling in the dim candlelight
along with his moist, cream colored skin.  His head resembled a sort
of blob with, of all things, a white mustache prickling out underneath
a nub that used to be his nose.  His arms and legs had apparently
become tentacles, though I could not tell for certain because they
were always hidden beneath his thick robes.  (Apparently his legs
retained bones, otherwise I didn't see how he could stand.)  Two thick
tentacle trunks extended from either side of his neck and twisted
behind his back, disappearing into his robe.  I suppose he did not use
these because they were either too short or too oddly placed.  Or he
wanted to keep the freak factor down.  Where tentacles number seven
and eight were was anyone's guess.

He leaned forward, a tentacle snaking out from under his robe and
pointing at me.  "Virmir... you do not cast magic optimally."

My ears perked.  "I beg your pardon?"

He waved the snake-like appendage around.  "Magic flows through the
air, threads waiting to be weaved.  Can you see it?"

"See what?"

"The threads... the flow...  what color am I?"

"Err..."  I rubbed my chin.  "You seem rather pale..."

"No, look deeper.  Use your sight."

One of my ears fell and my brow raised.  What in blazes was this
senile mush man talking... "You still look pale."

"Hmmm, it figures.  You were never taught the sight.  You did study
magic at the Academy at Valandair, did you not?"

"Of course I did!"  Blast it!  What did he expect?  The magic schools
to teach the exact same thing as him halfway around the world?

Of course, I couldn't stand it there long enough to actually finish...
but that was beside the point.

He leaned back, folding his "arms".  "Virmir, I will cut to the point.
 You sacrifice part of your raw essence as fuel every time you cast a
spell.  Your soul.  You should never do this unless there is little
ambient power available."

"My power returns whenever I sleep."

"Yes, but you run a great risk if you are careless.  If you sacrifice
too much in between recoveries, you will reach a point of no return.
Your soul can only heal up to a certain point..."

I shook my head.  What a moron.  Of course I knew that! "I have
practiced this all my life.  I know what I am doing."

He leaned forward.  "You will die.  No, worse than that.  You will
simply cease to exist.  Not even the gods or the deadra can claim you.
 There is no afterlife without a soul."

I rolled my eyes.  So much for finding another non-believer... "This
is the way I was taught."  That part was self-taught, of course.

He sighed.  "I am an ex-field mage.  There are others more qualified
to teach you the basics.  I will teach you the spells you need to know
for your job.  But I strongly urge you to pursue alternate means of
casting."

"Right..."

----

Thump.  Thump.

The chest rattled in the night, the top struggling to open.

A lock.  Blast...

The jarring stopped.  Then the lid slowly lifted, pushing against the
restraining latch.  The metal creaked and groaned, holding the lid on
fast until at last it broke with a loud "ping" and the broken lock
flew across the room, clattering upon the stone floor.

The figure in the bed stirred.

Ooops...

Silence enveloped the room for a few moments, the only disturbance the
soft rustling of the poorly barred window.  A frigid breeze permeated
the cracks.

The lid to the chest slowly opened with a creak, a robed arm pushing
it upward from within.  A tall lanky man rose from the impossibly
small space, placing a bare foot upon the ground.

He cracked his neck and stretched, then pulled the robe more tightly
around his body as he shivered.  The pristine white garment nearly
glowed in the darkness, and the flaming red trim seemed to dance with
his motions...

He stood there silently as he waited for any sign of movement from the
tiny figure curled up in the bed.  Nothing.

He sneered.

He extended a finger, and a tiny dim witchlight appeared at the tip of
the long, claw-like nail.  Turning, he stooped over the chest he
emerged from and quietly rummaged through its contents.  He opened the
tattered water-damaged notebook and flipped through the yellowed
paper, smirking at the intricate lines and designs that filled its
pages.

He replaced the book and spun around on a bare heel, stealthily
tip-toeing to the bed.  A small silver furred fox slept peacefully in
the center, curled into a ball with his nose buried in his thick, lush
tail.  He brought his hand to his chin as he contemplated the animal,
seemingly perplexed.  Then he bent over, his face inches from the
creature's back, and took in a series of short sniffs.

The grin returned, though now he wore it with a devilish glint in his
eyes.  Nearly giggling, he prowled to the desk across the room.  The
witchlight bobbed after.

He stroked his chin as he pondered the messy stacks of papers and
scrolls for a moment.  Behind him, the fox stirred once more and the
witchlight doused in an instant, leaving him standing in total
darkness.

After a few moments of silence, the tiny speck of light reformed,
revealing a moue across the man's face as it orbited his head.  He
slid his eyes from the bed to the ink well upon the desk a number of
times, then removed the stopper with utmost care.  Taking up the worn
quill, he bent over the table and began to scribble upon a blank sheet
of paper.

After several long moments of intricate drawing, he replaced
everything as it was before he disturbed it, save for the paper, which
was left in the center of the desk.  He smirked at the dark bed as he
tip-toed back to the chest.  With slow, careful motions, he climbed
back into the box feet first, sinking into the structure with a dim
glow after he placed his second foot in.  As his head passed the top
ridge, he grabbed the lid and shut it over him.

----

I hate snow.

Blasted white fluff.  Ugh.

Swatting the horrible flakes off my nose, I looked up at the dismal
gray sky and pulled my cloak more securely around my shoulders.  There
was a good inch on the ground, blast it.  I knew this far north this
was nothing but a light autumn dusting.  The real trauma was to come.
Winter is such a horrible season.

At least I finally got coverings for my feet.  But of course, I
couldn't enjoy them too much.  Foxes breathe through the pads on their
paws.  The boots become unbearable after a few hours and I need to
remove them... Just my luck.

"Uh... sir..."

And then there was him.  Every five blasted minutes...

"I'm... I'm getting a little cold, sir."

I sighed, watching my breath swirl around my muzzle before
dissipating.  I angled an ear towards the bug-man and shot him a
glance out of the corner of my eye.  His antennae curled and he shrunk
back, stumbling in the snow.  At least I was taller than him.

Kayser had been twisted into some insectiod hornet-thing by the curse.
 He had six appendages and stood on four legs, though he often reared
back and used the middle set as hands.  He shivered with his mandibles
clicking, clutching his spear as he looked at me with those huge red
compound eyes.

I extended a claw.  "Give it to me."

He trotted to me and angled his neck forward, letting the
crimson-jeweled pendant dangle in the air.  I grabbed it, feeling that
the flow in the gem had indeed cooled.  I tightened my grip and forced
a good deal of heat into the stone.  The insect's antennae immediately
perked.

"Thanks, sir!"

I grumbled and waved him off, turning my attention to the slowly
whitening treetops. I heard the snow crunch under his four tiny feet
as he made his way back to the camp.  As an insect, any exposure to
cold would kill him instantly.  The pendant around his neck kept him
alive.

Of course, such charms were ungodly expensive, and he couldn't afford
a decent one.  So I had to recharge this piece of junk every few
hours, blast it.  What in blazes was a bug-man doing working outside
in the winter anyway?

The insect had been specifically assigned to my unit so that I could
cast the spell on the stone and he could continue serving throughout
the winter.  It was a simple cantrip I learned from Morlak.

I tried to focus on the quiet serenity of the landscape, but heavier
footsteps soon approached.

"I finished scouting the north and west forks, sir... they definitely
did not go either way."  I turned to look up at Vale as she joined me
by my side.  She ran a claw through her ruddy head-fur as she looked
up at the trees I had been observing.  "Meaning they went south."

I nodded.  Vale had changed so much in the past month... everything
had since I had taken over the unit.  Gone was the confident,
commanding squad leader.  In her place stood a submissive pack member.
 Her tail nearly always drooped between her legs and her ears folded
whenever I spoke to her.

"Good.  Go back to camp and get something to eat.  We will leave in a
few minutes."  Her ears stood up and her tail began to wag at my
praise.  She seemed to delight in my telling her what to do for some
reason.

"Yes, sir... Aren't you going to eat?"

"I'm fine."  I waved her off.  She hesitated a moment, as if she had
something to say, then turned and followed the giant insect's tracks
back to camp.

I folded my arms under my cloak and watched the snowflakes fall for a
few moments.  This was my longest patrol yet since taking over the
squad.  Despite the miserable weather and my sore feet, it was still
better than being hounded by that blasted jackal man.  Still, I wished
I would had been able to visit Emile that night.

Blast it.  There I went again.  Okay, I will admit it.  I didn't mind
visiting her at all.  I tried to tell her five times within the past
month that I simply did not have the time to entertain her, yet could
not.  She just sits there and talks.  And I listen.

She talks about nothing.  The sun, the trees.  Her dress, her boots.
She was probably ecstatic about white flakes falling from the sky at
this very moment.

I let her pet me the other day.  Blast it...  She stroked the back of
my head, ran her nails between my ears... I couldn't say no. And it
felt... well, it felt nice.

I shook my head violently to clear away the ridiculous daydream.
Blast it.  It was impossible to avoid losing one's mind during these
cursed patrols.  Suddenly self conscious of my action, I folded my
ears and brushed the snow off the top of my head, pretending that a
clump fell on me from a tree or something.

Speaking of loosing my mind, something odd happened the other morning.

Perhaps it was my memory failing me, but I found a page of my
grandfather's notes that I had never seen before...

A partially complete symphony.  It was just sitting on my desk as if I
had been studying it the previous night.  Strangest of all, the paper
it was written on was fresh and lacked the worn edges that the others
have obtained over the years.  I was absolutely certain I've never
seen it before, and I know I did not pen it myself.  I did not have
time to look at it in detail before leaving on this blasted patrol,
but I recognized the same runes and line-style displayed in many of my
grandfather's works.  Although I had adopted that style myself, so I
suppose it was possible I had sleep-walked or something... I was
horribly over-worked, after all.

I placed it in my chest along with my grandfather's robe and his notes
to study later.  And blast it, I thought I bought a lock for that
thing!  I truly am beginning to wonder if I am going insane.  Perhaps
it is a side effect of the curse.  Every one here is a blasted
nutcase, after all.

----

He praised her.

Vale's heart fluttered.  He told her she did well.  It was enough to
put a spring in her step.

But wait.  What if that "good" was directed at the situation, and not
her?  Her ears drooped.  Yeah, that's probably all he meant...

She sighed as she made her way down the snow-laced ridge.  She was
miserable.  Without a squad leader's pay, she'd have to move to
smaller quarters soon.  To think that a noblewoman was broke...

She threw all of that away.  There was no going back, not with fur and
a tail.  And she failed at every single attempt she had made to make a
name for herself.  Every attempt to stand on her own...

The wind shifted and she caught Virmir's scent as she walked away.  It
calmed her, and she drank it in before it faded.

Maybe this was her fate.  Just to be a follower...

Surprisingly, she didn't mind being told what to do.  Not by Virmir at
least. George, yes.  George scared her, but Virmir... well he could be
frightening as well, but in a very different way.  His becoming squad
leader was as if a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

It irked her that she and Virmir hadn't been part of the squad sent to
investigate the cave with the glowing crystals.  They were the ones
that found it!  She understood that she just wasn't good enough to be
part of such a team, but George really should have given Virmir a
chance.  The fox knew so much.  He was capable of whipping Vincent
into line with a single stare, where she had failed with her most
irate lectures.

>From what she heard, the crystals were completely gone and no trace of
the liquid floor that lead to the glowing underground fortress was
found.

-- 
- Kendo Virmir
http://virmir.com -- Some of my stories!
http://metamorkeep.com -- Metamor Keep Archives