[Mkguild] Story: A Fresh Start

[Allen (Landon) Brunson]

I haven't read up on Metamor in years.  I thought it was dead actually, 
until I met up with Matthias at Anthrocon.  (Very useful panels on 
writing by the way)  A while back I wrote a funny little series of 
non-canon stories featuring John Thesmere.  I was delighted to find them 
archived when I thought they were lost.  Then I shrieked at how bad I 
was at writing back then.  At least they were funny.

I went by the name of Fox Dragonrite when I last did stories for 
Metamor.  I go by a new name now, Landon Fox.  Man has it been a long time.

At Anthrocon I promised myself that I would do more writting.  I knew 
that if I didn't start on the promise quickly I would never keep it.  As 
such, I haven't had time to read through the archive and refresh my 
memory on the fine details or the happenings of the last few years. If I 
just ran roughshod over someone's character, sorry.  Talk with me and 
we'll get it straightened out together.

I released this early.  Normally I do a lot of story boarding before 
writing and a lot of editing and revision before releasing.  But 
considering my horribly slow release rate, I figure that's got to 
change.  So this story is a rough draft and much more freeform.  It's 
probably going to suck and have a billion typos, especially towards the 
end where I started getting tired.  I apologize in advance.  Please 
don't put this into an archive until I've cleaned and revised it.  Half 
of the good content always comes from reworking it on another readthrough.  

Editing is helpful.  I will be grateful for feedback.

Also, I decided to redo Jesreg and John Thesmere into more canon 
versions.  I hope no one used the original versions too much.  ^.^;  
Don't worry though, John will still be quite crazy and humorous.  Jesreg 
is taking over for main character though.  I was originally planning to 
introduce a new character named Arden Copy and use Jesreg as his version 
of Dr. Watson.  But after reworking Jesreg I liked him so much I decided 
to focus on him for a while.  Perhaps I'll introduce Arden later.

I think that's it.  Enjoy the show!

* * * * *

A Fresh Start

By: Landon Fox

Landon at VulpianDominion.com
    AIM:  LandonFoxx
    YIM:  Landon_Caragas_Fox

Part of the Metamor Keep shared universe story setting.
    http://metamorkeep.com/

* * * * *

Dirt.  I know all about dirt.  There is the loose dirt you find on 
farms, fertile and ready to grow.  There is the hard packed dirt of a 
back road.  There is the even harder packed dirt of city streets.  There 
is dry dirt that sends up a dust cloud with every step.  There is moist 
dirt that feels like it should cling to you but doesn't.  That's what 
this dirt is.  Moist, from a recent rain.  But it's not very hard 
packed.  It's too loose to be city dirt, and too packed to be farm 
dirt.  Forest trail dirt feels so odd under my feet, and the meandering 
boughs of the trees around me are a meager substitute for the solid city 
buildings.

Dirt holds many smells, especially now with my new nose.  Farm dirt has 
the musty smell of aged decay.  City dirt smells stale, like it's been 
out so long it's gone bad and can't grow anything anymore.   But all 
dirt in smells like the collective feet of everyone who treads on it.  
Perhaps that's why this dirt feels so foreign to me.  I can smell almost 
no one in this lonely dirt trail, even with my new and expanded senses.  
There are no lingering fragances of cheap booze.  There are no wasted 
drops of black oil, dimming the metallic sheen of a dagger hidden behind 
a cloak.  There are no almost but not quite mopped up pools of blood, 
removed evidence of more sordid lines of work.

You know what?  I can get used to this.  Goodbye Lorland and good 
riddance!  I am leaving you.  I am leaving my accursed family.  I am of 
age now and I am going to do things different.  I am going to do things 
my way.

"Watch me Metamor Keep!"  I say out loud.

Okay, perhaps that would be more impressive if I wasn't a four foot tall 
mouse man.

"Do you have business with Metamor Ke..."  The voice was broken up by 
the immediate sounds of laughter.

I think I just jumped about three feet in surprise.  Even the matted 
down fur on my tail puffed up with the rest of my hackles.  I turn to 
look for a body to match the voice that had startled me so.  My eyes 
meet with a human woman.  Outwardly she was wearing a leather suit, but 
my ears could hear the rattle of chain mail underneath it.  A leather 
cap nearly hid bouncy tufts of red hair.  In one hand was a bow, at her 
hip was a sword, and she looked like she knew how to use both.

"Sorry if I startled you."

"No, it's my fault for not paying attention." I reply.  "You're a road 
watch I take it?"

The female warrior nodded.  "Yes.  We're Metamor's regulars.  We keep 
track of all the caravans travelling to the keep.  And speaking of 
which, you don't look like you're with one.  So why are you here?"

"I used to live at Lorland.  Now that I'm of age, I'm moving to Metamor 
and becoming a man-at-arms."

The human just stared blankly down at me.  "Umm, aren't you a bit small 
to be a fighter?"

"Jenna!" another voice called out from behind her in reprimand.  "You'll 
remember that there was a rat knight at the last tourny.  He wasn't much 
bigger than this mouse is."

The road watch turns back to the bushes.  "That was a sport, not real 
combat."

A different voice calls from a different bush.  "What about that rat 
that ran the writer's guild.  Rumor has it he's one of the special 
scouts now.  Is that combat real enough for you?"

"Fine whatever."  Jenna acknowledges to the unseen speaker.  "But I 
still say he looks more like a squeeze toy than a warrior."

I don't like the way this conversation is headed.  Jenna is turning back 
to face me, so I look up at her and ask, "Any dangers ahead?"

Her face reforms as though all the previous comments were forgotten.  
"There's always danger on the road.  There have been scattered raids by 
the lutins, mostly attacking small caravans.  Our relief should be here 
shortly if you'd like to walk back with us."

I nod back.  "Sounds like a good idea."  

I step into the bushes and lean up against a tree near another guard.  
The group waits in alert silence.  That suits me fine.  I've got a lot 
to think about now.  The idea of a  small rodent in the regulars didn't 
go over well with the commander here.  The others reminded her about the 
small guys who were fighting for the keep, but are they rule or are they 
exception?  How exceptional do I have to be?  And if the regulars are a 
bust, what then?  What are these special scouts they meantioned?  Am I 
too old to become a squire?  If so, what other group of men-at-arms 
would take me?  And everyone here is a human.  Are only humans allowed 
to carry arms?

Footsteps are coming.

They're human.  They have to be.  They are wearing boots and most animal 
morphs can't wear those. They have a solid thump with every step.  
There's no way one of the short, green-skinned lutins could make that 
sound.  Only humans have the body mass to pound the ground that loud.  
They're probably a patrol too.  I can't hear any telltale clacks of 
wooden wheels or the clopping of horse hooves.

"Humans coming.  About a dozen.  No carts."

Jenna looks a bit startled but listens intently.  In a few seconds she 
nods.  "That would be our relief.  Prepare to move out."

"Nice ears."  The armored man next to me comments.  "I wish they'd let 
us take some animal morphs like you out with us, but they want all 
humans to meet with caravans.  Non-humans tend to scare away merchants, 
and a remote fortress like ours can't afford too much of that."

You know, maybe I'm being too fretful.  I think things are going to work 
out just fine.  I've been on nerve ever since I started growing fur.  
What's with that anyway?

The guards arrive shortly.  They all wear the same armor as the guards 
here.  They're all human, and all female.  Jenna steps out and makes 
contact.  After a few words, the patrol moves towards to the bushes.  
The displaced old shift congregates on the trail.  The head guard does a 
quick head count.

"Right then.  Let's go."

We set out along the trail.  The human's lout footfalls and the tingling 
of their chainmail fills my ears.  Maybe it's just me, but everything 
has been louder ever since I got a better pair of ears.  Oh well.  I 
guess it's a welcome change from the previous silence.  Well, no.  
That's not true.  Forests aren't silent.  They sound strange.  There is 
a constant swish of wind blowing through branches and the occasional 
creak as trees rub against themselves.  And there are sounds of small 
animals as they go about their daily business.  I don't see how people 
get used to it.  Hey, that's funny.  The animal sounds got quiet all of 
a sudden.  Why would they do tha...

"AMBUSH!"

Swords and shields are out and in every warriors hands as though they 
were there all alone.  The patrol breaks into two lines, each running 
full tilt towards the tree line before I've even wrapped my head around 
the shouted warning.  

No time to think.  Act.  Now.  

I follow a line of guards as fast as my small legs will let me, 
desperately drawing my blackjack as I move.  They crash through the 
folage and shrieks of steel and mingle with shrieks of inhuman 
creatures.  A lutin jumps from a tree and charges up to me.  The small 
green creature is almost three and a half feet tall.  It would look like 
a green human save for the elongated ears and nose.  God, what's that 
smell?  Neither it nor its greasy clothes have bathed in years.  But 
that's not important.  What's important is the knife in its hand.

I lean forward into a crouch with my weapon at the ready.  I watch the 
lutin and the blade held loosely in its green hand.  We circle around 
other, our eyes riveted to the other combatant.  My enemy darts lightly 
forward, thrusting his dagger at the air.  

Aggressive.  Intimidating.  I can deal with that.  

I feint a move to the left but keep as much of my weight to the right as 
I can.  The lutin goes for it and leaps forward to stab.  As he makes 
his attack, my body pulls hard right to dodge.  My leather weapon swings 
through the air in counterattack.  The lutin's head rocks forward as the 
sap slaps him in the back of his head.  He staggers a bit, and I swing a 
second blow from the other direction.  He crumples to the ground after 
my sand-filled pouch slugs him straight in the forehead.  My assailant 
lays there unconscious, his weapon having fallen to the forest floor 
beside him.

I catch sight of someone out of the corner of my eye.  Turning, I see a 
larger lutin with a spear held back and ready to throw.  I leap to the 
side, over the fallen lutin beside me. I can see the spear fly through 
the space I once was.  The ground is waiting to greet my back, and it 
screams in pain at the sudden reintroduction.  Ignore it.  The lutin's 
knife is beside me.  My right hand leans over to grab it, then I hurl it 
at the lutin spearman.  The hilt turns into a wooden bloom in his 
throat.  He falls down amist wet gagging.

"REPORT!"

"Jaquelin's been stabbed but can walk.  Most of us have nicks and 
bruises.  No one down."

The lead warrior nods as she returns to the rode.  Her leather attire is 
stained red, through I doubt that most of that is her's.  Other 
men-at-arms filter back in similar states.  I pick myself up off the 
ground and brush some loose dirt from my shirt as the leader surveys my 
two kills.

"You did good mouse."  Jenna nods with approval.  "What's your name?"

"I'm called Jesreg.  And you did better."  I reply, stating nothing but 
the truth.  The folk of Metamor Keep were renowned throughout the land 
for their prowess in combat.  This was even before the transformation.  
These warriors were all exemplars of that reputation.

Nearby is the spear which almost ended my life.  It landed in the ground 
and stuck like a short dead tree.  It comes out of the ground easily, 
the tip no worse for wear.  The shaft is solid and the tip looks less 
like a spear and more like a dagger embedded in wood.  Where the blade 
meets the wood, it broadens into small side blades, almost like a 
minature axe.  A grin crosses my face.

"Mine."

"Nice trophy.  Okay everyone, assemble and move out."

I wipe the dirt from the solid metal blade.  There's a little bit of 
rust, and it's in need of oiling.  However, it's a rugged weapon made 
from good quality steel and ash.  I heft it to my shoulder and continue 
the march towards the keep.  In a few minutes, I decide to make a holder 
for it with one of the strings from my belt pouch.  With the spear 
secured to my back, I resume my watch of the road.

We make it without any further incident.

* * * * *

This place is a lot different than Lorland, even if it's not.  Sure, 
it's bigger.  I expected that.  But that attitude is different.  In 
Lorland people still held the scars of its insane former ruler, Lord 
Lorad.  There was an atmosphere of muted desperation, of quiet pleading 
cries unwhispered into unhearing ears.  Rot in hell you bastard, and all 
your loyalists too.

But here was different.  Everyone was open.  Everyone was did as they 
pleased.  No one let the fateful transformation get them down.

Six years ago, an evil wizard named Nasoj assembled a horde of lutins, 
ogres, trolls, and other nasty creatures.  He tore through the lands of 
Metamor and assaulted it's gates.  Out of food, the wizard attempted for 
force a quick win by casting three spells of transformation.  One spell 
turns a third of the defenders to fucktoys of the opposite sex.  Another 
spell turned a third of the defenders into complete animals.  The final 
spell turns the rest of the defenders into babies.  But even as their 
forms melted about them, the keeper's wizards worked a desperate 
counterspell.  They forced the spell to halt half-way.  Now the keepers 
simply swapped gender, became half-human, half-animal, or became 
pre-adolescents.  Since that battle, the spell has seeped into and 
bonded with the castle and land itself.  Now anyone staying in the keep 
for more than a week becomes affected by one of the transformations.  
And people born here turn into something else when they come of age.

Woman walked about in the open and held jobs with the men.  Animal 
morphs walked around, dressed in the same garb as humans.  Children help 
positions of authority and commanded respect.

I like this place already.

Heh, and I've just gotten through the gate.  What's next?  I had planned 
to become a man-at-arms and fight for the keep, but I'm no where near as 
good a fighter as those amazons I witnessed on the way up.  Even with 
training, I'm not sure I would be so good in an open terrain battle.  My 
fighting skills are honed towards a different style of fighting.  I know 
about the quick knife in the dark, I know how to avoid it, and I know 
how to keep it from finding others.

A kid in a chainmail uniform walks by and waves to another nearby 
uniformed human in his early teens.  The teenager standing guard looks 
extremely tired.  Hmm...  Maybe I should listen in.

"Hey Jenson.  How are you holding up?"

"Okay I guess, but these longer shifts are starting to get to me."

"Me too, but we just don't have enough guys no more, what with the 
regulars conscripting all the guards to fight the lutins.  We've already 
stopped guarding everything that's unimportant, so it's either longer 
shifts or leaving something valuable out in the open."

"Yeah.  I just liked it better when I had to time to investigate crimes 
instead of staring at walls and bystanders all day."

"Certain groups like it better the way it is now.  Reports of more 
aggressive criminals are popping up.  I'm worried the underground may 
start organizing.  If they do, then what?"

"Agreed.  We need to get more recruits and soon, but how do we convince 
the Duke of the dangers from within when the more visible danger from 
without is hounding us so badly?"

You know what?  Now would be a perfect time to join in this 
conversation.  I step up to the guards and wait for their attention.  
The tired guard sighs a bit and then turns to me.

"How can I help you, sir?"

"Pardon me for eavesdropping, but I couldn't help but hear how you 
needed recruits.  I just came to Metamor from Lorland.  I intended to 
join the army, but I'm not as good of a fighter as I thought and many of 
my skills are geared towards investigation."

I watched as both teenagers started to grin.  There wasn't even much of 
a size difference.

"Try out are at the guardhouse.  It's inside the keep itself.  You can 
enter there."

"How do I get to it from that entrance."  I ask in reply.

"Directions don't work in Metamor.  The internals of the keep rearrange 
themselves randomly.  Just think about your destination and you'll get 
there."

"Thank you."  I comment as I head off.

"No.  Thank YOU.  Good luck!" the guard calls out.  I wave to both of 
them and step inside.

The inside of the keep is made of large blocks of stone and mortor.  It 
has the dirt and damage of regular use, but the general structure looks 
far more solid and lasting than anything I saw in Lorland.  With the 
guard's advice in mind, I pick a direction and start walking.  The 
keep's internals were like a maze, and I was the rodent looking for the 
slice of cheese.  In a few minutes I found my delectible morsel.  I 
stand before a heavy wooden door.  The sign above it states it's purpose.

"Metamor Guard Headquarters"

The large iron handle is only slightly below my head.  I grasp it with 
both paws and brace to force the door to give me passage.  Fortunately 
it opens easily and with only a slight creeking.  

I step inside and look at my surroundings.  It looks more like a den of 
scribes then a den of warriors, but what would you expect?  For a 
warrior, the enemy is obvious and he has but to charge.  Our foe must be 
carefully unmasked and direct assault can have far reaching and 
unfortunate consequences.  It is only fitting that the keep's guards 
would focus on reports as much as weapons.  There are a few guards in 
uniform moving about the paper scattered desks.  Light floods in from 
the large window at the back, and I find I have a good view of the 
castle's ramparts. To the side is a well dressed man in commoner's 
clothes, and he's the first to speak up.

"What do you need sir?"

"I'm hear to become a guard."  I reply.

The human looks me over before replying.  "Speak with the captain of the 
guards then.  He's over there."

"Thank you."

I look in the pointed direction and see a large rottweiler in uniform.  
I step over, weaving between haphazardly placed desks as I go.  It's a 
bit hard to make out his features with the sun's fading light in my 
eyes.  I can almost make out the bowwomen on the ramparts better than 
captain.  He's talking with another guard from a few desks over.

"So do we have any leads?"

"No.  The poisoned medicine came in from a caravan from the nearest port 
outside of the curse's range.  That's it.  We don't have enough guards 
to keep checking every caravan."

"Ugh.  Okay.  I'll harass Jack into getting the road patrols into doing 
searches.  In the meantime..."  The guarddog looks over at me and 
sighs.  I can hear the tiredness in his voice that I can't make out in 
his siloetted face.  "Yes, what is it mouse?"

That's odd.  Did bowwomen just nock an arrow?

"Hello sir.  My name is Jesreg.  I'm here to join the guards."

The dog looks down at me.  I think I can make out a raised eyebrow and a 
lopsided grin.  "Finally, some good news!  What kind of experience do 
you have?"

The bowwomen just turned and aimed her arrow at the captain of the guards.

Oh shit.

Time slows to a halt as adrenaline and stronger forces dump into my 
blood.  The world takes on the frozen blur of slow motion.  Sound dims.  
Color dims.  A single pulse of my heart threatens to burst my ears.

Thum-Thump.

The arrow is released.  It hangs in the air, inching towards it's 
intended target.  I force my body to move through the sluggish slowed 
time.  My paws lift off the ground in a leap.  I hover through the air, 
my hands reaching for the captains chest.  His face slowly forms a look 
of shock and surprise as I pounce in slow motion.  Contact.

Thum-Thump.

The captain recoils backwards as he is knocked from his feet.  Glass 
cracks and shatters.  The fading sun turns the flying shards into 
hovering disks of luminescent fire.  The rottweiler creeps toward the 
ground and a nearby desk.  The slow grinding of wood on stone follows as 
the desk is pushed back from our flight.  The arrow pushes itself 
between my tail and feet, leaving ripples of air blowing against the 
thin fur there.  A wooden snap fills the as the arrow impacts the floor 
and explodes into wooden splinters.  My face meets the captain's armor 
as I come to rest on his chest.

Thum-Thump.

And time returns to normal.

The shock wears the captain almost immediately and he's on his feet.

"Guards!  Return fire!"

The bowwomen turns and runs.  Three guards draw their bows and fire 
through the spiderwebbed glass, but without the time to aim their shots 
do little more than add to the window's damage.

"Move!  Move!  Move!"

The captain runs towards the door as he barks out his orders.  The three 
guards follow, and so do I.  Halls and archways fly by, and soon we are 
outside looking at the ramparts.

"There!"

"We can't cover all the exits."

"You.  There.  You.  There.  You.  There.  You.  There."  The rottweiler 
barks out,  his hand pointing quickly on which paths we should each 
take.  "Move!"  

We all bound off in seperate directions.  I climb the castle wall's 
stairs as fast as my legs will take me.  I try to keep track of the 
assailent as I move, but the walls and rooms of the keep's defenses 
break eyesight.

I can still hear her though.

She's running towards me.

I lean up against a nearby stone wall as I draw my spear.  I have a good 
view of where she would come by.  With my back to the wall, I begin to 
concentrate.

You can't see me.

My vision dims.  The waning light turns to night.

You can't see me.

Objects blur and radiate a dark mist.

You can't see me.

Here she comes, the blur turning her movement into a seamless flow of 
motion.  The bowwomen leaves a black trail of mist in her wake.  The 
rottweiler in pursuit, his own motions bluring and misting as well.  

Get ready.  

Now!

I swing my spear like a staff and aim for her shins.  It connects with a 
solid thwack.  The bowwomen drops to the ground as her feet are knocked 
from under her.

"Where in the he.."  is as far as her surprised curse gets.  

I drop the staff and grab my blackjack from my belt.  As she tries to 
get up, I bring the soft club down on her head.  She falls flat, her 
head knocking onto the stone floor hard.

'She's down!" The captain yells as he jumps on her legs.  Two more 
guards follow suit.  In seconds her hands have been bound in ropes.  One 
of the guards carries the unconscious criminal towards the dungeon.

"Tell Brian he needs to make a house call to the dungeon and look at her 
head.  We need her alive and healthy if we want answers."

The other guard nods.  With a "Yes, sir!" she bounds off.

Finally the captain turns to me.  "And you, thank you.  I'd be dead now 
if it wasn't for you.  Let's get you a badge.  Welcome to the Metamor 
Guard."

I can only return the grin.  "Thank you sir."

"Please.  Call me Johnson."  The dog comments as we walk back.  "We're a 
lot more casual here than other castles.  We have to be with the 
transformation and all.  What's your name?"

"I'm called Jesreg."

"Do you have a last name to put on the uniform?"

"No.  I'm just Jesreg."

Johnson raised an eyebrow but said nothing.  After a bit of walking we 
are off the ramparts and back inside the keep.  We pass through the 
large door of the guard hall to be greeted by the ruined window.  It was 
shot through with cracks and spiderwebs from four holes in it.  The 
receptionist was cleaning up the broken shards on the floor.  The 
captain reaches into a desk and tosses me a badge.

"That'll do until we get you a perminent one made with your name on it."

I look at the badge.  [Note to self:  Look up what the seal of Metamor 
Keep looks like.]

Then my stomach reminds me I haven't eaten in a while.

"Say, I've been on the road all day.  Is there any good place to get 
food around here?"

* * * * *

The Deaf Mule is the busiest establishment I've ever seen.  It was 
literally packed with patrions, and the server staff was rushing to make 
it all work.  Johnson quickly picks out a table and sits down.  I follow 
suit and a server is on us before my rear has time to touch the seat.

"What can I get for you guys?"

"I'll take a mug of ale and a dish of mutton."  Johnson immediately replies.

"I'll take the same I guess, but hold the ale."  I reply.

The waiter gives me a funny look and leaves.

"No alcohol?"  Johnson asks.

"I can't hold my liquor well." I reply.  Well, it is the truth, even if 
not for the reason you'd normally think.

"Why hello there.  I don't believe we've met."

I look over.  It's a brown rat.  He's well dress and has the strangest 
mark over his eye.  It almost looks like a hand print.  Next to him is 
an equally well dressed fox.

"I'll catch you later Matthias."  The fox comments as he turns to leave.

"Later Misha."  The rat responds before turning his attension back to 
our table.

"Pull up a seat."  Johnson calls to the other rodent.  Wood grates 
against the floor as he does so.  "Don't noise it about, but Mattrat 
here is one of the keep's special scouts.  Top rate fighter."

The rat looked more self-conscious than anything.  "Thank you, but I'd 
like to just talk as a regular keep writer now."  He comments as he 
extends a paw towards me.  "As you may have guessed by now, I'm Matthias."

I take the paw and shake it firmly,  "I'm Jesreg.  I just got here today 
and joined the guard."

"Newest recruit."  Johnson commented from behind a mug of ale.  When did 
that get here?

"Pleased to have you at Metamor then."  Matthias commented.  "And I'm 
doubly pleased you're not hiding in the cellar like most of the other 
rodents around here.

"Huh?"  I ask, an eyebrow raised in confusion.  "Why would I hide in the 
cellar?  All the good, shiny stuff is up here."

Now it was everyone else's turn to cock an eyebrow.

"Shiny stuff?"  the rat asked.

"Yeah.  Fun stuff.  Stuff to do.  People to meet.  You know."

Johnson shrugged but Matthias nodded in understanding.  "And you're a 
mouse eh?  Interesting."  After a pause he continued.  "We have a 
monthly meeting for all the gnawers.  I'd be pleased to see you there."

"A gnawer?  What do you mean."  I ask back.

"How long have you been a mouse?"

"Oh, I left home after I finished my transformation."  Then I added a 
quick wink.  "There were cats there."

Matthias scrunched his face up in an approapriate measure of horror.  
"How terrible!  Well, here's how it works.  You've got a nice pair of 
incisors now and they are going to keep growing like nails.  You have to 
gnaw to keep them trimmed to a good length."  The rat pulled out a small 
stick and started working his teeth along it's wooden shaft.

And then our food arrives.  That was fast.  But the succullent vapors it 
emits artest to the chef's skill.  I dig in with gusto and the juicy 
meat does not fail to delight my aching taste buds.

"Hey, I've got to ask you something." Johnson started.  "About the fight 
on the ramparts."

Matthias blinked in surprise.  "Fight on the ramparts?  What happened."

I pipe up.  "Someone tried to assassinate the captain of the guard right 
in front of me."

Matthias jaw dropped.  "That's insane!  How could that happen here?"

Johnson quickly replied.  "Because we're too understaffed to keep 
Metamor adequately protected, that's why.  This little mouse saved my 
life today.  You must have some very good reflexes."

"More like danger sense."  I reply. Both other critters look me over and 
wait for more.  "Well, I didn't have the best life in Lorland.  My dad 
pressed me into service for acts of a decidedly unseemly sort, if you 
catch my drift.  I had to learn to react quickly to bad situations to 
stay in one piece."

"Was he a criminal?"

"He was a criminal of the worst sort, the kind that stays within the 
law.  With that said, he didn't think much about causing an "accident" 
to happen or simply harrassing people who earned his ire."  I sigh.  
"Besides, enough of the guard would sympathize with him that there's 
little reason to try.  You see, he's a Lorad loyalist."

My food stopped tasting good.

"I'd rather not talk about it.  I'm in a new keep with new friends.  
This is a happy day!"

"I'm almost killed and you call it a happy?"  Johnson shoots back.

We all chuckle at that.

"Anyway, in the fight back there on the ramparts, you seemed to just 
come right out of the wall.  It was like you weren't there at all.  How 
did you do that?"

Yes.  He did see me do that.  Well, I couldn't hope to keep it a secret 
that long anyway.  

"Now that is a long story.  The short of it is that I saved a wizard 
from thugs a few years ago.  We became friends and he taught me a few 
magic tricks.  Until now I'd only used that spell to hide from my father."  

Matthias' ears perked up at that comment.  "A wizard?  What type."

"Just an illusionist."

I finish off the final bite of my dinner.

"Okay.  I'm stuffed.  I think I'm going to find and inn and drift off 
the sleep."

"You can move into your perminent quarters immediately if you'd like."  
Johnson replied.

Matthias quickly added, "Yeah, when geometry is optional, so are space 
limitations."

Variable geometry?  Reality is optional?  Sweet!

* * * * *

I wasn't entirely sure what to look for at first, but when I came to 
this door I knew it was the right one.  My hand rises to the door to 
knock.  No answer.  I open the door.  No one is around. I slip inside 
and close the door behind me.

It's a small room.  By one wall is a neatly made bed.  By the other wall 
is a chair desk.  The desk is void of any papers or clutter save for two 
keys sitting on it.  In the corner is a dresser and beside that is the 
doorway to the closet.  I slide my paws around the thin metal tabs on 
the desk and scoop them up.  One key is marked room, the other is marked 
closet.  Huh.  I wonder why I'd need to lock the closet.  Still, I 
pocket both.

With that I jump onto the bed.  Everything is so big now that I became a 
mouse.  But it does give me a lot of room, so there are always 
advantages and disadvantages to any situation.  Always.  He taught me that.

My stomach growls.  I thought I just ate.  Odd.

Then the second pang hit.  A slower, gnawing hunger higher up in my 
chest, near my heart.  Yeah, that's right.  I had forgotten in the 
commotion, but now it was catching up to me.

I used magic today.  

Now my alternative stores of energy were gone.  I'd need to find a way 
to feed that hunger eventually.  But how?  It's not like I can just walk 
up to any wizard or priest and ask where the nearest shrine to Shygarth 
is.  Not if I want to keep drawing air.  It won't be so bad if I handle 
it right.  Don't get injured.  Don't drink alcohol.  I can last until 
I've made some discreet inquiries with the right people.

The spear is digging into my back.  Well, I'll just drop it off in the 
closet.

Damn.  I didn't get a weapon from that assassin.  A second trophy in one 
day would have been quite a feather in my hat.  Oh well.  

I think I'll start a collection!  I'll turn my closet into my own little 
arsenal.  I'll need that to be a guard.

I jump off the bed and try the knob.  It rattles under my touch though.  
Locked.  The closet key slips in with a metallic crunch and the lock 
turns.  I try the knob once more and the door opens easily.  However, my 
spear drops to the ground outside as I take in the sights the small room 
has to offer.

There's a shrine to Shygarth sitting right in front of me.

It's a small brick of blue stone, maybe the size of a shoe box, tucked 
against the far wall.  On it is sitting a silver cup no large than a 
thimble filled with crimsom fluid.  It's enough.  It's more than enough.

Blood Oil.

I kneel before the shrine and pull the vessel from it.  The silver cup 
meets my lips.  The thick fluid pours into my mouth, filling it with the 
taste of blood and raw meat.  I swallow.  The thick oil leaves traces in 
my maw, but even better is the feelings from within.  Warmth flows 
through my body.  Warmth and power well up inside me.  I let out a 
breath I didn't realize I was holding, feeling sated in ways few could 
comprehend.

"Thank you, my not-lord and not-god Shygarth for your gift of life and 
magic.  And thank you Metamor for leading me to this sacred shrine.  May 
be both live together in harmony and friendship...  forever!"

I set the cup back on the shrine, and a cool air fills the little cubby 
hole.  The shrine would slowly drain the heat from the air and use it to 
power it's enchantments.  In another day, another draught of the 
precious elixer would be ready to use.

I close the closet door and lock it again.  I'm not hungry anymore.  
Hell, with that much blood oil I'd probably never need to eat regular 
food again.  But then people would ask questions.  Annoying and 
dangerious questions that I'd rather not have asked.  Do-gooders and 
moral busybodies would cast an evil glare my way, and for what purpose?  
They call it playing with fire.  Blacksmiths play with fire too, and we 
love the fruits of their craft.  I know not to mess with the deeper 
magics.  Well, not while I still wish to remain sane.  Asylum will come 
in its own time.  For now, I have a keep to protect.

I intend to do a good job.

* * * * *

End