[Mkguild] Story: A Fresh Start (Revised)

[Allen (Landon) Brunson]

Okay, I've redone this story into a more final form.  I feel I have 
better feel on my characters and have changed some things in order to 
better suit them.  Not everything is the same as the first draft.  This 
is the copy I would like to go in the archives.

As always, I spel poorly and mine grammar is ungood.  I apologize in 
advance.

I hope everyone enjoys reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

* * * * *

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 in back 
roads.  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 squishy 
mud that your feet sink straight into.  And 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 
surrounding trees are a meager substitute for 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 has tread on 
it.  Perhaps that's why this dirt feels so foreign to me.  I can smell 
almost no one in this lonely woodland 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 differently.  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 with an amused grin.  Outwardly she was wearing 
a leather suit, but my ears could hear the rattle of chain mail 
underneath it.  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.  "We're Metamor's regulars.  We patrol the 
roads and 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 tourney.  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.  And I need some leaf.  My paw reflexively curls 
towards the pouch on my belt.  From it I withdraw a slender white wrap 
and small tin box.  One practiced motion and the top flips open with a 
click. My finger taps the flint striker.  A small flame comes to life as 
I reach my...

"No smoking."

With a second click my lighter closes itself and the flame snuffs out.  
Both fall back to my pouch.  Damn it!

One of the soldiers to my side looks over me.  I look back.  "How old 
are you?"

"Fourteen."

He looks genuinely surprised.  "Aren't you a little young to be smoking?"

"It's safer than alcohol." I reply with a smirk.  "Drunk people tend to 
disappear in Lorland."

Now he's just shocked.  After a few seconds he seems to shrink back into 
stunned silence.  A quick look at the rest of the party shows them 
shuffling uncomfortably and glancing at me out of the corners of their 
eyes.  With a shrug I return to my thoughts.

Okay, 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 mentioned?  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."

That one comment answers prettymuch all my worries.  I'm being too 
fretful.  Things are going to work out just fine.  I've been on nerve 
ever since I started growing fur, and now I don't have the smell of cat 
to explain it.  I wonder what's with that.

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 warrior's hands as though they 
were there all along.  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 mingle with shrieks of living creatures.  A 
lutin jumps from a tree and charges towards me.  The small green 
creature is almost three and a half feet tall.  He would look like a 
green human save for the elongated ears and nose.  God, what's that 
smell?  He hasn't taken a bath in a year, and neither have his clothes 
from their greasy appearance.  But that's not what's important.  What's 
important is the knife in his hand.

I lean forward into a crouch with weapon in paw.  I watch the lutin and 
the blade held at ready.  We circle around other, our eyes each riveted 
to the other.  Then 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 skull.  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, a larger 
lutin fills my vision, along with his spear held back and ready to 
throw.  I leap to the side, over the fallen lutin beside me.  The spear 
flies through the space my chest once occupied.  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 amidst 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.

And then my awe of their fighting sours as I hear a wet crunch to my 
side.  The fighter that had been so shocked at my age had just stabbed 
the unconscious lutin beside me.  I can't keep a grimace from my face.

"What's the point of taking them alive if you're just going to slit his 
throat while he sleeps?"

It was the warrior's turn to smirk.

"He wouldn't have known anything of value.  And you can be sure he would 
not have shown you the same mercy."

I stare at him a bit before turning my head and glaring at him from the 
corner of my eyes.

Then I see something else to divert my attention.  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 
spreads across my muzzle.

"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 the attitude is different.  In 
Lorland people still held the scars of its insane former ruler, Lord 
Loriod.  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 is different.  Everyone is open.  Everyone did as they 
pleased.  No one let that fateful curse 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.  Low on food, the wizard attempted for 
force a quick victory by casting three spells of transformation.  One 
spell turns a third of the defenders to sex slaves of the opposite 
gender.  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 keep'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 men.  Animal morphs 
walked around dressed in human garb.  Children held 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.  They both have tabards with a lit 
lantern on them.  The teenager standing guard looks extremely tired.  
Hmm...  Maybe I should listen in.

"Hey Sander.  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 the watch 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 regulars, 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.

"Go speak with the captain are at the watchhouse.  It's inside the keep 
itself.  You can enter through that door over 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."

Really?  And dad said Fenton was strange.  "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.

"Watchhouse"

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 watch 
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.

"How many I help you sir?"

"I want to join the watch."  I reply.

The human looks me over before replying with a nod.  "Speak with the 
captain of the watch 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 bowman on the ramparts better than the 
captain.  I find myself eyeing the person and his weapon out of habit.  
The captain is 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 the bowman just nock an arrow?

"Good evening sir.  My name is Jesreg.  I'm here to join the watch."

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 bowman just turned and aimed her arrow at the captain of the watch.

Oh shit!

Don't think.  Act.  Time slows to a halt as adrenaline dumps into my 
blood.  The world glows with slow motion and a single pulse of my heart 
threatens to burst my ears.

Thum-Thump.

The arrow is released.  It hangs in the air, inching towards its 
intended target.  I force my body into reaction.  Paws lift off the 
ground in a leap.  I hover through the air, my hands reaching for the 
captain's chest.  His face slowly forms a look of shock and surprise as 
I pounce.  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 penetrates the thin 
space between my tail and feet, leaving ripples of air blowing against 
the thin fur there.  A wooden snap fills the muted silence 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 then time returns to normal.

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

"Guards!  Return..."

I hastily pull him down behind the cover of the desk before a second 
arrow flies through the air to shatter against the wall.  His curse 
barely as time to leave his lips before a third embeds itself in the 
desktop.  A crack spreads across the length of the cheap wood.

"Bloody hell!"

"He's got a repeater!"  I yell above the ensuing pandamonium.

Glass crackles and shatters to match the damaged desk.  It barely 
shelters us from the incoming fire.  Four more arrows sink into the 
light wood, splintering and shattering it until it's ready to fall 
apart.  Then it quiets.  I spare a look up and see the arrow casing drop 
from the bow.  It hits the stone floor with a clang as he brings another 
set of arrows to feed into the mechanism.

"He's reloading.  Move!"  I yell.

Both the captain and myself dive for more solid cover.  The other guards 
in the room grab bows from the wall.  The window crashes and shatters 
once more.  An arrow flies at my feet as they dunk beneigh a solid oak 
desk.  Two more arrows break through and sink into the strong wood with 
with barely a dull thump.  

A guard stands up to take aim with his bow.

"Get back under cover!"  Johnson screams at him in warning.

An arrow punches through the open space that used to be a window and 
lodges in her side with a sickening crunch.  She manages a short cry of 
pain before falling to the floor.  A second guard grabs her hand and 
pulls her behind a desk before two arrow bounce off the stonework she 
was laying on.

He's only got one arrow left.

I jump out from cover and yell at the top of my lungs.  "Hey bitch!  
Over here!"  I barely manage to dunk the arrow in time.  It sails 
through my head fur.

"He's out!  Shoot!"

The other guard stands up.  Taking aim with his bow, he looses an 
arrow.  The scream from the balcony resounds with his success.  The 
assassin's bow hits the stone with a clang and he runs off.

"He's not escaping!"  The captain calls out as he finally gets from 
under cover.  "Move!  Move!  Move!"

The captain runs towards the door as he barks out his orders.  Two 
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."

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

We all bound off in seperate directions.  My feet climb the castle 
wall's stairs as fast as my legs will take them.  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 him though.

He's running towards me.

There's a small aclove here.  Perfect!  I lean up against a nearby stone 
wall and I draw my spear.  The stone outcrop hides my small body 
easily.  With my back to the wall, I begin to concentrate on the sound 
of his footsteps.  The captain and the other guards are in hot persuit.

Get ready.  

Now!

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

"Where in the he.."  is as far as his speech gets before he impacts the 
stone floor.

I drop the spear and pull my blackjack from my belt.  As he tries to get 
up, I bring the soft club down on his head.  He falls flat, his head 
smacking the stone floor hard.  

Wait.  What the...

"Andy?" I blink out in surprise.

'He's down!" The captain yells as he jumps on his legs.  Two more guards 
follow suit.  In seconds his 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 his 
head.  We need him 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."  A grin spreads through his face.  

"Welcome to the Watch."

* * * * *

My room is actually pretty nice.  It's not very large, and the 
furnishing are pretty simple.  At one side is a bed.  Next to it is a 
dresser small enough to also be a table.  At the other side is a simple 
desk made of light wood with a thin coat of varnish to smooth it out.  
But it's not what the room has that makes it so comfy.  It's what it 
does not have.  It does not have my dad.  It does not have the tainted 
smell of fear and death wafting in through the window.  And most of all, 
it doesn't have any loyalists.

I pop open the window shutter to let in autumn's soft breeze.  Time to 
satify a need I haven't filled all day.  With a two quick clicks my 
lighter is open and burning.  I hold the edge of a wrap to glowing fire 
and suck with my lips.  The gray smoke stretches free from my lips and 
drifts from the open window.

Gods, I've been needing this.

I close the lighter with another click.  A second breath of the 
wonderful drug fills my lungs.  It too blows from my nose and out the 
window.  I tap the ashes from the end of my wrap and begin to ponder 
what people here would think.  That one soldier was surprised, so I 
suppose I seem a bit young for smoking.  I was hooked on the leaves 
before I was ten.  But you simply can't risk being drunk, not in 
Lorland.  And there was no way I was not getting intoxicated after that 
first mission.  Ugh, that's a foul memory I wish I could forget.

I finish sucking on the wrap, letting the last of the grey smoke float 
from my lips.  With another practiced motion I send the unburned end out 
the window to land on the ground.  I can not forget the past, neither 
the bad nor the few bits of good.

I pull the envelope from my pouch and open it with exquisite care.  On 
the paper inside is the last letter from my mentor.

    Dear Jesreg,

    The time I had foreseen but tried to stave off has come.  The wolf 
comes to knock on my door, and I must flee or face the wrath of the 
cross and the elements.  I am sorry I could not be there in person to 
say goodbye. You were the son I never had.  I love you Jesreg.  May he 
watch over and guide you.  Failing that, may the shadows protect you.  
If that's just right out, at least you have your spear that you don't 
have yet but will soon.

    Love, Fenton.

My lips touch the paper with a kiss.  Tears well up and threaten to mar 
its surface.  "You were the dad mine refused to be.  I miss you 
already."  The paper slides back into the envelope with a crinkle and I 
shake my head.  "And now I have my spear.  How do you do it old man?"  I 
shake my head in disbelief.

It'll be safe in my desk drawer.  The draw opens easily and the envelope 
drops in.  That's funny.  There's another envelope already there.  I 
examine the writing on the front.  Wait, it's got my name on the front!  
Who could know I'm going to live here already?  A quick jerk pulls the 
chair from under the desk, and I sit down to examine the new piece of 
paper.  The envelope is thick, like it's padded and something is 
inside.  Quick paws rip the package open and out pops a ring into my hand.

It's made of silver and it has a diamond in the shape of an eye.  Set 
within it are many small emeralds that form a spiral.

Wow.  It's beautiful!  I don't want to know how much its worth.

Bah.  Screw baubles.  There's something far more important in this 
envelope.  I toss the ring aside like so much trash and rip the paper 
inside from its covering.  My paws can't open it fast enough.

It can't be.

It is!

    Dear Jesreg,

    How is Metamor Keep?  I hope you fit in well.  It will be a good 
home for you for a while.

    I know you've suspected it before, but I could never say it without 
risking their wrath.  I have the gift of foresight.  People say I'm mad, 
but I assure you I am one of a handful of sane people on this world.  If 
only they knew, but they will not listen.  They never listen.  Why can't 
they listen!

    This ring is important.  It's one of the four, and you'll need it 
against the other three.  But take care.  Around you sits a clockwork.  
It's all a matter of time.  Use the ring at the wrong time and the 
clockwork will bring the hammer against you.  Use the ring at the right 
time, and the clockwork will take the sword to your enemies.

    Take care Jesreg.  I'll write as much as I can.  You'll be able to 
write back once you learn more.

    Love, Fenton.

I can't believe it!  You aren't gone forever!  I don't have words to 
describe the relief!

Hmm.  This answers many of my questions though.  He really did know 
things and it wasn't just my imagi...

Wait.

The four?

I stare down at the ring.  It's spiraling eye glares back.

A chuckle escapes my lips, then turns into a delighted laugh.

"Gods Fenton!  I wish so dearly I could see how mad my dad is that you 
stole one of his toys!"

Still, that leaves three more in his hands.  If I'm going to use this 
ring, I should figure out how it works.  The ring feels a little loose 
on my finger and...

I see myself using the ring.  I see myself shattering a small section of 
space and time in front of me.  I see the people inside fail to move as 
time stops for them.

I see myself using the ring.  I see myself shattering a small section of 
space and time around me.  I see the people outside fail to move as time 
stops for them.

I see myself hanging on a wooden cross.  The symbol of the spiraled eye 
is nailed above my head.  I breathe my last.

I see myself using the ring.  A wolf priestess swings a holy sword 
beside me.

"Holy shit!"  

The ring drops from my hand.  I can't breathe.  It comes out as hard, 
tortured gasps.  

Focus.  Calm yourself.  Breathe.  Focus.

Okay, what the hell just happened?  Am I seeing visions now?  It was so 
real...  It felt...  It felt...  good?  Yeah, it felt good.  It was more 
intense than I expected, but not in an unpleasant way.  My eyes trace 
towards that silver ring and favorable and tempting thoughts fill my mind.

Still, I'm not sure I want to do that again just yet.

I yawn.  It is getting late and my bed is looking very comfortable.  In 
a quick motion, I get up from my chair and shuck my clothes.  Soon I'm 
in bed and resting my head on the soft pillow.  I'll deal with the ring 
tomorrow.  Afterall, tomorrow is a whole new day and I have a city to 
protect.

I intend to do a good job.

* * * * *

End