[Mkguild] New MK Character and new MK quickie story!

[Chris]

I love it! A great little story!

:)

   Chris
   The Lurking Fox



-----Original Message-----
From: mkguild-bounces at lists.integral.org
[mailto:mkguild-bounces at lists.integral.org] On Behalf Of Michael Bard
Sent: Wednesday, October 08, 2008 6:06 PM
To: mkguild at lists.integral.org
Subject: [Mkguild] New MK Character and new MK quickie story!

I got the details on my second Mk character up on the Wiki at
http://mkworld.wikidot.com/characters:roger .  To celebrate at this, I
figured I'd better write a story where Roger has a starring role!  So,
below
is the finished product awaiting the guild's approval!



This would be set in Oct/Nov 707-- whichever seems best.



Michael Bard



--------------------------------------------



A Day or Two in the Life



Roger twisted an eyestalk and glared.  The thing was still there.  It
had
nagged at him in the week it'd taken him to work the length of this
section
of the garden.  One little weed, a dandelion it looked like, growing out
of
a crack in the bottom of a walkway arch.



It had tasked him!  And now he would have it!



With that, he put his hoe back into its rack on his shell, and began a
slow
movement towards the offending weed.



The sun rose.  The garden warmed.  Dew glistened.  The weed got closer.



A bunch of children ran into the garden.  "You there!  Careful of the--"
Roger winced as they trampled through a bed of daisies.  Damn children!
Never watching where they're going!  He pulled out the hoe and shook it
at
them.  "You just wait!  I'll catch you and then--"



The children laughed and fled, their last act being to throw a
straw-stuffed
ball that bounced off of Roger's shell.  He thought about spending an
hour
going back to pick it up, but he was going to take care of that damn
weed if
it killed him!



That night he slept, almost below the arch, curling up into his shell
where
he was nice and warm, dreaming of tomorrow when he would deal with the
damn
weed once and for all!



Waking up, he took a long gulp from the canteen on his shell.  Almost
empty -- hopefully the supply run would meet him today.  He hated living
off
of dew.  Behind him his trail glistened in the dawn sunlight.  Some rain
would be nice.  The gardens could really use it.



Crawling up and onto the pebbled walkway, the individual stones
scratching
against his foot, he cleaned up the edging as he crawled by.  He hated
going
on stone -- a few feet were fine, but after a while, the tickling just
became annoying.  And it would be a largely wasted day today too, as
he'd be
out of range of any of the thousand other maintenance tasks that needed
doing.



It was halfway to noon by the time he reached the fieldstone wall and
started crawling up it.  Fieldstone was much more comfortable --
smoother,
kind of a silky top.  He didn't mind it.  Grass was still better.  At
least
it wasn't like the time he had to go into the rosebushes that one time.
He
shuddered, his eyestalks jerking back and forth.  Better not think of
that.



The sun made the stone pleasantly warm by the time it was vertical in
the
sky.  He tasted the air, yes, winter was definitely on the way.  Not for
a
few months yet, but he'd better start heading back for home now.  He
hated
being stuck in hibernation through the winter.  His shell was /still/
bruised from the assault last winter when he'd been used as a bowling
ball
to break up some lutin formations.  Or so they'd told him later when
he'd
awoken with a splitting headache.



Half way up now.  The weed was almost within reach.  He could see it,
taunting him, ridiculing him, messing up /his/ nice gardens.



Ironshod boots clattered on the stone below, and something inhuman and
lutin
like growled, turning at bay.  How had /he/ gotten loose inside the
keep?
Roger just prayed that the curse wasn't mutating.  He had /enough/
trouble
keeping the roses subspecies properly cross pollinated.



Almost at the weed now.  Almost--



More voices, and Roger watched through one eye stalk as a giant fox taur
bounded into the archway, horrid axe swinging.  The lutin had time for
half
a scream before his head was cloven off, and that damned Misha starting
hacking off the ear for a trophy.



"Who's going to clean up that blood?  You're the one who spilled it!"



"You all right?" Misha asked.



Roger grumbled and turned away and glared at the hateful weed.  So
close.
He turned back to Misha, and waved his hoe.  "You just clean that up,
you
hear!"



Misha snorted, finished his grisly work, and dragged the lutin corpse
off.



Youth these days.  Not so much as a thank you!  Hmph!



And-- ah hah!  He'd made it!  Take that you damn weed you!  Thought you
could get away from me, did you?



With that, Roger pulled out a short shovel and dug the weed out of the
crack
it was growing in, making sure to get all of the root.  Last thing he
needed
was for the damn thing to grow back.



Holding the battered weed up, or was that down since he was now almost
at
the top of the arch, Roger turned his eyestalks towards the setting sun.
"Victory!"



A few birds cawed annoyedly in the distance.



Roger curled up to sleep.  Tomorrow he'd get back down, pick up any
scraps
of bone or flesh that that pest Misha had left, and then he'd go back
and
get that ball.



Damn kids--



END


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