[Mkguild] MK: The Unknown Arrival -- Chapter one

[Ryan Vikedal]

Hope you guys like it, It's still a work in progress, but it's going smooth.
Vike.

 *The Unknown Arrival.*

~~ Chapter One - A Campside Revelation ~~


    "Another late night," the man breathed, as he walked down the road from
Midtown to Metamor Keep. "No horse to ride in on, no fanfare, no party. The
same, old Metamor Keep I left 50 years ago. If only this blasted journey
could go faster without my being noticed." The man, who for the purposes of
this story shall be called Vikedal, had been walking since the mountain pass
Giftum; the weather delaying him and killing his horse. "Ever since I
reached the coast," he said, "I've had nothing but rotten luck. One storm in
a hundred years, and it chooses to appear precisely when I enter the pass.
Maybe our weather mage can tell me why."

    As he continued down the road, his oh-so-cheery disposition caused many
to take pause, wondering why this man, who seemed to give many the
impression of the groundskeeper of the Keep, one not seen for 50 years,
seemed to be so downtrodden. The few who happened upon him looking forward
along the road immediately caught his eye, and as he locked eyes and nodded
to them, as he did every stranger he met, they would miss a step along their
path, noticing the long slits and fire-red coloring he had for eyes, and
hurry along to their destinations. Of course, this would cause the man to
again lock his eyes at his feet, and silently curse the long
misunderstanding of dragons outside the Keep.

    As the sun began to set a few miles down the road, he lit a small torch
and continued along his way, stringing his bow for good measure. After it
became too dark to see more than a few feet in front of the torchlight, he
decided to settle and camp along the road for the night, in a small clearing
just off the side of the path. He meticulously unloaded his small heap of
belongings, digging through his pouch for his flint and tinder, and grabbing
his water pouch, before heading out into the woods to find water and
firewood. As he was collecting his wood, however, a small crunching of
leaves caused him to take pause for a moment, remaining dead still as he
listened for, but could not find, the source of the sound. He continued
collecting the remainder of the wood he would need for the night, and headed
to a nearby creek to fill his modest water pouch.

    Again, a small crunching of brush, and a snapping of a twig, caused him
to go into an alert mode, listening for even the faintest breathing over the
burbling of the creek. Again, however, he found nothing, and continued to
fill his pouch, corking it when it was full to the brim and heading back to
where he had set up camp. He cleared a small area for a fire pit and set up
the fire, sparking it slowly, cursing the wind all the while, and wishing he
was back in the Keep, where he could simply torch a fire into existence.
Stealth, however, dictated that he keep quiet. This part of the land wasn't
exactly known for its friendliness towards dragons. He finally caught a
small ember, and shortly had a decent-sized fire going, and let it warm up
as he pitched his small one-man tent.

    Reaching into his rucksack, he pulled out a small metal container
labeled, "Food". As he dug through it, the smell of heavily preserved and
salted meats sliced through the air like a knife, and made him recoil
slightly. "Well, at least I can refresh my supplies when I get back... and
hopefully with less salt this time. I suppose that's what I get for asking
someone who doesn't know me and expects me to sail back to Metamor to
prepare my food..." As he pulled out a small wire holder, and set it and a
skillet over the fire pit, he again, heard a crackling of leaves, this time
looking immediately at it and seeing a small shadow in the darkness. Making
sure he had his bow and quiver within reach, he called, "you may as well get
over here. It's cold out there, and you look hungry."

    As the figure approached the clearing, it appeared to be a thin man,
appearing in his mid-30's and almost six feet tall, stumbling a little on
his approach. "Guess you caught me then. You're better than I thought." he
laughed, "If I'd known that I would have tried harder." Vikedal replied a
bit shortly, "My specialty is in stealth, but it wouldn't have taken someone
of my skill to catch you just then." He sighed and gestured towards the
fire, "You might as well join me, I've got more meat than I need." The man
seemed to accept this as an answer, for the moment, and approached the fire,
choosing to seat himself on a stump a little farther from the fire than was
comfortable. As Vikedal threw two hearty slabs of meat on the skillet, they
loudly sizzled and began popping, and Vikedal quickly grabbed a small screen
from the sack behind him and threw it over the meat.

    The man thought to himself, "I wonder if he's skittish about magic. I
suppose I could pretend I have none, but it may get awkward. Perhaps a small
test?" and he pulled a small canteen out of seemingly nowhere, plain to
Vikedal's sight. Vikedal didn't even flinch at the sudden appearance of the
bottle, and the man raised an eyebrow at Vikedal. "Not many would be that
comfortable if something had just appeared in front of them, Mr...?" he
trailed off, waiting for a response. "Vikedal's the name. Just Vikedal, and
I've got my reasons," he said, looking up for the first time at the man,
revealing his fiery red eyes, and subtly using a small amount of magic to
see the man's aura. "Ah, um... I'm Kit. Kit Calico, but most just call me
Kit," he said, looking down slightly before continuing, "Umm... could you
stop looking at me like that? It sorta itches..." "Most don't like me
looking at them, something to do with my eyes." Vikedal said, looking away a
little embarrassed. "Call it my mark of shame outside of... my home." "And
where is that," Kit inquired. "For the last fifty years, an uncharted
continent far to the west." "Fifty years? You don't look nearly that old."
Kit replied a bit suspiciously. Vikedal snorted. "Says the wizened, ancient
30-year-old mage," he snapped back sarcastically.

    Kit just laughed. "True enough," he said, moved on. "So, you do know
magic?" Kit asked. "A fair bit," he replied, "but I rarely use it outside
the-- my home, and even less so out here. We aren't the best understood of
creatures." Kit looked at Vikedal inquisitively at the mid-sentence pause,
but, for the moment, dismissed it and said instead,  "Pardon my asking,
but... 'We'? Aside from the eyes, you look normal to me." The word 'look'
was emphasized a little, but not noticeably so. "Yeah," Vikedal replied,
"aside from the eyes, I'm trying to look as normal as possible. However,
I've learned through the years that as cliched as it sounds, normal is
overrated." As he reached into his bag to get a fork and turn the meat, Kit
said, "Overrated as it is, you still haven't answered my question." "Hmm...
True," Vikedal said, "Alright, fair enough. I'm a dragon."

    Kit paused mid-breath with the water canteen still in his mouth as he
stared at his fireside companion. After a moment or two he resumed drinking,
and re-corked the canteen. After he swallowed he said a bit thoughtfully,
"Well I must say I didn't see that one coming. Although I suppose it does
explain some things..." Vikedal looked at the mage cautiously. "Things? What
things? I didn't think anything was giving me away." Kit froze in place,
eyes wide as he tried to come up with an explanation. "Umm... well.... the
eyes!" he said, grasping at the most obvious oddity available. "And your
age! You look no older than I do, but you speak of fifty years as a casual
thing." Having found an explanation, Kit visibly calmed down. With a panic
attack like that there was no way Vikedal would believe him, but he had a
cover to stick to now if pressed.

    "I'll take that as 'it's personal' and leave it at that; got it," he
said, eyeing Kit curiously, "although don't freak out so much. It's not like
I'm going to kill you or anything; it's that impression that makes humans
hate us already!" As he turned the meat, he noticed that it was approaching
rare and heating fast, so he pulled his chunk off of the skillet and asked,
"How well do you want it?" "Medium rare'll do," Kit said. As he cooked the
meat a little further, he asked Kit, "Just what are you doing out here
anyways? It's not like I'm obvious from the road or anything." "I just like
to travel," said Kit, "And I wanted to see how long I could go without you
noticing me. I didn't last very long did I?" "Not in as many words, no," he
said, laughing a little and pulling the meat off of the skillet onto another
plate. Kit nodded, "But mostly I was just curious. You seemed odd and I
wanted to know more." Vikedal thought about that for a moment but decided to
ignore it as under the 'personal' thing. Instead he withdrew from his bag
another set of cutlery and handed it and the plate to Kit. "I'm afraid I
don't have much for seasoning. A little fresh pepper, that's it," Vikedal
said, setting the small pepper pouch next to him and getting up to kick over
the skillet and holder.

    As he sat back down onto his log, he looked at Kit and said, "I hope you
don't mind," as his face and head pulled and shifted into a dragon-like
snout and ears, and he began digging into his meat. "It's easier for me to
eat this way." As he began to eat his slab of meat, Kit stared in
fascination for at least five minutes as the dragon-man continued to eat. As
he finished, he looked over at Kit, oblivious, and said "You should eat that
before it gets cold." Kit nodded mindlessly and started to lift the first
bite to his mouth, but continued to stare until Vikedal had finished eating,
hitting his cheek once or twice before finding his mouth. Once Vikedal had
finished and shifted back into a more human form, Kit payed more attention
and finished as well before looking back over and asking "You're heading for
the Keep, aren't you?" Vikedal looked amazed, and said "How did you know
that was my home?" Kit smirked and waved his fork at Vikedal triumphantly.
"You said something about appearing normal in your home, and the only place
where people look like you is the Keep!" A confused look crossed Vikedal's
face. "What do you mean, 'Look Like Me', I'm one of the only dragons at the
Keep!" Kit smiled, as though a bolt of lightning had struck in his head, and
said "50 years, that's right. You'll see." As Vikedal opened his mouth to
continue further, Kit silenced him with a dismissing wave of his fork and
said, "Trust me, you'll find out. Call it my little surprise. I just came
from there."

    Vikedal nodded uneasily, accepting the answer for the time being. As he
began to unpack his belongings that he'd need for the night, however, he
noticed one small problem. "Uhm, Kit," he began, looking down at his
belongings, "My tent only has room for one." But as he turned around and
looked, he saw a rather colorful two-person tent that seemed to shift color
as he watched. "I've got it covered," Kit replied. Vikedal turned and placed
his blanket and straw pad inside the tent, and hung his bow and quiver on a
small loop inside the tent at the top. "Why do you always have that bow
within reach," Kit asked curiously. "It's my only weapon that I'm skilled
with. I mean, I have knives and such in my traveling cloak and in my tunic,
but I was never very skilled with a knife. I really only mastered the art of
the bow." He was, as always, understating the truth. He could defend himself
well enough in close combat with a knife or dagger, but when he had throwing
knives or a bow, he could easily hit a target at 100 meters with a knife,
and easily 300 meters or more with a bow.

    "Neat," Kit replied, while still setting up his own tent. Vikedal went
over to the fire with his blanket, and set it down so that it was curled
about a foot away all around the fire pit. As Kit turned and saw him setting
up his blanket, he muttered, "Why did I never think of that?" "What,"
Vikedal said, cocking an eyebrow at him, "You never thought of warming your
blanket on a cold winter night?" He sounded a bit surprised as Kit didn't
seem to be stupid. "Well, never around a fire," Kit said," I always just
warmed it when I curled it around me or with magic. Your way seems better
and more efficient." That made more sense to Vikedal so he continued, "A
kindly stranger along the road back near Sanctuary,  North of the Great
Barrier Mountains, taught me that one." Kit's eyes widened a little at the
mention of it, "Sanctuary? Wow, you do get around." "I've had time to get
pretty much everywhere around Metamor." Kit's eyes widened even more at
that. "Everywhere? Just how old are you?" Vikedal sighed at the mention of
his age, and began ticking away on his fingers, "Let's see, The elves were
in the Keep when I found it.... well, I stopped counting at around two
hundred and fifty thousand years, so... that makes me around three hundred
thousand, give or take a century or two."

    "Wow, you're practically ancient!" Kit exclaimed with amusement before
looking over at Vikedal and catching a glare from him. "I'm not that old.
For my species, I'm only about thirty or so." "Well, I guess that makes you
a wizened, ancient thirty-year-old, now doesn't it?" Kit replied, smiling.
"Touch=E8," Vikedal said, laughing. As Kit crawled into his tent, Vikedal w=
ent
over and put all of his equipment in the back of his tent, then retrieved
from his rucksack a large, square piece of normal-looking green cloth.
However, as he threw the cloth over his tent and hammered down pegs into the
corners, Kit noticed that the cloth seemed different.

    Upon closer inspection, he realised he could see Vikedal, on the other
side of the tent, through the cloth. "An invisibility cloak?!" Kit
exclaimed. "Not really," Vikedal explained, "Just a piece of fabric that
mimics the surrounding environment. Not invisibility, per se, just for
hiding." "Mine does that too if someone gets too close, but it just blends
in. Yours is just awesome!" Kit said admiringly, looking over the cloth
again. Vikedal snorted, "Yeah, but if someone's really looking for you,
they'll find you under this anyway. It just helps keep thieves out of my
stuff while I'm asleep." Vikedal retrieved his canteen and put out the fire,
then crawled into his tent, saying, "One more day. one more day of travel to
the Keep."

    Falling asleep, however, proved harder than it should have been. It
started with thinking about Kit's comment. Soon, that grew to the, "I wonder
if something happened," the, "maybe dragons invaded the Keep," and the
ever-cheerful, "what if everyone there is dead." Eventually, he did fall
into a light, albeit fitful, sleep. As he awoke the next morning and crawled
out of his tent, he looked around and saw that Kit was gone. "Sneaky
bugger... I'll have to catch him next time he comes to the Keep." As he
rolled up and packed his tent and supplies, he heard the noisy bustling of
caravans nearby. "I guess I wasn't that far from the road," he thought to
himself, taking a drink of water before throwing his gear onto his back and
chewing thoughtfully on a bit of dried meat. Walking back onto the road, he
found himself a bit more cheerful, but even that was quickly extinguished as
people saw his eyes again, and their hurried whispers only reminded him of
how much he wanted to be home.
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