[Mkguild] Noname, Part 3

[George Holmstrom]

Here is part three of this little tale. Still uncertain of the canon...but I guess I shall see in time. Any comments and suggestions are quite welcome. Thanks to Kit for mentioning the soul bit, because it made me have the idea for the latter half of this piece. As for answering your questions...some of them may be answered by this part. 


O   O   O 




Part 3



"The best darn blade you ever
laid eyes on," Noname said, rubbing a finger across the flat of
the sword. 

In truth, he doubted this, yet crossed-eye female
and wolverine male who were his audience let a gleam appear in their
eyes. This could have been the reflection of the sword, though Noname
knew better than that. He knew the flash of interest when he saw it,
he was a spinner of those looks, and getting that look was the
toughest part. 

He continued his spiel, keeping his focus on
not scratching at his fake beard. He stole glances at the wolverine
from time to time, musing at the claws. Sure, it also had on a thick
leather jacket and spear strapped its back, but the claws were the
unsettling thing. In all his travels and selling of 'quality' wares,
he didn't see many wolverines, or animals of this sort. This was a
strange part of the land where this sorta thing "just happened"
and Noname was never one to let little details like a customer being
a large animal standing on two paws be a deterrent. 

The woman
was merely frayed and soggy. An archetype which towns the country
over were plagued with. 

"How's the balance?" the
wolverine asked, in a deep, pounding voice. 

Noname had
expected something about "if it could cut through a deer
carcass" but he took the inquiry in stride. He balanced it on
his palm, "Impeccable balance, my good sir." He kept vague,
just hoping that confidence would be properly settled in his trained
tone. 

"And what's you name again?" the wolverine
asked.

Not a good question. Noname could not sense that there
was suspicion in the wolverine's demenior. Then again, he didn't know
what to look for. Snarling, perhaps? 

"Sir Leppersop,
Merchant of Weapons and Wares," Noname stated, flashing a grin
dripping confidence. He didn't really know his name. As long as he
remembered, he had been spinning up new ones. Every new ware, he
usually changed over his identity and papers, unless problems arose
in midrun and he was figured out. He had been going through the
pattern for so long, flipping off item after defective item, putting
on disguise after ingenious disguise, he forgot who he was before he
had done this. He only had a rough outline of what he really looked
like. Ratty brown hair, long and pointed features, lanky limbs, and
smoky gray eyes. All these could be changed in moments to whatever
his fancy. Anything to keep from being himself and on the move.
"Noname" is what he called himself in his mind, and it was
the closest had had to a real name, and he liked it that way. 

This
appeared to appease the wolverine, who sniffed, then waved a paw for
him to carry on. Noname couldn't keep his eyes off the claws, and
wondered how long he could keep flipping, before someone saw through
it all, and gutted him

The wolverine bought a claymore. The
woman bought a saber and a cutlass. Noname hurried off, to sell a few
more blades, before heading off before said blades broke.

O
  O   O

Now, in the present, the wolverine didn't
gut him as much as full out punch him in the nose. 

Blood
dripped from Noname's ferrety nose. It seeped into the sable fur of
his paws, which tried, and failed, to stifle the flow. Despite this,
he gave a grin up at the wolverine, and with a nasal voice, said,
“Guess I deserved that, eh?”

The wolverine cracked his paw
with a flex. 

Noname felt lucky. As least the fellow hadn't
used his claws. Or worse, used those jaws to rip him a new one. 

A
new one of what, he didn't want to consider. 

Monty was
bringing him around to meet various Metamor denizens, and with each
new introduction, the caribou's flourished description of Noname's
devious deeds gained more notoriety in the narrative. There was
something to be said of his flair, that was for sure. Still, the
conclusion of each introduction did not fare well in his opinion of
the story in total. He was certain, that under the fur, each kick,
punch and bite was causing much bruised discoloration. 

Soreness
flared when the caribou slapped him on the back, “Ah, you were a
busy weapons dealer those few weeks, weren't ya?”

“Apparently,”
Noname sighed. He swore that since word got out, there were actually
people seeking him out to give him a good one, whether he had sold
them a weapon or not. The child who had kicked him in the gonads had
been notably below the belt. The words of George echoed in his mind.
Was what he did really all that bad? 

True, the beasts who
injured him didn't appear to have any extension of anger past the
first hit. After that, they gave their names, tipped their helmets,
and were on their way. Noname had expected more of a haunting grudge,
or at least longer bits of pummeling. 

By this time, Noname
believed he would have taken one long bout of pummeling instead of
this drawn out game of introduction and pow. He wanted to ask if they
were done yet...but if they were done, that didn't necessarily mean
that they would go back to the bed, it meant the unknown. 

Which
is when they went out into the courtyard.. With the fur, the cold
didn't quite hit him, except for a little nibbling on the nose which
caused his whiskers to twitch. His paws crunched on the snow. It took
a moment for his eyes to adjust to the white and when they did, he
stopped. Along one end of the court yard, perhaps a dozen figures
stood, each fiddling with something in their respective hands or
paws. Something quite and round shaped. He turned to go back inside,
just in time for the door to slam and latch. The caribou smiled and
waved from the window next to it. Noname gaped. 

He looked
back at the figures. Vaguely familiar as more customers. How many
bloody blades had he sold? He whipped the back of his paw on his
nose, trying to rub the dried blood that now tickled his nostrils.
Noname gave a weak wave at the figures. They waved cheerfully back.
He looked for an escape. So, arches, walkway, right across, if he
could get there, he could get to the door at the Southwest corner
and...

Impact. Off his feet, he whirled, limbs flailing, body
bending about, and he landed on all four paws, cocked and ready. This
startled him. He had fully expected to land on his snout. He stared
down the figures. Snowball arms went back. He tapped into the parts
of his mind he had been trying to push away. The edges that had put
those “shiny” thoughts into his mind earlier. What was it called?
Instinctual residue? Let's see how it works. 

The next moments
flowed together. His body flowed with it. Every bend his spine was
capable of, he used to its greatest extent. He spun about the snow.
Backwards, forwards, sideways, letting his body react to the
snowballs aimed at him. At the same time pushing himself towards the
arcs. He felt himself becoming a blur, a snowy fuzzsnake following
the ley lines of chaos. It was a thrill he had never quite
felt...except when conning. He could get used to this. 

Until
he started the change, that was. 

Snowballs kept flying as his
swoops turned jagged and his body twitched, shifted, and flowed. His
running became awkward and crooked over the snow. He heard cloth
ripping and felt digits extending as they grappled forward, membranes
accompanying their growth, until he was actually catching the air. As
he was in a fragmented state of mind, his inner-polecat taking care
of his motions, this incarnation of a new creature, took hold of the
instincts, as flatten nose, fangs, and ears expanded. 

Before
he could even figure how what he was, he had managed flight, his
wings pulling him up, towards the dusty clouds of a gloomy winter
day, over the courtyard, forth, to freedom and...

The snowball
hit him, hard, across the head. He tumbled out of the sky, hitting a
stone wall before landing in a snowbank, a mix of fur and wings. 

O
   O    O

“A bat,” the mage said. At
least, Noname thought he was a mage. The dark cloak, the murmuring
under his breath, and magic runes seen at a glance sketched in the
notepad, sorta gave Noname that impression. He really couldn't even
tell what species the creature was, due to his faded vision and a
well-placed hood, but he felt it was impolite to ask.  Noname
couldn't even recall if the mage had given a title. Ah, he would just
plod forward. 

“No really? I wouldn't have figured out that
myself...considering the wings and all,” Noname said. 

“No
need to be snippy,” the mage said, paws waving the air over
Noname's body, “You are not in the position to be talking back to
anyone at this point.”

“You mean there's more people who
want to hit me? I didn't sell that many weapons in this place.”

“I'd
be more scared of the status of your soul. You do have one, don't
you?”

Odd question. Noname never considered souls that much.
Souls were part of the unknown while Noname stuck with the certain,
played with real factors that affected real things. Anyways, if he
thought about souls to much, he always figured he would start
thinking about religion and then he would start thinking about a
moral system outside his own. He didn't want to bother with new
morals, those were troublesome in the life of a con artist. Once he
started getting morals, all of his actions with halt having that
sense of fun. 

“Why?” Noname asked. A good response to
anything. It either made the opposing force fumble, or it made an
undesirably truth to come forth. No matter how much of an echo the
response came over through his now oversized ears. 

“Your
aura is decidedly muddled. Very hard to read, and I'm not certain why
that is so. I'm pretty certain you are not a demon, but you seem to
have...something off with your soul. This might require a second
opinion. Monty gave me that list you filled out and it intrigued me.
So, as a con artist, you took on these identities, correct?”

“Of
course, that's how I played the game...no offense,” Noname added,
wary of being hit for his flippancy again.”

“And what, may
I ask, comes after Senderjay.”

Noname tried rubbing his
chin, but just ended up putting his wing over his face. That reminded
him out disoriented he felt laying on the bed like this. With the
wings and his body shape and... “Hey, sorry to impose, but, could I
hang from that wall sconce, please. I think it would let me think
clearer.”

Monty came forth, and lifted Nonone up so his
could latch his feet onto the sconce. He took the time to bop Noname.
“Nice try escaping back there.”

“I was not escaping. I
don't know why you always assume the worse of me, Monty. We started
off so well,” Noname said, trying for some genuine innocence. It
was hard being genuine with just a con-man front and the words felt
off as they left his maw. 

“Just be glad I'm still good at
making snowballs with hoofs,” he said, wiggling his odd digits.


“Ah, nice aim then.”

The caribou rolled his eyes
and moved back to the door. 

Noname stretched his wings out,
then folded them about him. It felt snug. He turned back to the mage.
“After Senderjay must have been...the bait dealer, Mr. Vlad Black.
Quirky fellow. Fixated on bug harvesting with his special fertilizer.
But worked perfect in that fishing community. Complete lured them in
to take the bait, pardon my pun.”

The mage squinted at
Noname. “Excuse me, you speak about Mr. Vlad Black as if he were a
real person.”

“Of course he was,” Noname said. 

The
mage's mouth opened partway then closed. This happened a few times,
as if he were trying to catch some words that wouldn't quite emerge.
“You mean, in a confidence man sense. That you made him real,
correct?”

“Oh yes. I did that. But he was also a real
person. You did look through my pack, didn't you?”

“Yes.”

“You
found the scroll compartment, correct?”

“...no.”

The
mage clicked his claws at Monty. The details of the fellow seemed
hazy somehow, as if he couldn't quite get the details right. In fact,
all details were blurred somewhat, and yet clear at the same time.
Noname came to the realization he was actually letting of a little
squeak every few moments, which  gave details of motion about him
clarity, but not quite the subtle details of features. Must be a bat
thing, he mused. 




He
could easily hear the mage request that the pack be brought
immediately. Ah, these ears were more useful than he thought. He
didn't know the significance of this, but it was fun seeing the
mage's tail twitch. The mage began to pace, never taking his eyes of
Noname. Noname stared back, with eyes half lidded. 

“What is
on this scroll, exactly.”

“Nothing interesting, actually,
but it does hold the secret of my success. I value a good cover, but
the tricky part is playing out a believable cover by just a matter of
throwing together details. You need to have a foundation of
legitimacy about you. That's why that scroll has been so useful over
the years.”

“But what is it?”

“As I said,
nothing much. It just an exhaustive account of a town from a couple
centuries back. Lays out every single resident of the town, what they
were like, what they thought, what their occupations were. It's a
con-man's dream to have such a solid resource to play off. I've just
picked one of the people referenced and played the part as best I
could.” Noname knew he should be feeling more wary of giving away
all his secrets. At this point though, what did he have to lose?


The pack arrived and the mage patted about it until he found
the scroll. He carefully pulled out the yellowed parchment and
unrolled it. He stared down at the rough writing. “Where did you
find this?” the mage said, at a whisper, not looking up from the
inked words. 

Noname gave an upside down shrug. “As I
recall, it was one of my earliest scams. Not a very inspired one. An
old man dropped the scroll and I picked it up. So it goes. I'd
learned to read from one of the more sane fellows at the orphanage. I
got the idea to be a beggar boy from reading about one in there. My
career started from there. You're really interested in my life story,
aren't you?”

“Not exactly,” the mage said, scrolling
further through the document. “I may have heard of the town this
came from.”

“Famous town?” Noname inquired, not certain
of the grim expression on the mage's face.

“More infamous.
Rumors say that this town, Northcrest, was wiped away by the rage of
a dark wizard. Some say they were sent to burn in the underworlds,
some say they were sent to paradise, and yet other say their souls
are stuck between worlds, never to find peace.”

Noname
didn't like the sound of that. He repositioned himself on his perch.
“What does that mean?”

“The Curse may not be
predictable, but it is fairly consistent. One thing that is certain,
when it choose a fate for a soul, it sticks with it.”

“Does
it have to do with my various identities?” Noname asked.

The
mage rubbed his chin. “On a normal circumstances, I wouldn't
believe that to be so, and even now, I do not believe it so. The
problem lies is that you may have unwittingly found yourself a
magically charged document with highly bombastic
consequences.”

Noname did not like the use of “bombastic”
in that statement. He used his wing to gesture the mage to continue.


The mage took a breath. “The Curse usually affects a soul,
and considering the circumstances and the evidence, over the course
of your quote-unquote 'career' you may have taken on the souls of
those figures you played. Have you ever felt yourself getting lost in
an identity, doing things without thought?”

Noname gaped.
Every. Single. Time. He had always assumed that was how he played the
game. Completely putting himself into the part, playing every detail
down to twitching his nose or scratching of an ear. Every part fell
so natural until he wasn't even certain what his actual reaction
would be if he were not playing the part. He stared at the mage a
long time. 

“There's one other thing. You said in Metamor
your name was Leppersop, correct?”

Noname nodded dumbly.


“How many identities are you before you get to
Leppersop?”

“Ur...one more.”

“I have a worry.
You see, with all these souls that have gathered around you, I am not
getting a clear reading of a central soul, to the point of which, I
am not certain if it either hidden, or damaged, or just not there.
Feeling for souls is an imperfect procedure, but you must understand,
you are in a dangerous position. I am not sure what will happen once
you get past Leppersop. Since so far it seems that each form is the
soul of a person you've portrayed...I'm not certain where it shall
all stop.”

“What does that mean?” Noname didn't really
want to ask.

“Either you end up with final, solid, version
of the Curse...or you shall wink out of existence. Have a nice day.”



 		 	   		  
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