[Mkguild] An Old Beginning

[Kit]

Aha! I've been waiting for an old coot character to come to MK! I thought
I'd have to bring in one myself! Those old fellows that that never stop
reminissing about their glory days and have probably gone just a little bit
insane, but could still beat you down with their walking canes! ^.^ There's
just something about those guys that I love, whether famous like Yoda and
Gandalf, or not quite so famous like the guardian of the gate from Stardust.
I look forward to reading the crazy adventures of this Oonsus fellow, and
now I won't have to make my own ^_^. (Poor fellow wasn't going to get his
youth back anyway, I was either gonna turn him into a crone or a platypus,
heavily leaning towards platypus.)

Kit

On Fri, May 15, 2009 at 6:12 PM, Logan Zoel <nagolinc at hotmail.com> wrote:

>  Hi guys!
> This is my first Metamor story.  Wanted to give some background for my ma=
in
> character and also set the tone.
>
> "An Old Beginning"
>
> Oonsus Koguja stared glumly into a now half-empty pitcher. Inside was *
> kurbus*, a type of spiced cider that gained its distinctive taste from a
> relative of the mustard plant that grew only in his native valley.
> Occasionally a large salty tear would make its way down Oonsus's face,
> dripping off of his nose and into his drink.
>
> "Why the long face, ol' chap?" the bartender asked, addressing Oonsus.
>
> "Who you calling old?" Oonsus demanded, raising a wizened eyebrow.
>
> His eyebrows, which matched his hair, were almost completely white. Sever=
al
> patches of eyebrow were missing where long scars ran across Oonsus's
> forehead and down his face.
>
> "I suppose you were just born with them there white hairs on your head,
> then?" the barkeep suggested.
>
> "Do you mean to make some kind of insinuation based off of my appearance?"
> Oonsus demanded, seeming much more alert than he had just a moment ago.
>
> "I didn't mean any offense by it," the barkeep said defensively. "It's
> just... well... anyone can see... you're--how shall I say-- past your
> prime... at the very least..."
>
> "Past my prime!?" Oonsus demanded angrily, standing up from the stool he
> had been sitting up and leaning over the counter towards the barkeep. "Wh=
o's
> saying I'm past my prime? Why I'll teach any one of you young
> whippersnappers a lesson you won't forget 'till next Tuesday if you think
> you're boy enough to take an old man like me..."
>
> As Oonsus spoke, he looked around the mostly empty bar shaking his finger
> warningly.
>
> "Easy there old-timer," the barkeep said, trying to calm the obviously
> intoxicated Oonsus. "Just because you're no spring chicken doesn't mean a=
ny
> of us be wantin' to pick a fight with ya."
>
> "You can bet a fistful o' gold this big you don't," Oonsus said, stretchi=
ng
> out his hand expansively for emphasis. "Why I've fought in more wars than
> most of you have probably ever even heard of..." he trailed off
> nostalgically. "I've fought on the Flatlands, the Holy Lands, the
> Midlands--north, south and outer--I've even fought in Rukilia--somewhere
> none of you probably never even even heard of..."
>
> Suddenly one of the bar's few other patrons--a middle aged man with a
> formidible gut--interjected himself into the conversation.
>
> "If you're such a great fighter and all, what you doing here in the
> boringest part of the world that there is...?" the middle-aged man asked
> contentiously.
>
> "Now, now, now," the bartender interjected, cutting off the middle-aged
> man, who was also noticeably under the influence. "No need to be picking
> fights... I just replaced these here bar-stools, and I don't need them
> broken all over again..."
>
> "Nah, no need to worry about that," Oonsus said, sitting back down and
> waving his hand casually as if chasing away flies. "I know there's no sen=
se
> in fighting over it... and even less sense denying it... I have gotten a
> little... what did you call it? Oh, yes... old."
>
> "Old?" the middle-aged man countered, waving his empty beer mug in the air
> as if for emphasis. "Calling you 'a little old' is a bit like calling the
> Patriarch a moderately religious fellow, bless his soul... Face it, you've
> got one foot in the grave already. The only thing standing between you and
> the pagan hells is a good fright..."
>
> "And you'll be the one to give it to him, is that it, eh?" the barkeep
> interrupted, looking the middle-aged patron straight in the eye. "'Cause
> last time I checked, intentionally scaring a man to death still counts as
> murder in this here earldom."
>
> "Didn't mean anything by it," the middle-aged patron said defensively.
> "Certainly don't mean to kill the old chap... After all, he's still good =
for
> a laugh now and again. How about another round of spiced cider, then? One
> for me and one for him..."
>
> "No, you've had enough," the barkeep refused.
>
> "For him then at least," the middle-aged patron suggested. "I'll pay for =
it
> myself to amend the offense..." Pulling a silver coin from his pocket, he
> held it up for the barkeep to inspect.
>
> "No," the barkeep repeated a second time, pushing back the coin. "Not that
> it's any of your business, but he's had more than enough for the night
> too..."
>
> "Enough what?" Oonsus demanded, obviously eavesdropping in on the
> conversation between the barkeep and the middle-aged patron. "I'll tell y=
ou
> what I've had enough of... I've had enough of this stale, soggy, worn-out,
> good-for-nothing, dilapidated life... that's what I've had enough of...
> enough of these tired muscles and squeaky bones and eyes that don't see
> right...enough of the long lonely nights and the aches and pains of getti=
ng
> up every morning... enough of this Eli forsaken life where everyone and
> everyone mocks me 'cause they can see I'm already done for... I'll tell y=
ou
> what I've had enough of! I've had enough of being OLD!"
>
> Oonsus's rant may as well have been a soliloquy. Neither the barkeep nor
> the other patrons paid him any attention. This wasn't his first time at t=
his
> bar, and most of the regulars knew there was no stopping him once he got =
on
> a track like this. Responding would only encourage him. Those who weren't
> regulars guessed well enough to play along. They had seen old men cry in
> their beer before. After all, life here wasn't exactly easy on those who
> could no longer support themselves and had no relatives to watch after th=
em
> in their old age. Most of them just hoped that their fortunes would turn =
out
> better than Oonsus's appeared to have.
>
> "You know what I wish..." Oonsus blathered on, ignored by all. "I wish...
> just for one day... that I could be young again... I wish... just once, y=
ou
> know... that I could take a walk without having to deal with the crick in=
 my
> back, or the pain in my neck, or the ache in my knees, or the pain in my
> feet. I just want to be a kid again... I just want to go on a trip and not
> worry about whether I'd drop over in a ditch somewheres along the way... I
> just want to live again.. just a little... you know... just a little bit.=
.."
>
> "Hey, old chap," the middle aged man interrupted--breaking the unspoken
> rule of silence. "If you're so keen on being young and all, why don't you
> check out Metamor?"
>
> A dead silence took over the entire bar at the mention of the name
> "Metamor". Before, the other patrons had stayed silent because they didn't
> want to get involved. Now, a different kind of silence gripped them all.
> Even to speak of that ill-fated valley was said to carry such a curse that
> none risked dare it. None that is, except a middle-aged man in a drunken
> argument with an old mercenary--too drunk, apparently, to stay within even
> the most reasonable of socially-imposed boundaries.
>
> "Metamor?" Oonsus asked, blinking several times, taking a moment to regain
> his train of thought after being pulled out of his mindless rant.
>
> Merely by repeating the name, Oonsus deepened the silence that had
> overtaken the bar tenfold. One did not speak of such things; when others
> chose to speak, however, most men thought it worth their while to listen.
> The memories of such conversations haunt all men's dreams.
>
> "You know, the valley that leads to the Giantdowns," the middle age man
> said, explaining that which needed no explaining. "Surely you've heard of
> it..."
>
> "Heard of it, yes," Oonsus agreed. "Damnnedest place on the face of this
> Eli-forsaken world, if you want my opinion. Nothing but a bunch of talking
> animals and he-shes. Not a human soul in whole valley."
>
> Oonsus's description of Metamor Valley as the "damndest place in the worl=
d"
> was one all in the bar would agree with. The story of the Battle of Three
> Gates and Nasoj's curse was well-known throughout the whole of the Midlan=
ds
> and beyond.
>
> "Talking animals, yes," the middle-aged patron replied. "He-shes, maybe.
> But what I hear is that you go there and you've got a one-in-three chance=
 of
> being a kid again..."
>
> "Oh really?" Oonsus demanded. "And where on earth did you get such a fool
> notion into that head of yours?"
>
> "Straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak," the middle aged patron
> attempted to explain. "Met a fifteen-year old boy, only I could tell from
> the start that there was something queer about him--you known how you just
> get a feeling sometimes? Well, by and by he tells me that he used to be
> fifty, not fifteen, leastwise till he spent a week in Metamor valley?"
>
> "Let me get this straight," Oonsus pressed the middle-aged patron. "So
> you're saying that this man--err, boy-- that he went to Metamor and that =
he
> turned into a fifteen-year-old boy, and not--say a fifteen year old horse,
> judging from the difference between horse years and human years, perhaps?"
>
> "I swear on the patriarch's bald head that he was just as much a man as y=
ou
> or me, only quite a bit younger," the middle aged man defended his story.
>
> "I'd be careful how you use that language of yours!" Oonsus hollered,
> waving his mug in the middle-aged patron's face. "The patriarch ain't bal=
d,
> and even so it ain't right to swear by his head. You know what I think? I
> think you're making this whole story up. Or better, yet, some fifteen year
> old boy made it up, and you're just enough of a drunk fool to fall for it=
!"
>
> "I'd be careful who you're calling a drunken fool!" the middle aged man
> shouted in reply.
>
> At this point the barkeep saw fit to intervene. He seperated the two men
> several bar-stools from one another and gave them each a severe talking-d=
own
> to. Both quieted down and turned to nursing a quarter-mug of beer that the
> barkeep poured each of them in an effort to shut them up. Oonsus stared d=
own
> into his drink with an unusually glum, almost repentant look on his face.
>
> "What'd you say the odds of becoming young again were?" Oonsus asked in a
> half-whisper after several minutes of complete silence.
>
> "Well," the middle aged patron replied. "The boy I met said you can become
> either an animal, a woman or a kid. So the way I figure, you've got a one=
 in
> three shot of getting your youth back."
>
> "One in three's better than I got here," Oonsus said cautiously.
>
> "Sure as the pagan hells it is," the middle-aged patron agreed, he moved
> two bar-stools down to give Oonsus a friendly pat on the back.
>
> "Well then, I guess I'll be off," Oonsus said.
>
> Dropping a few copper coins on the counter as payment for his drinks, he
> stood up and started to stagger towards the door.
>
> "Hey! Where are you going?" the middle-aged man asked as Oonsus approached
> the door.
>
> "I'm off to Metamor!" Oonsus shouted.
>
> Oonsus reached down and grabbed his sword--which had been lying near the
> door to the bar--and shook it above his head, as if rallying troops to
> battle.
>
> "Wait! Come back! You can't do that!" the middle aged patron said,
> apparently having suddenly had a change of heart. "It's not safe! Metamor=
 is
> dangerous! Possessed!"
>
> Oonsus continued walking out of the bar and off into the darkness, ignori=
ng
> the middle-aged patron's shouts. Besides the barkeep and the middle-aged
> patron, nobody seemed to pay any attention as he left.
>
> "Now look what you've done," the barkeep said, looking down at the
> middle-aged patron. "You've gone and riled him up. Sure as Dvalin he'll be
> in here next week boasting about how he traveled all the way to Metamor a=
nd
> he's 15 again... And I'll see to it personally that you'll be the first o=
ne
> he whups in a fight using his new found youth..."
>
> "Hey, you shouldn't be using the name of that pagan god!" the middle aged
> patron objected. "It's not wholesome and it's not good luck. Eli frowns on
> it!"
>
> "I'll tell you what's not good luck and what Eli frowns on," the barkeep
> replied in an even tone of voice. "It's Metamor, the damndest place on
> earth."
>
>
> ------------------------------
> Windows Live=99: Keep your life in sync. Check it out.<http://windowslive=
.com/explore?ocid=3DTXT_TAGLM_BR_life_in_synch_052009>
>
> _______________________________________________
> MKGuild mailing list
> MKGuild at lists.integral.org
> http://lists.integral.org/listinfo/mkguild
>
>
-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: http://lists.integral.org/archives/mkguild/attachments/20090515/fb9956=
b5/attachment-0001.htm