[Mkguild] Noname, Part 1

[George Holmstrom]

Hullo chaps. 

Traxer here. I've been debating trying a MK story for a good while, but just haven't found the right spin. So I've just quietly watched this list for a while sampling tales here and there, getting a general sense of the setting. 

The long and the short of it, I wrote this while in Estonia this summer.. Unfinished, but it sets up a possible (if perhaps non-canon) tale. So, just laying it out so it doesn't continue to collect digital dust in my computer. Enjoy!
- Traxer
P.S. Quite sorry about that other e-mail if it goes through. I was one of those "did I press send?" moments. 

O    O    ONoname (Part 1)

Noname pulled the last strap tight and
stepped back to see his progress. Small travel bag, umbrella, drab
shirt, vest, wool pants, dark cloak, a nice amount of gold hidden in
faded leather boots. That settled his processions, besides the
indiscriminate odds and and ends throughout his cloak and bag. The
weapons had been pawned off and the cart, lonely without them, left
abandoned to find companionship elsewhere. 




One week scouting. One week selling.
That's how the deal went. Metamor had a few more quirks than the
average endeavor, but he'd played this field before. He knew the
limits. In. Out. Simple. Even his formerly black mop of hair was now
a dirty blond, and his moderate beard was reduced to a bit of
ill-shaven scruff. All bits of paunch and warts and other traits were
stored away for future mixes. Sir Leppersop was gone. He would be
Noname until he allowed a new identity to infect him. 




Noname smiled. He picked up the bag and
slipped out the door. He slipped everywhere, in, out, over, under and
through places, lives, attention, never leaving proper tracks.
Metamor had been a nice change of pace. To play not only men but
beast, who could practically smell the lies that shifted through the
frigid air. 


The smoke of his breath in that air
being snorted in by a massive elk in full winter coat (and winter
Metamor Keep uniform too), would make any conman shiver, Noname
decided. He played the ungulate well, complete with the sale of a
harpoon with steel polish special. Would have been nice for the elk
if the harpoon was actually made out of steel but … that was the
game. Selling that child a battle ax had been a highlight. Noname
smirked as he slunk down the in corridor avoiding the form of a drunk
skunk and a brooding female in hunting leathers, puffing a pipe. 




Yes, Metamor was a strange swath of the
world, but not a place to stay. Even a person such as himself, who
did not believe in place's legends and myths, found his sense of
reality shifted by merely coming here. He needed to leave. Casually.
He looked over tavern as he came down the stairs and paused. A flash
of Metamor Keep uniforms and gnashing jaws. He kept moving down. No
hesitation. Move. Confidence. 




Noname whispered this word. One of the
soldiers' ears, a grizzly bear, twitched an ear in his direction.
Noname hit the bottom of the stairs and dived under a table before he
could see if the gaze followed. How did he even know if they were
coming after him? Three big beasts from the Keep coming after him?
No, that sounded just like the sort of men to be send after him. He
started scampering. It was a talent he picked up as a young beggar
scamp. He weaved around around table legs, people legs, fuzzy paws,
stopping only when a pair of heavy hooves he recognized as elk
stalked past his location midway into the room. If anyone noticed his
under-table route, they were either too drunk or disinterested to
raise alarm. He hadn't heard any bellowing for his person, yet. 




“LEPPERSOP,” someone bellowed, as
if expecting his false sense of comfort. He froze and listened. The
soldiers were describing his appearance. His former appearance.
Noname smirked. 




A tap on his shoulder. His breath
caught. “Nice evasion tactics.” Noname turned to find a rodent
snout, whiskers, and bright eyes sharing the table he was currently
under.  “But you ought to know. If they are looking for you, they
have your scent.”



“Thanks...though, that just makes it
more fun.” 




He held out his hand, the rat morph
shook it, while nibbling on a hunk of unidentifiable foodstuff.
Nothing quite like shaking a rodent paw. Noname flashed a smile,
wavered, then asked, “That uniform. You're part of the Keep
forces?”



“Off duty.”



“Ah, wish me luck.”



The rat saluted. “Sure thing.”



Noname moved on, filing away the face
and words, and the knowing smile he could swear were on that rat's
maw. Towards the door. Table by table. No fear. The scent of fear
lured attention. First lesson in being good at being confident.
Particularly when animals were involved. Almost to the door. Just the
final few steps. Step forward. Raise up. And walk. To. That. Do– 




“HEY, YOU!” 




Only a bear could boom with a voice
like that. That phrase was one of Noname's more popularly used
titles. But Heyyoo just never sounded right except when used in
exclamation. 




Noname did the classic thing. He turned
around and stuck his tongue out. Then he ran. It was the little
details of the getaway that mattered. 




Snow did not help. Only when exited did
he know that he was going to be trying to escape in a blizzard. And
then one knows that there is at least two species in pursuit that are
built to pursue in a blizzard if necessary, they usually panic.
Noname kept positive and took in his options. There was a reason he
picked the inn. For one, it was on the edge of town. For another, he
had planned out various escape routes depending on weather. For
instance, there was a bridge, obvious choice...so...



A howl. Despite himself, Noname looked
back. Framed in the tavern door a wolf stood. A rather big wolf.
So...they send the massive winter animal squad to get him. Nice. Why
couldn't they send one of their ladies...or a kid...something
more...unpredictable? Later on, Noname would discover the mistake in
such a hope, but this was not the time. He lengthened his stride and
headed towards the bridge. Snow crunched, wind whipped into his face,
fingers numbed, he wondered why they hadn't caught up yet. He kept
looking back. Between the white flakes swirling and engulfing dark,
he couldn't tell. He should be by the bridge soon. He kept his breath
even. No need to freeze the lungs. Not far and then he could...



A wolf's furred arm came into view,
face level. A classic in stopping a good paced run. Everything went
black upon impact with the well choreographed clothesline technique. 




O   O   O



Noname awoke in a muzzy state of mind,
for he was neither in a muggy or fuzzy state, more of a strange mix
between the two. He let himself fall into a balanced sound of a groan
sigh as he clenched his hands against the sheets. Sheets. He clenched
them the other way and came in contact with the blankets above him.
The moments scampered back to his mind, the fleeting details of the
plan until one blaring thought that he must reach the bridge and...



Halfway out of the bed without his
skivvies and an unamused figure sitting on a chair next to the bed,
sheet twisted about him like a toga. The unamused figure, Noname
noted, was of a canine persuasion, Metamor Keep uniform, and the air
of authority about the furred face. 




“Sit,” the canine creature ordered.




Noname, due to habit, took the room in.
Obviously an infirmary. He remembered the wolf's arm. He felt his
sure to be broken nose only to find it not broken. He sat and got
back under the blankets. The irony of being told to sit by a canine
was not lost on him. A normal person would ask where he was, who the
canine was, what had happened and so forth. Noname did not. He
preferred finding out for himself. He waited. The canine was
obviously not a dog. Not a wolf either, as the example from the
tavern could attest. Obviously not a fox, either gray or red. Ah,
wait, lanky, pointed features, tan to black colorations, a scavenger
of some sort...jackal? Noname prided himself in such threads of
knowledge as species identification and traits. He himself was more a
figure of traits rather than stable form, so it was nice to be aware
of how many sorts of beast, both human and animal, there could be.



The jackal cleared his throat. “Glad
to see you have finally woken up.”



The word “finally” stuck Noname's
mind and slimed its way down to his consciousness. As far as he could
tell, he was in the Keep, and if he were in the Keep, he was still in
Metamor, and if he was still in the proximity of Metamor.... He
noticed his hands looked like his hands. So...



The jackal spoke again, “My name is
George, I am the Commander of Metamor Keep, and I am here to inform
you that a great many residents in and around the Keep would like to
teach you of the many and varied definitions of the word
'disembowelment.' Only through my merciful
leadership have I convinced them otherwise.”



The word 'merciful'
was not anywhere near the word that Noname would have given this
jackal from the tone in the words. He darted his gaze over the room.
He noted both entrances were guarded, one by what appeared to be a
caribou and the other by a mouse with a wicked looking spiked flail
it rocked lazily like a pendulum. Both stared back at Noname, who
waved. George seemed to have been waiting patiently for him to turn
his attention back. 




“Any
questions?” George said, looking down at a scroll in his paws,
running a claw down a list as if tracing transgressions. 




“Why
am I in trouble?” Noname asked, face the picture of innocence. 




George flicked an
ear. “Quaint,” he said, “Sale of flawed goods.”



“Oh,
is that all?”



The jackal stood
and he walked forth to the bed. Through the corner of his eye, he
could see the guards tense. George leaned down so that his whiskers
were almost touching Noname's face. “So, you think that the sale of
faulty weapons is a trivial matter. You see, weapons are dangerous
devices meant to protect one from the ever vigilant reign of Death,
and so people place much trust in weapons, whether they be sword or
club or bow or spear. Soldiers live and die by the blade of a weapon
and let me tell you, that if a weapon breaks in the prime moment of
survival, neither tooth or claw may block that moment of terror of
trust broken when it happens. So let me say this: if anyone ever
falls because of the faulty of one of your wares, you are no better
than a murderer.” 




The
jackal straightened. “And that is
all.” Then, a certain look passed over George's features, of an
expression that Noname couldn't quite catch from the angle of the
muzzle. “Perhaps, not all...” He opened the scroll, squinted at
the parchment, glanced at Noname, and handed the roll of parchment
over. Noname rolled his eyes and took a look. The speech had been
well done and all, almost made him feel guilty. Almost. But really,
Noname was a soul that it took more than someone to proclaim him a
murderer than phase him. He had been called much worse and colorful
names in his run. He read the parchment. He read it again. He made a
face. 




“You
have been unconscious for nine days,” George stated impassively,
“and at this point, you may be wondering why the curse you have
been told about as not taken effect upon you. Being as you are, you
may not know of the details of the curse or perhaps believe that it
is a fluke of illusion. I can stand here as testament that it is
not.”



Noname rose a brow.
“This is a list of animals,” he said. 




“And
I've been told one case of gender reversal and two cases of age
regressions.”



Noname stared at
the jackal, for the first time with actual perceptible and palpable
emotion. “Wait, this rubbish curse had already affected
me...multiple times?”



“No,
actually. I have been told that it is one time, only its final
stability is in question.” The jackal grinned, “Amusing really,
you've had an audience from time to time. When you were in a
wolverine form the dream motions were, for lack of a better word,
cute.” George barked laughter as he started walking away. 




Before he could
think, Noname called, “What? That's it? What's going on here?”



“Only
time shall tell,” George said, not turning back, having a very
devious sounding sing-song in the tone. Noname swore that the
jackal's tail was wagging as the caribou opened the door to let the
commander out of the room. 




O   O   O
 		 	   		  
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