[Mkguild] MK Story Journey part 1

[Christian Okane]

This story is the idea of my friend Fox Cutter who let me help him write it!

   It is set in the spring right after Winter assault


Christian O'Kane
the Lurking Fox


Metamor Keep: Journey
by
Christian O'Kane
&
Fox Cutter


   It was raining steadily by the time the woman arrived at the inn. The
rain was pattering down on her as she stood in the doorway. She was wearing
a gray cloak with the hood pulled up over her head. It disguised her form
effectively. The only parts of her that were clearly visible were the muddy
boots she was wearing and the crossbow she carried in her right hand. Above
her, swinging back and forth in the wind and rain was a sign with the image
of a squirrel and a human skull. On both sides it proudly proclaimed to the
world that here was the Squirrel & Skull inn. She didn't care about the
name, only that it offered her a warm and dry place for the night.

   The woman walked past the groom standing at the doorway without stopping.
Her horse had died days ago with a spear through its neck and therefore
there was no animal for the groom to take and stable for her.

   She opened the inn's door slowly and then stepped inside. She paused
there to shake off the rain and remove her sodden cape. It also gave her the
chance to quietly examine the room she was in for any signs of an ambush.

   The room looked like any of a dozen inns she had seen in her flight, a
bar lined with customers and a room filled with many tables and chairs. A
massive fireplace held a large, roaring fire that kept the room nice and
warm. After the cold rain the warmth of the fire was welcoming and she took
a seat at an empty table close to it. She was careful to place her back to a
wall so she could closely watch all around her. The woman dropped a battered
backpack onto the chair next to her to stop anyone from sitting there. She
wanted to keep all strangers at a distance.

   Next to the backpack she placed her buckler, the small round shield that
had saved her life so many time in the past few months. Its surface was
battered and cut all over turning the design that had been carefully painted
on it into unrecognizable scribbling. On top of the pack she placed her
crossbow and the quiver holding the bolts for it.

   The bright fire illuminated her form, for the first time revealing her to
the room. She was of average height with a build on the slim side. Her
ragged, brown hair was still wet and plastered down to her head. Her face
was warm and soft but with a weather-beaten edge to it that spoke of many
recent months spent in the outdoors. The woman's hazel eyes were alert and
darted about looking for any sign of trouble. She wore a tunic and pants
that had once been a dark blue but had long ago faded to light gray. Both
had been patched and sewn many times and looked ragged and well worn.
Beneath the clothes was the bulky shape of chain mail armor. The fabric made
of rings of interwoven steel was clearly visible at the collar and cuffs and
also peeked thru where her pants were ripped along her right leg. Dangling
from a plain leather belt was a scabbard whose short length told that it
probably held a short sword. Next to that was a long bladed dagger. Her only
ornamentation was a simple set of gold earrings that hugged her earlobes
closely.

   "Can I help you?" a young girl of around ten asked, appearing suddenly
beside the table.

   "Wine," the woman answered. "What hot food do you have?"

   "Mom's made lamb stew," the girl suggested.

   The woman nodded. "I'll have the stew and some bread."

   While she waited for her food and drink the woman looked about at the
people with whom she shared this large room. In one dark corner sat a young
couple undoubtedly husband and wife who seemed more interested in each other
than anything else. Even the food laid out before them was mostly untouched.
Nearby sat two men a lot older than the couple. Four burly-looking soldiers
dressed in chain mail armor and carrying massive broadswords sat next to
them. The two men's fine clothing marked them as nobles and the four
soldiers as their guards.

   She marked the man talking with the bar tender as a traveling merchant.
He was obviously trying to sell something to the man behind the counter, but
with little luck.

   One group of people caught her eye. Seated close to her were a dozen
people. Unlike the others who stood out as merchants, traders, nobleman and
mercenaries these people were none of those. Instead they were a mixed lot.
Some young, some old and the rest somewhere in between. They lacked the fine
clothes and soldiers of nobles yet they did not have the look of merchants
or traders. All of them looked worn and tired and their clothes were stained
and tattered from a long journey.

   "We've had this argument before," a man said calmly but with a touch of
anger. Turning her head to the sound the woman saw that the speaker was one
of that odd group sitting so close. The speaker wasn't an old man but he
wasn't a youngster either. He had one of those weather-beaten faces that
could be thirty or fifty years old. His hands were gnarled and the skin on
them looked as tough as leather. He had none of the scars that a soldier
would carry. All these spoke of a hard life spent working and toiling.

   "I still don't trust him," a second, older man seated next to him
countered. "Why would he be giving away land to just anyone?"

   "Metamor needs people," the first answered. "And the Duke doesn't care
where those people come from as long as they are loyal to him."

   "You know WHY he needs subjects?" the second countered. "It's because of
the."

   "Don't say it!" the first said interrupting his partner.

   "Why not?" the second asked angrily. "We have to talk about it."

   "We HAVE talked about the curse. You keep bringing the damn thing up
every time I see you. If you are so frightened of the curse then why don't
you go back, Lersun."

   The older man didn't respond to that for a moment but simply sat in
silence, a look of pain and anger on his face.

   "I'm sorry, Deitan," the first said softly. "I didn't mean to bring that
up."

   "Doesn't matter, Neal. That's all in the past," Deitan answered in a
somber tone. "This curse frightens me."

   "It frightens me too," Neal answered. "But what choice do we have? We
have nowhere left to go."

   The girl returned bearing a large tray laden with a bowl of soup, a loaf
of bread and a wooden cup full of some dark red liquid the woman hoped was
wine.

   She waited silently as the items were placed in front of her by the girl.
For her efforts the women rewarded the girl with two gold coins.

   Famished from too many days on the run she ate the food quickly. The stew
was hot and tasted very good. It was thick with vegetables and spices, a lot
of spices, almost enough to hide the age of the meat. The spices burned at
her nose and the inside of her mouth and she had to eat some bread to kill
them. Stew. She hadn't eaten stew before as it was a peasants' dish. It was
really a dish made by throwing together whatever was available and boiling
them till eatable. Hardly the dish of royalty but at the moment she didn't
care. It was hot and filling and that is all that mattered.

   As the woman ate the stew and bread she listened again to the
conversation going on nearby hoping she hadn't missed much.

   "Metamor is somewhere we can start over again," Neal commented. "The Duke
is well known for not caring about a person's past. Only their skills.
Especially since that attack on the last holiday."

   "True," Deitan answered. "Perhaps we can all start over again."

   The woman had quickly finished the stew and slowly finished the last of
the bread, one small piece at a time.

   "You left out one little problem, Neal," the woman said interrupting the
conversation.

  The two men looked at the woman with suspicious glares. They didn't like
strangers eavesdropping on their conversation.

   "My apologies for listening in on your conversation but I could not help
myself," the woman explained. "I, too, am headed to Metamor. Perhaps we can
join forces?"

   "Why should we trust you?" Deitan countered angrily. "A Sellsword."

   "Because what you need is someone with a sword," she answered. "Do you
think the road to the Keep is so safe that you need no weapons? What will
you do if you meet a gang of raiders?"

   "There are none left in the Valley," Neal commented.

   "Can you be so sure?" she answered. "You can't take any chances. Metamor
is not just famous for its openness but also for being under constant
attack."

   "And you can help us for a price?" Deitan spit back.

   "No price," she answered. "But in numbers there is safety. And since I am
headed to Metamor anyway, we can watch each others' backs during the trip."

   "Why are you headed to the Keep?" Neal asked.

   "The same reason you are. I want a new life," she answered truthfully,
but leaving a lot of details out. "The Duke is always in need of a good
soldier."

   "Do you have a name, Sellsword?" the older man asked.

   "Kallie Evergreen," she answered, partially telling the truth.


*********************


   The caravan was a lot smaller than Kallie had expected. There were six
wagons of various types around which were clustered about twenty people. She
examined each one with a practiced eye, but all she saw was a group of weary
and dirty peasants. A half dozen women who were of the right age to be
mothers watched over a dozen children who shrieked and laughed as they raced
about the yard. They played with the carefree abandon that only comes with
youth.

   Breina was a short woman. A good half a foot shorter than her husband
Deitan, with broad shoulders and a stocky body that had the tough wiry
muscles of someone who had worked hard all their life.

   Tall and thin, Marcia looked younger then Breina but there was nothing
frail about her. Her black hair was tied back in braids that hung tight
about her face. The face framed by those braids was tough, worn and scarred,
showing a hard life.

   "Where we are going is dangerous. We'll need to be able to protect
ourselves. How many know how to fight?" Kallie asked. The silence she got in
return answered her all too well. "Just me?" she said. It was a much a
statement as a question.

   "We're farmers and craftsmen," Deitan explained.

   "If we knew how to fight, we wouldn't be running from a war," Breina
added sarcastically.

   Kallie scowled, "From here on everyone carries a weapon. Even if it's
just a club or a quarterstaff."

   "What good is a club against a sword," someone asked.

   "A club is a dangerous weapon in the right hands. After all, a mace is
nothing more than a metal club isn't it?"

   All Kallie got in answer was silence. These were farmers and shopkeepers
not warriors. None of them had ever seen a mace and probably didn't even
know what a mace was. She had to rethink her argument.

   "It's all about appearances," she commented. "If we LOOK well armed, then
they might just leave us alone and look for easier prey."

  All she got in return was dubious looks and shaking heads.

   "A bandit doesn't want a fight. He has no desire to be killed or wounded.
He's a greedy thug. All he wants is whatever riches he can take with no
effort. If he thinks that he might be hurt he'll run away or look for easier
prey. He wants wine, gold and silver. Look at us. What do we have that they
would want? Worn-out wagons and tatted clothes. Do you think he'll expect to
find piles of gold? I doubt there's twenty gold pieces between all of us,
and it shows."

   "If we look and act tough then the bandits will leave us alone," Kallie
said trying to sound convincing. She wasn't too sure she succeeded.


*********************


   They took the road north out of Laselle. The road showed signs of wear
and tear and in some places was only dirt, now turned to a vast morass of
mud with the wet weather. The wagons were forever getting stuck in the
glutinous mud and were only extracted through the brute force of straining
oxen and the heaving backs of the people themselves. The only saving grace
was the river Metamor which paralleled the road. Too shallow to sail on, its
water was surprisingly clear and fresh. After a long day in the mud, Kallie
liked to sit on its banks and dangle her feet in the ice cold water to
refresh herself.


*********************


   It was a warm spring day and it hadn't rained for several days. The
warmth had dried the mud and the road was hard and dry for a change. They
were moving at a good pace and the distance seemed to fly by, even at the
slow pace of the oxen pulling the wagons. She was at the back of the group
talking to Deitan's youngest daughter, Sandra, when the wagon suddenly
lurched to a halt. With her hand on the hilt of her sword and walking
quickly Kallie soon found out why their little caravan had stopped.

   In front of them was a wooden-rail fence that ran east from the river's
edge on the west straight across the road and off into the distance before
vanishing from sight. Kallie suspected that it ran completely across the
valley mouth. Where the fence crossed the road was a simple gate that
consisted of three thin logs. They weren't even fixed to the posts on either
end. Instead they hung freely on simple leather straps attached to the posts
on either side of the road.

   Attached to the gate was a sign at eye level and easily visible. On the
sign were three figures; one looked like a woman with impossibly large
breasts, the second was a baby holding what looked like a sword and the
third was some sort of animal which was walking on its hind legs and holding
a spear with its front paws. Below that, written in large, red letters was
"DANGER. CURSED LAND BEYOND! DO NOT ENTER BY ROYAL DECREE."

   "Well, this is the moment of choice," Deitan said calmly. "The curse
starts here. Once we cross this fence there is no going back."

   "Going back to what?" Breina countered. "There's nothing back there for
us."

   In spite of her comments no one moved at first, staring at the dire
warning on the sign.
 
   "We're wasting time," Breina said as she walked calmly through the gate
and into Metamor valley.

   Kallie waited and watched as every else slowly filed past her. All of
them walked into the valley and kept going. But she noticed that everyone of
them stopped or at least paused just before taking that first step through
the gate. Before long only Kallie herself was standing on the opposite side
of the fence.

   She stood at the gate and stared at the ground on the other side. It
seemed so normal: just dirt, rocks and a few weeds. None of it LOOKED
cursed. Even the rocks on the path were too small to trip over and looked
harmless. But stepping onto it would change her life forever. A simple step
wouldn't do that. After all she could just step backwards and go back to her
life. But what type of life did she have? Her old life was gone along with
everyone she had ever known or cared for. Kallie had nothing left behind
her. She couldn't go back. There was nothing left to go back to. Her only
path was forward. Kallie slid the three wood poles back opening up the road.

   She stepped boldly forward without looking back.


*********************


   The rain started coming down slowly at first, just a few drops sprinkling
the ground and occasionally landing on the skin. Soon it grew stronger, and
before long it was coming down in sheets. This rain was ice cold, not so
cold as to freeze but enough to come down as a slushy type of rain that
soaked through to the skin and froze a person down to the bone. Quickly the
road turned to mud and the going got infinitely harder. Finally, with a wave
of his hand Deitan directed the group off the road and into a grove of trees
next to it.

   These were tall, old apple trees and their broad branches gave welcome
relief from the rain. Laboriously the travelers set up camp, pulling the
wagons into a rough circle. Most made no effect to climb down but simply
withdrew under what little protection their wagons could offer and waited
for the rain to end.

   The attack came suddenly. One moment there was just the sound of the rain
smacking against the wagon and suddenly there were arrows striking the
carriage. There was shouting, screaming and all manner of bedlam as figures
rushed out of the darkness screaming as they hacked and slashed at anything
alive.

   Kallie reacted in an instant, reaching for her crossbow. The weapon
shuddered and a bolt flew from it and buried itself the chest of the first
bandit.  She grabbed her sword and shield and charged the attackers. Fending
off a sword stroke with her buckler she plunged her own sword into the
stomach of a dirty-looking man. Without waiting to see if he was dead she
turned away from the first man and slashed at a second one.

   Another scruffy-looking man charged her with a spear and she tried to
dodge out of the way but she felt a sharp pain in her side. Kallie smashed
the spearman under the chin with the rim of her shield. He stumbled backward
into the brush and she plunged her sword deep into the man's chest. 

   She brought her hand to her side and felt where the spear had hit her but
Kallie didn't feel any blood. The chain mail had stopped the point from
penetrating. She would have an ugly and painful bruise but little else. The
woman saw motion off to her left and spun around in time to dodge one spear
point aimed at her stomach and deflect a sword blow with her shield.

   Kallie fought with the skill of years of training and months of constant
use and was putting up a good fight. She could spare her fellow travelers
only a brief glimpse but it was enough to tell her that they were losing.
She caught sight of several bodies lying motionless in the mud and realized
that many were not the bandits. Her friends were dying.

   Four big, burly looking thugs, all at least twice her size, rushed her
and she had to step backward to keep from being bowled over. Her shield
blocked one spear point while she deflected a second with her sword but
there were too many of them. She felt searing pain as a spear penetrated her
armor and sank deeply into her left thigh. Her leg started to buckle and she
almost tumbled to her knees. Suddenly a black shape loomed up behind one of
her attackers and lifted the man off the ground. The man jerked once and
went limp, his spear dropping into the mud with a wet splash. The strange
shape rushed into the other three attackers and she saw one of them go
flying as if kicked by a horse. His body hit a tree with the loud crunching
of bones. It dropped to the ground and didn't move.

   Kallie caught a brief glimpse of her rescuer. The strange figure was
standing on four legs like a horse but she could see that this wasn't some
cavalryman riding a horse. It seemed to be some sort of centaur, but the
upper body wasn't human. It seemed to be some sort of animal, but she
couldn't get a good look at him in the confusion.

   The figure scooped up a discarded spear, tearing it from the hands of the
man he had just killed. Leveling it like a lance he charged straight at a
group of bandits who were ripping open a wagon. She could hear children
screaming.

   Her strange rescuer charged across the distance to the wagon in a second,
his lance level. Its wickedly sharp point caught one man in the back,
lifting him completely off the ground. The massive form plowed through the
group sending men and weapons flying in all directions. His spear came to
rest in the trunk of a tree. Dangling from it were two of the raiders. Both
had been killed before they could even realize they were in danger.

   Kallie raced up behind the stranger and lashed out with her sword,
cutting one of the bandits across the back and severing his spine instantly.
She slammed the edge of her shield into the face of another, sending the man
tumbling backward into the mud.


   As suddenly as the fighting had started it ended. The few remaining
bandits retreated back into the woods they had come from. Kallie saw them
off with a crossbow bolt into the back of one and watched with satisfaction
as the man dropped to the ground.

   A deep silence fell over the camp and the only sound was the crackle of a
fire from a burning wagon. No one moved or spoke for what seemed to be an
eternity. Kallie coughed as smoke drifted past her.

   Slowly the survivors collected in a circle around their strange rescuer
and Kallie got her first good look at him.

   Kallie was prepared to see a person who was a mix of animal and human.
They had all heard the stories of how most of the people at Metamor keep had
been changed into animals. From the waist up this figure looked like a mix
of man and fox complete with the pointy ears and wet nose on a vulpine
muzzle. But below the waist were not two legs and a long, bushy tail.
Instead he had the body of a large, pony-sized vulpine. Aside from the size,
it was the body of a male red fox, complete with four legs and a long bushy
tail. 

   Kallie examined the odd centaur carefully for a moment. "What are you?"
she asked breaking the awkward silence.

   "What do you think I am?" the figure asked trying to sound witty.

   "You're a Keeper, I hope."

   "I'm Fox," the figure answered.

   "Is that your name or your species?" Breina asked.

   "Both," the fox centaur answered. "My name is Fox Cutter but many call me
simply Fox."

   "Let's see to the wounded," Kallie ordered. "And worry about
introductions later."

   It was a sad duty. They had to pick among the dead and wounded to find
who of their friends had survived. About half the twenty adults were dead
and the rest wounded. She found Breina tending to Deitan. The man's stomach
had been ripped open and his wife was trying to push his intestines back
into his body.

   Kallies leg suddenly gave out and she found herself sitting on the
ground. Her left thigh was a mass of blood.

   "We have to see to that wound of yours first. You lay still and let the
others help the wounded." Fox ordered. "There'll be time for questions and
explanations later."


End part 1


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