[Mkguild] Inspiration comes from weird places

[Nathan Pfaunmiller]

I've been doing very little MK writing lately.  When Matt posted his story
last night, though, I had some inspiration.  Namely, the title of the story
gave me a devious idea, and so here's my latest (semi-canon) offering.  I'll
let the story itself do the rest of the talking.

Inconsolable Chrysanthemum, Inebriated Cockatrice
by LurkingWolf

It is generally recognized that you must never become settled into a routine
in Metamor Keep, lest the strange, random nature of the keep always seems
happy to shake any sense of normalcy as soon as it appears.  As the nature
of men is, however, someone will always let their guard down if they are
given any excuse, and such was the case with watch officer Shane Reuben on
his patrol through the streets of Metamor one quiet afternoon.

Though Shane had once been Sherry, he had allowed himself to slowly grow
used to his new life, and walked about the keep whistling and slinging his
fortunately dull sword about like a baton.  His shift always seemed quiet,
and so he had achieved the sense of normalcy all else in the keep seemed to
have lost since the Curse.

That was, of course, until he hears a voice call to him from beside the
road.

"Watch!  Over here, sir, I require assistance!"

It was a small voice; recognizably male but higher than Shane would have
expected.  Shane expected an age regressed Keeper, and so lowered his gaze.
 He found, however, that his gaze fell farther than usual to find the source
of the voice.

What first he found was a flower bed, looking quite lovely with the
exception of a strange, winding trail of crushed plants through its midst,
accompanied by an equally winding set of clawprints.  Shane tisked; his
mother would not approve of such disregard for flowers.  Before he could
return to his routine, however, the voice came again.

"Sir, down here."

Shane's eyes happened across a certain flower, a chrysanthemum, that turned
its head towards him.  As the voice came again, he could tell that it was
the flower speaking, and found that his voice caught in his throat as he
tried to speak.  Truly, he had seen nothing like this in all his years.

Finally, he managed to speak.  "Sir?"

"Yes, it's me, the flower," the voice came again.  "Please, there is a
criminal on the loose, you must help!"

Shane cleared his throat and looked about before carefully stooping beside
the bed.  "The Watch is here to help, sir.  Um... Can you tell me what it is
that happened here?"

"Oh, it was horrible!  Some great oaf came through this bed.  He tore
through everything, and when I tried to stop him, he laughed at me and
poured his ale on me!". As if for emphasis, the flower somehow shrugged into
petals and let drops of amber liquid drip onto the dirt.  "If we little
people can't be protected, how can Metamor be safe?"

"Calm down please," Shane said, still not believing he was talking to a
flower Keeper.  "I'll do whatever I can.  Can you... Describe him, at all?"

"I can't see, but my roots feel the ground very well.  That's how I knew you
were a Watchman."

"You could tell I was from the Watch by feeling the ground?"

"I can't explain it!  Still, the creature was some sort of strange reptile,
but I also felt feathers.  He left through that way," the flower turned its
head towards the end of the path through the flowers.  "Please, stop him
before he hurts anyone else.  Also, please avoid the bed for now.  I will
tend to the other flowers as much as the Curse allows, but I need time to
work."

Shane nodded and carefully stepped around the flower bed until he was in the
alley the trail led down. He walked down the path, glancing back at the
flower Keeper for a moment.  Only in Metamor were such things seen.

He followed the alley, following the trail, which was fortunately somewhat
damp because of liquor.  His trek was fortunately somewhat short.  At the
end of the pathway, the trail ended at the tail of a strange creature, who
cackled drunkenly as he slumped against a wall.  Shane recognized it as a
cockatrice; a dragon's body led abruptly to the head of a rooster, one
dragon wing pinned between the creature's body and the wall, and the other
wrapped around a mug that the creature continually resorted to, only to find
it empty.  It was still cackling intermittently when Shane arrived.

"Excuse me, sir!"

The cockatrice turned and saw the watchman.  "Hello problem, what seems to
be the officer?"  He let loose another string of cackles, making Shane
unsure whether the switched words were intentional.  The smell of the liquor
was clear, though, as was Shane's duty.

"Sir, I've had a complaint about your conduct tonight.  I'm afraid I need to
escort you home for your own safety."

"I'm not as think as you drunk I am!"

Shane rolled his eyes, then averted his gaze as the cockatrice turned to
look at him.  "Sir, I have to insist that we get you home.  You can either
cooperate, or I can take you in for an evening in the dungeons."

"I could just turn you to stone," the cockatrice commented.  He bobbed
around, trying to make eye contact with the officer.

"I'd rather you didn't, I'm allergic to being stone," Shane offered.  The
cockatrice burst out in peals of laughter, apparently amused by Shane's lame
attempt at joking.

"I like you, chief.  All right, I'll let you take me home.  I don't want any
trouble."

"Fine.  Also, watch any flower beds you come across. I almost had to charge
you with manslaughter because of your carelessness."

"Manslaughter?  Oh, the flower?  Don't worry about him, I know the guy.  I
just thought he'd like a drink, that's all.  The ale was really good
tonight."

Shane shook his head.  He'd heard everything now, he was sure.  Flowers
being friends with cockatrices, and cockatrices thinking flowers wanted a
drink of ale.

"Whatever," Shane said.  "Let's get moving, I'll need to file a report on
this, and I'm already running to the end of my shift."

The escort trip was uneventful, and Shane was able to sign off on a report
before his shift was over.  Still, he learned the lesson, never to fall into
a routine in Metamor.


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